‘But he saw my face—he must have seen it,’ cried Ameena; as, after
relating the adventure to her lord, she was lying upon the soft cushions
which had been spread for her. ‘I was not sensible, and he thought I
must be hurt. Ah, what wilt thou not think of me, my lord!’ And she hid
her burning face in her hands upon the pillow.
‘What matter, fairest?’ replied the Khan, as, bending over her with much
concern in his countenance, he parted the hair upon her forehead and
kissed it tenderly. ‘What matter? had it been another, indeed, who had
opened thy palankeen, the officious rascal should have paid dearly for
his temerity: but Kasim—why should it concern thee? did he not save thy
life? and is he not my friend? and now again have we not cause to be
thankful to him? Let this not distress thee therefore, but praise Alla,
as I do, that thou art safe.’
It was not, however, the simple gaze of Kasim upon her face that had
disturbed the agitated girl, though in confessing this to her lord she
sought ease from other thoughts which were engrossing her. He had seen
her face; happy were it if that had been the only result of the
accident; but the passionate words which in his anxiety for her he had
uttered, had fallen upon her ears, and but too readily accorded with her
own previous thoughts; she remembered, too, as she looked around with
returning consciousness after the shock, how she had seen his expressive
eyes, lighted up with enthusiasm and anxiety, gazing on her; and she had
read in them, even had he not spoken, that he loved her. And when she
repeated to her husband again and again that Kasim had looked upon her
face, that was all she dared to tell him of what had happened.
Poor Ameena! the Khan’s constant theme of conversation had been Kasim
Ali, as from time to time any new feat of arms, of horsemanship, any new
weapon or gay dress he had worn, attracted his attention; he would
delight to relate all to her minutely, to recount how adroitly he had
foiled such an one, how handsome he had looked, and to dwell upon these
themes with expressions of praise and satisfaction at Kasim’s daily
proving himself more and more worthy of his patronage. Often would he
foretell an exalted station for the young man, from the Sultaun’s early
selection of him to fulfil so delicate a mission as that to Hyderabad;
and on that very day, when he had been beckoned by the Sultaun, it was
to hear the praises of Kasim Ali, to be asked whether it was not he who
had won the reward he had offered; and, upon his answering in the
affirmative, the Sultaun had graciously bidden him bring Kasim to the
morning Durbar, when he should be enrolled once more among his personal
attendants.
Ameena was obliged to listen to all this; and after listening, she would
brood over these discourses upon his noble qualities, until her heart
grew sick at the thought that to _her_ none such would ever be—and her
dearest hopes, for one to love her in whom should be united all those
qualities which she heard he possessed, had long ago been blighted for
ever. She needed no new event to remind her of Kasim’s first service,
nor to impress more strongly upon her mind his noble but melancholy
features; which, except when lighted up by the hot excitement of battle,
habitually wore a sad expression. And yet the last adventure had come,
like the first, unsought and unexpected, and the consequences were sad
to both. In Ameena, producing an inward shame, a consciousness of
harbouring thoughts she dared not reveal—a vain striving between her
honour to her lord and her love for the young man his friend. In Kasim,
a burning passion—which, as it exists in Asiatics, is almost
irrepressible—struggling with his high feelings of rectitude, of
respect, nay of affection for him he served, which was hardly to be
endured.
And thus it continued, producing misery in both; except in
forgetfulness, there was indeed no alleviation; and that was impossible,
for they thought of little else than of each other, through the long
hours of the days and nights which followed.
The Sultaun had ordered the Khan to bring Kasim Ali before him in the
morning after the usual march, but it was in vain that his messengers
sought him, to apprise him of the order; he had been seen to ride off
after the arrival of the Khanum, and was not to be found. In truth, the
young man felt himself unable to meet the Khan with any composure after
what had happened, and he also dreaded (if Ameena had heard the
expressions he uttered) that she was offended. He had no possible means
of ascertaining this—of imploring her not to denounce him to the Khan,
as faithless and treacherous; and under the influence of these mingled
and agitating feelings, the young man continued to ride hither and
thither as if without a purpose—now in some level spot urging his horse
into a furious gallop, to gain release from the thoughts which almost
maddened him—again allowing him to walk slowly, while he brooded over
the exquisite beauty and gentleness of her whom he had twice saved from
injury, perhaps from destruction.
But the hour for evening prayer drew nigh, and he turned his horse
towards the camp: its many fires were everywhere twinkling upon the fast
darkening plain, and the deep sounds of the evening kettle-drums,
mingled with the dull and distant murmur of thousands of voices, were
borne clearly upon the evening wind.
He quickened his pace, and as the sonorous and musical voices of the
Muezzins among the army, proclaiming the Azan,[42] called the faithful
into their various groups for prayer, he rode up to the Khan’s tent,
where the usual number had their carpets spread, and awaited the proper
moment for commencement. Kasim joined them, but the act of supplication
had little effect in quieting his agitation; the idea that Ameena might
have told all that had passed precluded every other thought, and caused
a feeling of apprehension, from which he could not release himself.
-----
Footnote 42:
Call to prayer.
-----
When the prayer was ended, the Khan addressed him in his usual kind and
hearty manner, and calling him into his private tent, poured out his
thanks, and those of Ameena, for his timely and gallant assistance in
her late extreme danger. As he spoke, Kasim at once saw there was no
cause for suspicion; and as the dread of detection passed from his
heart, a feeling of tumultuous joy, that his words had not been ill
received by her to whom he had addressed them, on the instant filled its
place, and for a while disturbed those high principles which hitherto
had been the rule of his conduct.
‘And now,’ said the Khan, after he had fairly overwhelmed the young man
with thanks, ‘I have news, and good news for thee! thou art ordered to
attend the morning Durbar, and I suspect for thy good. The Sultaun (may
his condescension increase!) has looked once more with an eye of favour
upon thee; he means to give thee a command among his guards, and to
attach thee to his person. I shall lose thee therefore, Kasim, but thou
wilt ever find me as sincere and devoted a friend as thou hast hitherto
done. We may soon be separated, but so long as we march thus day after
day, indeed so long as this campaign continues, we may at least
associate together as we have been accustomed to do.’
Kasim could hardly reply intelligibly to the Khan’s kind expressions.
That he had been exerting his influence with the Sultaun on his account,
he could have no doubt; and this, with the affectionate friendship he
had professed, again very powerfully brought all the young man’s best
feelings to his aid, and he went from his presence late in the evening,
with a determination to seek Ameena no more, and, if possible, to drive
all concern for her from his heart. Vain thought! Away from the Khan,
his excited imagination still dwelt upon her, and his visions that night
of their mutual happiness almost appeared to him an earnest that they
would be ultimately realised.
He accompanied the Khan as usual during the march, for the army
proceeded the next morning on its way, and at its early close he rode
with him to the place where the Sultaun held his morning Durbar, in some
anxiety as to what would happen. The tents of the monarch had not been
pitched, for under the thick shade of some enormous tamarind-trees there
was found ample space for the assembly; and pillows had been placed, and
soft carpets spread for his reception. One by one the different leaders
and officers of rank arrived, and dismounting ranged themselves about
the place which had been set apart for the Sultaun: their gay dresses
somewhat sobered in colour by the deep shade the trees cast upon them,
and contrasting powerfully with the green foliage, which descended in
heavy masses close to the ground. On the outskirts of the spot the
grooms led about their chargers, whose loud and impatient neighings
resounded through the grove. On one side the busy camp could be seen, as
division after division of horse and foot arrived in turn, and took up
their ground in regular order.
At last the Sultaun’s kettle-drums were heard, and in a few minutes he
galloped up at the head of a crowd of attendants, and immediately
dismounting, advanced into the centre of the group, and returned the low
obeisances of those who hastened to offer them. There were a few reports
to be listened to, one or two summary and fearful punishments to be
inflicted; and these done, the Sultaun turned to Rhyman Khan, who stood
near him.
‘Where is the young man?’ he said; ‘we have thought much of him during
the night, and our dreams have confirmed the previous visions we have
mentioned regarding him. Therefore let him be brought, we would fain do
justice in his case: this is a fortunate day and hour, as we have read
by the stars; and the planetary influences are propitious.’
Kasim was at hand, and amidst the crowd of courtiers, sycophants, and
parasites, who would have given all they possessed to have been so
noticed, he advanced, performed the Tusleemât, and then stood with his
hands folded in an attitude of humility and attention.
‘Youth!’ cried the Sultaun, ‘we have heard that it was thou who killed
the mad elephant yesterday, when our royal hand trembled and our gun
missed fire. We offered a reward for that deed—dost thou claim it?’
‘May I be your sacrifice!’ replied Kasim, ‘I know not; what can I
say?—let the Khan answer for me.’
‘He has already told me all,’ cried the Sultaun, ‘therefore we have sent
for thee. Hear, then, and reflect on what we say to thee. Thou shalt be
raised higher than thou wast before, and we will arrange thy pay
hereafter. It will be thy business to attend on and accompany us; and in
the coming battles, in which by the aid of the Prophet we intend to
eclipse our former achievements, which are known to all—’
Here he looked around, and cries of ‘Wonderful! The Sultaun is great and
valiant! he eats mountains and drinks rivers! before his eye the livers
of his enemies melt into water!’ passed from mouth to mouth.
‘Therefore,’ he continued, after a pause, ‘do thy service well and
boldly, and it shall be good for thee that thou hast eaten the salt of
Tippoo. Thou art Jemadar from this time forth, O Kasim Ali! and hear all
of ye that it is so ordered.’
The congratulations of all fell upon the gladdened ears of the young
Patél, who, in truth, as he bowed lowly and fell back among the crowd,
was somewhat bewildered by his new honour, so great and so unexpected.
Now he should rank with the men of consequence,—nay, he was one himself;
and he felt, as was natural, proud and elated at his promotion.
The Khan’s joy knew no bounds. ‘I thought,’ he said, ‘thou wouldest be
taken into favour, and have thy pay increased, but this is most
excellent. By Alla! Kasim, say or think what thou wilt, the Sultaun has
a rare discrimination. Wilt thou now forget the scene of yesterday, and
the young elephant?’
‘I shall never forget it,’ said Kasim, ‘but I pray Alla it may never be
repeated.’
‘Ameen!’ responded the Khan; ‘yet listen—the Sultaun speaks.’
And the voice of the Sultaun was again heard, interrupting the Khan.
‘Proclaim silence!’ he cried to the attendants; and after the loud cries
of ‘Khamoosh! khamoosh!’ had in some degree subsided, he addressed the
assembled officers, whose number was every moment increased by other
wild and martial figures from the camp, who crowded behind the rest on
tiptoe to hear his address.
‘Ye all know,’ he said, ‘how the infidel Rajah of Travancore—who has his
portion already with the accursed—has allowed our rebellious and infidel
subjects the Nairs to have shelter in his territory. We have demanded
them from him, and have met with insult and scorn in his replies; are
we, who are the chosen of Alla, to bear this patiently?’
‘Let him die! let him be sent to hell!’ cried the assembly with one
voice, their passions suddenly aroused by this abrupt address.
‘Stay!’ continued Tippoo—his visage becoming inflamed, and his eye
glistening like that of a tiger’s chafing into fury,—‘we, by the favour
of Alla, possess accurate knowledge of the councils of the unbelievers
and of the kafir English. We know that this miserable Rajah is upheld by
them in his contumacy; but we have ere now humbled their pride. Baillie
and Mathews, with their hosts—where are they? and we will, Inshalla!
humble them again, and drive them into the sea! They have threatened us
with war if we attack the wall which this Rajah hath built upon our
subjects’ territory, and over which we have a right to pass to Cochin,
whither it is our pleasure to go. Say, therefore, my friends, shall
there be peace? Shall we, who wear swords on our thighs, eat dirt at the
hands of these lying and damnable kafirs? or shall—’
The remainder of his speech was lost. The cry for war was as one voice.
He had appealed to the fierce passions of his officers, who saw only
victory in prospect, and they had responded as warmly as he could wish.
‘Be it so,’ cried the Sultaun, when the tumult was stilled; ‘in a few
days we shall see this wonderful wall, of which we hear things that
would produce terror in any mind less strong or valiant than our own;
and then, Inshalla-ta-Alla! we will see what can be done by the army of
the Government, which is the gift of Alla, led by him who is an apostle
sent to scourge all kafirs and sceptics. You have your dismissal
now;—go, and prepare your men for this service. Mashalla! victory awaits
our footsteps!’
In a few days afterwards the army arrived within sight of the wall; it
was of considerable height and thickness, had a broad and deep ditch in
front, and presented a formidable obstacle to the invading army. It is
probable that, had Tippoo attacked the wall at once, he might have
carried it by escalade; but he was evidently uncertain as to the result
of his negotiations; he hesitated for a time to strike a blow which must
inevitably embroil him with the English, and therefore drew off a short
distance to the northward; where, engaged in correspondence with the
English and Travancore Governments, he passed most of his time, thus
allowing his enemy every opportunity to increase his force and prepare
for resistance.
Kasim’s post near the Sultaun’s person led him into daily and close
communication with the monarch, and he gradually gained an insight into
his extraordinary character. Sometimes, when he uttered the noblest and
loftiest sentiments of honour, he would love and respect him; again some
frivolous or ridiculous idea would get possession of his imagination,
and drive him into the commission of a thousand absurdities and terrible
cruelties. It was no uncommon thing to see beyond the precincts of the
camp a row of miserable Hindoos hanging upon trees, who had defied the
Sultaun’s efforts at conversion, and had preferred death rather than
change the religion of their fathers. For Shekh Jaffur had arrived in
camp with a division of the army which was ordered to join from the
Canarese provinces, where he had been particularly active against the
Nairs; and to him Tippoo delegated the direction of the torture and
punishment of those Hindoos, whom, on the slightest pretext, either of
rebellion, disobedience, or denial of supplies, they could get into
their hands. With this duty Kasim Ali had no concern; but he observed
that under the other it flourished, and that day after day some wretched
beings were dragged before the monarch, whose death appeared to stay his
appetite for slaughter till the negotiation should end, as he expected,
by his letting loose his army upon the defenders of Travancore.
But month after month passed, and the season was advancing; the immense
preparations of the English, the Nizam, and the Mahrattas, to join in
one common league for his destruction were everywhere reported; it was
necessary for him to strike some blow, else, after the preparations he
had made and the threats he had promulgated, his conduct would appear in
a weak and puerile light to his enemies. To Kasim Ali this state of
inactivity was insupportable; he had hoped from the Sultaun’s address
that the army would at once have been led to battle, and he was
disappointed beyond expression when, after a trifling skirmish before
the wall, the whole drew off to that ground it was destined to occupy
for so long. Instead of active employment in the field, in the
excitement of which he might for the time forget Ameena, or strengthen
his resolution to think no more of her with love—there was absolute
stagnation.
The life he led was entirely the opposite of what he wished it, and
during the days of idleness and inactivity he had little else to do than
dream of her. But he refrained from seeking her, even when opportunity
was afforded by the return of his old friend the cook Zoolficar, who,
having been left at Seringapatam by the Khan, had been sent for upon the
misconduct and discharge of the one he had brought with him.
His arrival was heartily welcomed both by the Khan and Ameena; by the
first, because he could once more enjoy his excellent cookery and most
favourite concoctions; by the lady, because his sister, the old servant
of her family at Hyderabad, who had joined the worthy functionary at
Seringapatam, accompanied him to the camp. She was gladly welcomed by
Ameena, who, among the women that attended upon her, had no one to whom
she cared to open her heart; for they were all natives of the south,
with whom she had little communion of thought and feeling, and who spoke
her language indifferently.
With Meeran, however, almost a new existence commenced; while alone the
most part of the day—when the Khan’s duties and attendance upon the
Sultaun kept him away from her—she had few occupations except her own
thoughts, which were sad enough; yet in Meeran’s society, humble though
she was, she could ever find topics of conversation—of her home, her
family, her friends and acquaintance; old subjects long gone by were
revived and dwelt upon with all the zest of fresh occurrences; and the
incidents of her travel to the city, and every event connected with
herself since she left her home, were repeated again and again with that
minuteness which is commonly the result of a want of other occupation.
It hardly needed the very quick penetration common to a woman whose wits
had been sharpened by a residence in such a city as Hyderabad, to
discover very soon that her young and beautiful mistress was unhappy;
and Meeran heard so often of the young Patél, as Ameena still called
him, and found that she so evidently delighted to speak of him and his
acts, that she very naturally concluded that much of her unhappiness was
attributable to the young man, however innocent he might be of the
cause. For, after speaking of him, and describing his noble appearance
as she had seen it on several occasions, and repeating the constant
eulogiums of her lord, Ameena would often involuntarily find a tear
starting to her eye, or a deep-drawn sigh heave forth, which she fain
would have suppressed, but could not.
Now Meeran had from the first, and while there was yet a chance of
averting the evil, protested against the giving away of her child (for
so she called Ameena) to a man as old as the Khan for a sum of money;
and though she had every respect for him, yet she could see no harm,
after a little consideration, and the overcoming a few scruples, of
striving to help the lovers. She had nursed Ameena at her own breast,
she had tended her from infancy, had been the confidant of all her
secrets, and, if the truth were known, had helped the young girl to form
exactly such an idea of a lover as it appeared Kasim was—young, gallant,
handsome, and of a fine generous temper.
Kasim had renewed his acquaintance with the good-natured Zoolficar, and
on several occasions the man had come to his little tent upon one excuse
or another; sometimes to talk over their journey, sometimes to cook him
a dish he liked, when the Khan was employed elsewhere, and they did not
dine together. Often had their conversation fallen upon Ameena; and
though at first the mention of her name had been avoided by the young
Jemadar, yet the theme was so pleasant a one, that he insensibly dwelt
upon it more and more. Soon Kasim heard from the cook that his sister
was with his young mistress, and that she was happier in the society of
her old nurse than she had been before her arrival.
Habitual indulgence in conversation about her naturally begat a craving
in the young man to know all the particulars of Ameena’s daily
existence. The most trifling circumstances appeared to be welcome to
him; and it was not long ere Zoolficar, finding that he could not give
the information so greedily looked for as minutely as was required,
proposed that his sister should supply it. This, however pleasant, was
nevertheless a matter of more difficulty, and one that required
concealment; for it would have been at once fatal to Ameena’s
reputation, had her favourite servant been seen in private conversation
with one like Kasim Ali. Despite of obstacles, however, they contrived
to meet; and on the first of these interviews the nurse saw clearly
enough how passionately devoted Kasim was to her fair mistress, and how
precious to him was every detail of her life, of her meek and gentle
temper, and of her loving disposition. The nurse would often bewail her
unhappy destiny, in being cut off from all chance of real happiness in
company with the Khan; and she could appreciate, from the evident
agitation of the young man, and his half-suppressed exclamations, how
difficult it was for him to withhold an open declaration of his
thoughts. Yet she could not help seeing that through all this there was
nothing breathed of dishonour to the Khan, no wish to meet her whom she
was sure he so passionately loved.
It was not until after some time and many such conversations with the
young Jemadar, that Meeran dared to mention to Ameena that she had seen
him. She had heard from Kasim the account of his protection of her from
the enraged elephant, and he had confessed what he had then uttered.
‘She knows of his love, then,’ said Meeran mentally, ‘and she dares not
mention it to her old nurse. We shall see whether this humour will last
long. Inshalla! they shall yet be happy in each other’s society.’
She could not appreciate the nice morality either of Kasim or her young
mistress: she knew that neither was happy, and believed she had in her
power the means of making both so. ‘Could they but meet,’ she used to
say, ‘they might speak to each other, and even half the words that I
hear, spoken by one to the other, would set their hearts at rest for
ever.’
But Ameena grew really angry with the woman, that she had dared to think
of such a step, much less to speak of it. Meeran bore all
good-humouredly, but she determined to persevere, convinced that she was
acting for their mutual good.
Time passed on; the army advanced nearer to the wall, and at length the
Sultaun, tired of inactivity or protracted negotiation, determined to
strike the first blow in the strife, which it was useless to disguise to
himself was fast approaching; and could he but possess himself of
Travancore, his operations against the English would be materially
aided. His resolution was, however, suddenly and unexpectedly made.
Kasim with some men had been directed to examine a part of the defence
where the wall joined a precipice, some miles from the camp, and to
report the practicability of its assault. His statement confirmed the
Sultaun’s previous intentions, and he gave orders for the attacking
parties—ten thousand of the flower of his army—to prepare for immediate
action.
Kasim was aware that his post would be one of danger, for the Sultaun
was determined to lead the attack in person, and it was more than
probable that he would be bravely opposed by the defenders of the lines;
among these were many of the fugitive Nairs, who burned for an
opportunity of revenging upon the Sultaun’s army the many insults and
oppressions they had suffered.
Much, however, was hoped from so powerful an attack on an undefended
point; and the Sultaun’s order was delivered to the army on the
afternoon of Kasim’s report. The divisions for the assault were ordered
under arms after evening prayer, and all were in readiness, and exulting
that ere that time on the morrow the barrier before them would be
overcome, and the dominions of their enemy open to plunder.
The night was bright and clear and cool: there was no wind, and the
melancholy and shrill notes of the collery horn came up sharp upon the
ear from all parts of the wall before them, which extended for miles on
either side. Lights were twinkling here and there upon it, showing that
the watchers did not sleep, and sometimes the flash and report of a
musket or matchlock appeared or was heard, fired by one or other of the
parties. The camp of the Sultaun was alive with preparation, and the
busy hum of men arose high into the still air. Soon all was completed;
and when it was no longer doubtful that darkness veiled their
preparations, the mass of men moved slowly out of the camp, and led by
Kasim, took their way to the place he had discovered.
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