SAVED.
Meanwhile the day wore on. To the world without in its usual fashion;
but to Zóra in inconceivable misery and terror. She dare not ask the
women what was going to happen; she dare not even think of her danger,
which was an ever-present weight, impossible to throw off or shape
into reality. Her mind was indeed in a chaos of thought. She prayed
incoherently, sometimes to Alla and the Prophet, sometimes to the
blessed Mother of Jesus, of whose tender pity and compassion Maria had
often told her, and taught her some brief Canarese prayers. The two
women sought to draw her into conversation, but she remained silent;
and offered to bathe and dress her, but she refused, and resisted them
with a glare of defiance which frightened them both, and they at last
desisted. Nothing could induce her to eat a morsel, though their own
food was savoury enough. Zóra only took a few grains of her friend's
parched rice now and then from her little store, hiding it under her,
and concealing her face while she ate them; and the women chattered
together, smoked their hookahs, ate pán, and sometimes dozed; but
the horrible eunuchs sat at the door, conversing in a low tone in a
language which she did not understand.
The evening arrived at last, and the lamps were lighted in the palace.
Zóra had been sensible that something was going on in the hall of
audience, for the noise of men's voices and pattering feet came to her
sometimes. The Nawab's furashes were in fact decorating the hall with a
few garlands of leaves and flowers, and spreading a clean white cloth
over the usual carpet, placing lamps in the niches of the wall, and
others near the Nawab's seat on the floor.
Presently the Nawab, after proclamation of his titles by the
attendants, came in and took his seat in the usual place. He was
gorgeously dressed in cloth of gold, as befitted a ceremonial; but all
the usual preparations for a marriage were wanting. No women sang the
marriage greeting and blessing, or hung garlands of flowers about his
neck. No marriage music was played without. His slaves and attendants
stood around in silence, and some of the soldiers of the fort and petty
officers came in one by one, saluted the Nawab, and sat down on their
heels close to the wall, grimly, and with their swords resting across
their knees.
The abduction of Zóra had become known to all in Juldroog, and all
wondered while they deplored it; and those who had assembled were
speaking in low whispers. It seemed as if, had any one given the
signal, the Nawab's life would be terminated at once; but no one
moved, and the Nawab preserved the same gloomy silence. "She is my
fate," he murmured to himself, "and I go to meet it. They say that she
has neither eaten nor slept; but what of that?"
"I beg to represent," said Janoo, who was a privileged buffoon and
jester, "that these worthy gentlemen are like a court of horned owls;
when one hoots they all hoot; and if no one hoots, they sit blinking
at each other in silence. Cheer up, brother owls! for here comes the
Moolla, and he will hoot to some purpose."
"Peace, fool!" cried the Nawab, angrily; "is this a time for mockery?
Be silent!"
"Indeed, no," retorted the man, with a grimace. "This, O friends, is
to be a marriage, and his reverence there is to perform it; and if
ye are all as solemn as ye are at a funeral, ye had better take out
your handkerchiefs, and keep them ready for the crying when the final
blessing is given. But this is a marriage, friends, and the beautiful
Zóra is to be the bride. Congratulate the master."
"A marriage!" cried the old Moolla, scornfully, and while the company,
who had risen to salute him, were still standing. "A marriage
between thee, Osman Beg, and Zóra, granddaughter of Huzrut Syud Ali?
Impossible! I forbid it in the name of the Queen and the law. I have
seen the Syud, who protests. I must hear from the girl's own mouth that
she is willing, and all the ceremonies must be completed, ere I can
perform my functions. Is there no one here to answer for the girl?" As
no one stirred, he resumed: "Will no one act as her agent? will no one
answer for her dowry?"
"That is my care, Shékhjee," said the Nawab, haughtily; "it is no
concern of thine."
"Is it not?" continued the old man; "is it not? Nay, every true Moslim
who is present knows that it is. Would any of ye sirs, suffer daughters
of yours to agree to a marriage like this?" And a low murmur arose that
they would not, which sounded ominous; and some shrank away through the
open archways.
"I have but asked two questions, and there is no answer," said the
Moolla, looking around. "There are no messengers from the bride, no
preparations for a procession. Therefore, friends, bear witness that
I refuse to repeat the Qools;[1] that I refuse to abet violence. I am
a helpless old man, who has no force to resist thee, Osman Beg, but
in the name of God and the Prophet, peace be on him, I bear witness,
even to the death of a martyr, that thou hast done a foul wrong, and
I demand the girl Zóra from thee, in the name of Queen Chand. Dohái!
Dohái!"
"Insolent!" cried the Nawab, half drawing his sword; "insolent! Thou to
call me to account!"
"Be quiet, brother!" cried the buffoon, seizing the Nawab's hand;
"thou art a valiant soldier, but wouldst thou murder a man of God?"
Meanwhile, as he spoke, many present gathered round the brave old
priest, and escorted him out of the assembly. Only a few remained, the
profligate, boon companions of the Governor.
"The beginning of my fate!" exclaimed the Nawab, aside. "It is soon
begun; but it shall never be said that Osman Beg was frightened by a
priest. Away! one of ye take the riding camel, and bring a kazee or a
priest from Moodgul before to-morrow evening closes. The camels are
beyond the river. See that he takes a hundred rupees with him," he
added to the treasurer. "Go! and see it done."
"Now, why be in a hurry," said the buffoon; "I will manage the marriage
without further trouble. Where are the two Mámas?"
Luteefa-bee had been sitting behind the curtain, listening to every
word that was spoken. "Here am I, Máma Luteefa," she said, advancing
into the assembly. "Your slave is present; what would ye have of me?"
"Is Zóra-bee ready, mother?" said the jester, "and willing, and accepts
the dowry? And are you her agent? Whisper in my ear."
But the dame was silent. She had been at hundreds of marriages, and
this was only insolent buffoonery; she knew the Nawab must wait.
"There," cried Janoo, "behold she tells me that the bride is ready; she
is in the trembling condition of ecstasy and love; that she will take
all the dowry she can get, and live to enjoy it as long as she can;
and so I say the 'Qools,' which his reverence stuck at;" and, sitting
down, he began to gabble a jargon which sounded like Arabic, ending
with the usual prayer and blessing. The imitation of the old Moolla was
complete, and some laughed. But the buffoonery was even too gross for
those present, the imitations of the bride's modesty too absurd, and
the jest fell cold even upon those profligates.
"Ye may depart," said Osman Beg, rising and passing into his chamber.
As he brushed by Luteefa he said in a hoarse whisper,
"Prepare her for to-morrow; she hath escaped me to-day."
"If it had been done," said the dame to herself, "he would have wedded
a corpse. Can't he wait, and let me manage things regularly and with
order? What can I do by to-morrow? If Goolab leaves us, the girl would
dash her head against the wall and die."
Goolab had been a spectator of the jester's mummery, and had a worse
opinion of the Nawab's honesty than Máma Luteefa. She had, in fact, the
utmost suspicion that foul insult was intended, and only partly veiled
by the mummery of the buffoon; but she heard his whisper to the Máma,
who now made no secret of it, and that consoled her.
"We have escaped for to-night," she said, as she sat down, with a pious
ejaculation. "Ul-humd-ul-Illa! Nothing hath been regular, and there was
no kazee present, only the old Moolla, who defied him. Now it is to
be to-morrow night, if a kazee can be found, and thou must be willing
then, my pearl. The Lord put away evil from thee, and truly from us
all."
With what horrible fears Zóra had been filled we will not attempt to
describe. She had heard indistinctly the commotion when the old Moolla
departed, and she knew his voice well. Then there had been strict
silence; but when the buffoon's jargon began, she had believed it was
the real service, spoken by another priest, and she lay trembling and
gasping for breath in unspeakable horror. But Goolab-bee had already
assured her in some degree, and Máma Luteefa's speech gave her a
confidence she had hardly hoped to feel.
She lay down on the pillow, and covered herself up. She would eat
nothing, though Goolab pressed her, for she was sick with apprehension.
After awhile Máma Luteefa and Shireen lay down on their thin cushions,
and drawing the heavy coverlets over them, for the night was chilly,
were soon fast asleep and snoring. Now and then the eunuch on guard
without looked in, and, seeing all quiet, seemed content; and after a
while another came and sent him away, and she heard midnight struck on
the fort gong. "Three hours more," she thought, "and it will be time;"
and she could almost hear the beating of her own heart. The eunuch
on guard moved about now and then, and looked in through the door,
yawning. At last she saw him fold his blanket about him and lie down
close to the door, and heard him begin to snore loudly. She waited for
some time, then arose noiselessly and put out the lamp that was burning
in a niche above her head; but there was light enough from without to
see by.
The Máma and her servant slept profoundly, and Goolab-bee, who lay
beside the bed, did the same. Zóra noiselessly approached the door,
but was close to the eunuch. She could see his face distinctly in
the moonlight. He lay on his back, his sword in his hand, but was
dead asleep like the others. Then, after an interval which seemed
interminable, and she had begun to think that Runga could not come, a
blessed sound fell on her ear--a low hoot, which seemed answered by
another at a short distance among the rocks. Her heart beat violently,
but she pressed her hand to her side to still it, while a smile passed
over her face as she raised her eyes in prayer. Again the owl hooted,
louder than before, and was almost immediately followed by another
somewhat shriller and more sonorous, and she could hear the faint echo
from the precipices beyond the ravine. "He is ready now," she murmured.
"May the good Alla save me!" and she stepped into the court.
The moon shone brightly upon the side of the court where the apartment
was, but she moved noiselessly and gently into the shadow opposite,
and in an instant more she had gained the door of the kitchen court,
drawn aside the blanket curtain, and fled across to the gap. For an
instant she paused to notice if any alarm had been given, but all was
quiet: the silvery moonlight fell on every object around her, and
revealed them--rock and wall, and the ravine of the river beyond, and
the cataract, bathed in her rays, and sparkling in flashes as her light
struck the moving water.
Above her, on the highest bastion of the fort, a sentinel stood
watching, and she saw the glint of his matchlock barrel as he moved.
Then she descended a few steps, and a loose stone rolled down the path.
She heard the soldier above fling a stone at the place with a curse,
conceiving, no doubt, that the noise was occasioned by a prowling
panther or hyena. But Zóra was safe now; a tall figure emerges from
behind a high rock, and in an instant more she was taken up like a
child in Runga's arms. "Silence!" he whispered; "silence, lady! we are
not quite free of danger, but there is no alarm as yet; fear not." Then
two other men joined them, and they sped on as swiftly as the rough
ground permitted.
"I am quite strong now," said Zóra; "let me go, Runga, I will follow
thee."
The relief from Zóra's weight enabled Runga to step more surely, and
he led the way. They descended among the rocks for a time, till they
reached an apparent hole, where two huge masses of granite met each
other. It was all black darkness within.
"Art thou afraid, lady?" asked her conductor; "but have no fear," he
added; "the beasts are all away seeking food. Hold by my waistband and
tread firmly."
Zóra felt no fear, though she almost shuddered at the intense darkness,
and the smell of beasts and bats made her sick and faint. Presently she
saw a glimmer of light at the end, and was reassured. "Let who will
awake now," said Runga, laughing; "we have thrown dirt on the Nawab's
beard, no one has been killed, and thou, Zóra-bee, art safe. I say for
his sake, even my master's, you are safe; but had you been harmed, by
Krishna! the Nawab had died."
They stood on a small piece of level sward, and she could see the three
Beydurs distinctly in the moonlight. They were dressed in their leather
caps, and hunting suits also of leather; and their figures, unless they
moved, could not have been seen. Zóra could not resist the impulse; she
felt she was free, and that these men had risked their lives for hers,
and passing rapidly from one to another, she stooped down and touched
their feet. She could not speak.
"Look!" said Runga, "yonder is the mosque, and a light is burning; they
are looking for us. We have come by the panthers' den, and who dare
follow? Come! we must cross the river ere the dawn rises, and the boats
are ready."
There was no need to urge Zóra on. She felt no weakness now, and she
ran down the slope, lightly as a fawn, into the well-known path to the
bastion. The postern was open, and at her utmost speed she ran along
the soft sward to the house, and rushing into the door abruptly, stood
panting amidst the group within. "Safe! safe!" she cried; "the good God
and Runga have saved me! And Abba, where is he?"
"We have sent him down to the boat," said Ahmed, who was crying like a
child. "Come away! come away! All the things are gone; and your books,
and clothes, and the lady's picture, all safe long ago."
"Only let me look round the court, and I come," she said; "I will not
keep you." All was bare and empty. The morning breeze was just rising,
and sighed among the tops of the tamarind trees. Some pigeons had just
awakened in the mosque, and were cooing gently. All else was still. It
was no time for thought, and Ahmed was calling. They were all assembled
now, and Runga led the way at a rapid pace. By the side of the river
was a fire of thorns and sticks, and a group was standing around it,
amongst it her grandfather, leaning on his staff; and running forward
Zóra fell at his feet, and clasped his knees. "He saved me, Abba! he
saved me!" was all she could ejaculate. It seemed to her that her
heart was bursting with ecstasy. As for her grandfather, he stood
holding his child in his arms, casting his blind eyes up to the sky,
and his lips moved gently in prayer. Old Hoosein-bee was already in the
boat, sobbing for joy.
"Look!" cried Runga Naik, stretching out his arm. "They have missed
you, and are looking for you, Zóra-bee. Look at the torches flitting
about the rocks; but thou art safe now, child. Safe, Abba! Say, have
I done what I promised? Away with ye!" he cried to the rowers; and
under the vigorous strokes of eight oars the boat shot rapidly down the
current, and soon reached the opposite shore in safety.
END OF BOOK I.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] 100th, 112th, 113th, and 114th chapters of the Koran.
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I.
BEEJAPOOR.
Westwards from the city of Beejapoor the ground rises in a succession
of barren downs, which decline in gentle undulations towards the broad
valley of the Done river to the east, the valley of the Krishna to the
south, and the general plateau of the Dekhan to the west and north;
and they form the most elevated portion of the country lying between
the Bheema river to the north and the Krishna to the south. At the
period we write of, these downs were uncultivated, as, indeed, from
the shallow nature of the stony surface soil, they still are for the
most part; and the natural grass was preserved, partly as forage for
the great city, and for the Royal cavalry stationed in its vicinity.
In a military point of view also it was necessary to keep the ground
beyond the suburbs of the city as open as possible on all sides; and in
consequence there were few villages, and but little cultivation, except
market gardens, attached to any of them.
Beejapoor depended for its supplies of grain upon the fertile valley
of the Done, a singularly productive tract exemplified by the Dekhan
proverb, "If the crop in Done fail, who can eat? If the crop ripens,
who can eat it?" The Beejapoor downs bore neither trees nor jungle
of any kind to break the loneliness of their aspect. Here and there
a little low brushwood appeared to struggle for existence; but the
demand for firewood was so great in the city, that the bushes were cut
down almost as soon as they sprung up, and afforded no corn for wild
animals of the larger species. Antelopes, however, were very numerous,
and roamed in large herds over the grassy slopes; while wherever a tiny
rill, issuing from some spring below the crests of the highest portions
of the tract, trickled down a very small valley, its borders were
plentifully stocked with feathered game of all kinds and hares.
From the highest points of these downs many a noble view is obtained
of the country around. The heights descend by gradual slopes into the
less elevated tracts on all sides, producing long, wavy lines, not
only of conformation, but of tints blending in exquisite harmony, from
the decided though monotonous colours of the foreground to the greys,
blues, and dim purples of the far distance. For the most part, on three
sides there are no objects to break the continuous uniformity, whose
monotony is only varied by difference of colour; but to the northward
lies the noble city, then, as now, changing the dreary expanse into a
vision of superb splendour; and it is evident that the aspect of the
city cannot have altered in any great degree in effect for the last
three hundred years.
The isolated palaces of the suburb of Torwéh, and the gardens which
follow the course of the little stream on which they were laid out,
appear from a short distance as perfect and as fresh as ever. The
groves of tamarind and mango trees, out of which they rise, are still
luxuriant; and here and there the feathery palm foliage of a cocoa nut
lends additional grace to the view. Even the palaces, though now ruined
and roofless, have the appearance of being yet perfect, and stand out
of the foliage as if decay and the spoiler had not touched them.
Beyond Torwéh, northwards, the vast city spreads over the plain to
the fort and citadel, which terminates the view. The lines of streets
are distinct, and that of the principal one, three miles in length,
remarkably so; and it is only when the traveller draws near that the
illusion is dispelled, and the streets are seen to be lanes amidst
borders of crumbling walls, and the whole to be a mass of ruin only
broken by the tottering remains of a house, a mosque, a palace, or
other building which has resisted the effects of time and desolation.
Here and there a few houses remain in clusters, which have, as it were,
survived destruction, and have become, indeed, separate villages; but
even they seem to be out of place among the general decay of all around
them.
As the fort wall is approached at the end of the long street it is
seen to be quite perfect. The noble gateway, with its flanking bastions
and loopholed defences, rampart and towers, with their fausse-braye and
broad ditch and counterscarp, lead to the supposition that within, at
least, prosperity still endures; but this, too, is a delusion, for on
every side is ruin even more melancholy and more impressive than that
without. In the outer town there had been few buildings calculated
to resist time. For the most part built of rough stone, with clay
for mortar, and terraced clay roofs, yet had fallen when abandoned
to disrepair; but within, the most, costly palaces, the magnificent
citadel, public edifices which have been palaces, mosques, bazaars,
mausoleums, have toppled down into ruins, or show, if they are still
entire, the condition of neglect into which they have fallen. Thanks
to the British Government, a few of the finest edifices have been
placed in good repair, and are so maintained; but all that was private
property, palaces, gardens, mosques, mausoleums, have already crumbled
away, or are disappearing as fast as their wonderfully tenacious
construction will admit of.
With the ruined aspect of Beejapoor, as the traveller now sees it under
feelings of wonder and admiration, I have no concern. Those palaces,
now desolate, from which the horned owls hoot the night through,
have to be restored; those miles of streets have to be rebuilt and
repeopled; the busy population which thronged the deserted expanse
presented as they were at the period of this tale, when Beejapoor
contained upwards of a million and a half of people, and its Government
was the most powerful in the Dekhan, for the power and prosperity
of the State and its people were then at their zenith, and all that
wealth, taste, and art could do to embellish the Royal city was being
freely lavished by men of all conditions, from the young King Ibrahim
Adil Shah II. to the nobles, merchants, and religious orders over whom
he ruled.
Then, as the spectator, turning round, looked back from the heights we
have mentioned beyond Torwéh, the scene was, indeed, magnificent. The
palaces of Torwéh, perfect in their noble extent, with their bright
terraces, their large carved lattice windows, some of them open, which
showed them to be inhabited, were in bright contrast to their present
condition of huge misshapen apertures, from which the windows have been
torn and removed altogether.
People were moving about these terraces and gardens in all directions,
and the song of the drawers of water at the garden wells was borne upon
the morning air. Beyond was the busy city and its countless objects,
with the smoke rising up from the early fires, and covering it as with
a thin blue veil of mist. Palaces, mansions, bazaars, mosques, temples,
with their spires, domes, and minarets, were intermingled with the
terraced roofs of the houses, and showed no break in the continuity of
the streets and suburbs, leading the eye onwards to the fort itself,
which terminated the view, for here the chief interest of the great
panorama centred, and the noblest buildings seemed clustered together.
To the right, a little way outside the south-east gate of the city, the
noble mausoleum of the Ibrahim Roza was now rising slowly to eventual
completion; and at the period we write of, the mere outlines of one of
the most superb buildings in India were hardly recognisable; but beyond
that, within the fort gate, all the public edifices which now claim
the admiration of those who see them, were then at their gayest and
brightest--the great grim cavalier which overlooks all; the splendid
bastion, on which the largest gun in the world is mounted; the domes of
the mausoleum of Ministers of State, Princesses, and Royal servants,
rising out of the soft foliage of the Royal deer park. Again, the
citadel, with its lines of ramparts, bastions, and wet ditches, its
crowd of Royal palaces and public offices, among which the graceful and
elegant seven-storeyed edifice reared its dizzy height. Many of them
rich with gilding, and all with the perfect appearance of residences
and use.
On the northern edge of the citadel stood the Asar Mahal, then recently
constructed to contain the sacred relics of the Mussulman faith which
had arrived from Mecca, in itself a noble edifice, which of all the
Royal buildings is alone perfect as it was left. To the right of the
citadel rose the fine domes and minarets of the Jooma Mosque, where six
thousand men could kneel at prayer; and thence the eye, passing over
a plain partly bare, used as an encamping and exercising ground, and
partly covered by mosques, private palaces, and dwellings, rested upon
the huge mass and dome of the mausoleum of Sultan Mahmood; all else
seeming to lie at its feet like pigmies. As the dome of St. Peter's
towers above all other objects at Rome, so in Beejapoor all seemed
dwarfed beside and around this huge structure, which, second only to
the Pantheon in outward diameter, was then, as it is still, the glory
of Dekhan architecture. Away to the north was a wide, barren plain,
often the scene of heavy general actions, dotted here and there with
groups of mausoleums, or single edifices, and with a crowd of more
humble tombs, lining the high way to the small village of Allapore,
which occupied the summit of a height behind; and thence away to the
north spread the wavy lines of undulating distance, till they mingled
together in the distant horizon.
As yet all was grey, for the sun had not risen; but his beams were fast
filling the eastern sky, and tinging the light clouds with crimson and
gold, heralding the birth of a new day, and in a few moments more the
fiery globe, magnified by the earth mists, rose over the horizon. The
change then was as striking as it was superb. The eastern plain seemed
filled with a rosy, golden light, and the distinctness of objects was
blurred by it; but nearer, every object in the city and plain assumed
a new beauty; the sombre mass of the great mausoleum shone with a
roseate glow, its gilded spire flashing in the sun; so also the Jooma
Mosque, the delicate Mehturi Mahal, the palaces and gardens within and
without the citadel, with their gilded spires and white terraces.
All that the eye had followed while they were yet dimly grey, burst
on the sight as if endowed with a fresh life from the new day which
had come; even the Royal flag, which had drooped against its staff on
the high cavalier, was stirred by the faint breeze which rose with the
sun, and fluttered out as if rejoicing in the freshness of the dewy
morning, and flags waved from bastions and palaces, and Moslem and
Hindoo shrines and temples; while the early Royal music playing out
as the sun rose, followed by that of nobles who enjoyed the privilege
of the "nóbat," came fitfully and sweetly upon the clear air even to
that distance; and the rosy light of morning passing from the higher
buildings to the lower, lighted up all in an effulgence which was
almost dazzling in its collective splendour.
Ere the sun had risen, a numerous party which issued from the Royal
palaces at Torwéh had ridden slowly up the rising ground beyond, and
spread out very considerably, evidently with the purpose of beating the
grassy slope for game. On the right and left flanks of the line, nearly
a mile from the centre on both sides, heavy bodies of cavalry marched
at a slow but steady pace onwards, regulating their movements by those
of the party in the centre; sometimes halting, if they had proceeded
too far; sometimes despatching parties further to the right and left,
to drive the game as much as possible into the centre.
The cavalry--one division being Abyssinians, the other Dekhanis--were
accompanied by their accustomed bodies of elephants in their war
panoply, and green or scarlet housings; but there was no noisy clash of
bells, as was usual when war elephants moved, lest it should disturb
the deer, and both bodies of cavalry marched with that deep, hollow,
rustling sound which proceeds from large numbers. In the distance,
and before the sun rose, they appeared to be dark, heavy masses; but
a nearer view would have shown the men to be handsomely, not to say
gaily, clad--many wearing shirts of mail, or other defensive armour,
and steel morions, round which gay scarfs were wound; while the
housings of their horses were as rich and gay as their own dresses.
They were by no means uniformly armed, for each man wore what arms he
pleased, or in which he was most expert; but with the Abyssinians, with
whom were bodies of Persians, Tartars, and other foreigners, the bow
seemed to be the favourite; while with the Dekhanis the national spear
showed gay fluttering pennons over the mass of their superb force,
which gave a livelier effect to their detachment than to that of the
other party.
In the centre was a small cavalcade consisting of not more than twenty
persons, all gorgeously attired, who were in attendance upon one to
whom all, it was evident, paid extreme deference. Some of these were
the chief eunuchs of the State, who, for the most part, were Nubians or
Abyssinians; others the chief officers of the hunting establishments,
and the commanders of the bodies of cavalry, who attended to receive
any orders that might be given to them; and although their splendid
costumes and martial figures might well command attention, all seemed
to dwindle in interest before the strikingly attractive figure on whom
they were in attendance.
This was a lady, who, after the fashion of a man, as was the custom
of the Dekhan, rode a milk-white Arab or Dekhan palfrey, of beautiful
proportions and evidently high spirit. Its caparisons were of the
richest, softest bright blue Genoa velvet, deftly quilted and padded,
so that the seat of the saddle was luxuriously soft and comfortable.
The whole of the saddle-cloth, housings, and broad crupper piece, as
well as the neck and head pieces of the suit, were richly embroidered
with heavy gold patterns, studded with seed pearls, in the style for
which Beejapoor was then famous, and of which some of the embroidered
carpets, throne seats, and curtains, still preserved in the Asar Mahal,
frayed and faded now, are interesting examples.
On its crest between its ears stood a plume of glittering feathers,
composed of bright gold tinsel, which stood in a socket of gold set
with flashing diamonds, which sparkled at every toss of its beautiful
wearer's proud head. The bit, a short curb, was of steel, inlaid with
gold and diamonds, while the broad bridle rein, of the same velvet as
the housings, was embroidered with seed pearls like the rest of the
trappings. The beautiful animal in its perfect caparisons was in all
respects an object of true admiration; but, compared with the rider, at
once lost interest and dwindled into a secondary place.
She, for it was the Dowager Queen Chand, sat her horse with the most
perfect grace and mastery of its often fiery spirit, and her costume,
though simple, was suitable to her high rank. On her head she wore a
light steel morion, round which a white muslin scarf of the finest
texture was bound as a sort of turban, and a handkerchief of the
faintest rose colour, with borders of narrow gold tinsel, was tied over
the crown and below the chin, so that the face, except the eyes, was
concealed. Her tunic, worn high to the throat, was of white cloth of
gold of the richest texture, and her breast was crossed by a baldrick
of broad gold lace, which was confined at the waist by another white
muslin scarf, the gold brocaded ends of which hung down at her right
side.
Thus, except the light yellow Persian boots of the softest leather,
which reached high above her knees, and were embroidered in white floss
silk, there was no positive colour about the Queen's figure, and yet
the richness and beauty of her whole equipment were strikingly chaste
and elegant.
The Dowager Queen had worn no colour since her widowhood, and that was
now long ago. On her arms, from the wrists to the elbows, she wore
light gauntlets of steel, inlaid with gold and set with diamonds,
which were clasped over her rounded arms; and upon her right hand and
wrist was the strong glove and gauntlet on which her favourite falcon
sat proudly erect, his light musical jesses clashing with the gentle
motion of the well-trained horse. Nothing could have been more perfect
than the figure of the Royal lady. Her face could not be seen, but the
close-fitting tunic showed a perfect grace of contour; and though the
figure was very small and slight, like that of a girl, yet it displayed
by the firmness of the seat unwonted ease, strength, and confidence.
The Queen's seat was perfect, not even that of the most practised
cavalier could have excelled it. She was seemingly part of the horse
itself, while the animal appeared to feel the light weight he bore only
as a pleasure to urge him to those bounds and caracoles in which his
Royal mistress delighted. It was not often that the Queen could enjoy
a morning ride over the downs with true zest, but the freshness of the
air, the gallant company around her, the Royal falconers, the gaily
caparisoned carts, on which sat the hunting leopards, and the crowd
of beaters, grooms, mace-bearers, and others who followed the Royal
cavalcade, were for the time truly inspiriting.
On the crest of the first of the long waves of elevation which have
been described the Queen drew rein, and turning round looked over the
city. At first the distance was grey and misty, as we have seen it; but
as her eyes wandered over the expanse, they seemed to fill with tears,
as her bosom heaved responsively.
"I have loved thee like a mother her child," she thought to herself;
"and thou art still mine in all thy beauty. How long, how long, O Alla!
wilt thou continue it to me and mine? But with all its faults thou hast
blessed it, and thy poor servant; and thy mercies none can tell. Other
cities have been ravaged, but as yet no enemy hath placed foot in this;
and what could a weak arm like mine have done without thee!"
Almost as she spoke the sun rose up, and the golden and rosy light we
have already mentioned spread over the whole scene, even to her very
feet. Her slight veil had somewhat fallen from her face, and the light
now showed a soft rounded cheek, flushed with rich colour by exercise,
on which the sun's light rested lovingly; while silent tears, also
catching the golden ray, welled up in her eyes, fell over the lids,
and trickled down her cheek. There appeared to be no sadness in them,
only the out-pouring of a great loving heart before its Maker. Then,
too, while the light flashed over her own beautiful dress, it caught
the spears, the morions, and the armour of the bodies of the cavalry in
glittering points, which dazzled the eye and lent fresh splendour to
the martial array.
"Come!" cried the Queen, as she turned her horse, "thou hast been
impatient, my pearl; and thou, too, Diamond," she said to the horse and
the falcon; "but I promise ye a race this morning, if a quarry rise,
that shall content ye. Come, sirs, we linger."
Now that the Queen once was again in motion, the main bodies of cavalry
on the wings fell back, so as not to interfere with the Royal sport.
Two of the light carts of the hunting leopards came to the front, and
took their places considerably in advance of the Queen's line, one on
each hand, while men with sparrow-hawks or small falcons flew them
continuously at quails or partridges as they arose from out of the
thick grass. Now scouts on a crest about half a mile in advance made
signs that a herd of antelopes was near, with several black bucks in
it, and the leopard carts pressed on with somewhat increased speed, the
Queen and her line keeping pace with them.
Thus the carts reached the crest of the rise, whence the view to the
front was open; but the Queen waited below the crest till she should
see whether either of the leopards should be loosed or not, and in a
few moments the result was apparent. One of the leopards had its cap
removed, the antelope pointed out to it, when it leaped gently from the
cart to the ground, making its way gradually towards the herd, which,
partly lying, partly grazing, was in the little valley below; while the
cart in which it had been fastened was driven on to the right, to keep
up the notice of the deer, who appeared to watch it unconcernedly.
Meanwhile, the Queen, with some of her footmen and attendants, pressed
up the ridge, whence the scene could be easily and completely watched.
They could see the leopard distinctly making its way down the slope,
taking advantage of every inequality of ground, of small bushes, of
ant-hills, and even of tufts of grass; creeping softly from one to
another, and crouching to the ground if the deer showed the slightest
symptoms of alarm. Once a huge black buck, the monarch of the herd,
rose from the ground where he had been lying, stretched himself lazily,
and ran playfully after some young fawns who had dared to approach him;
and the leopard seemed to understand this, for it lay as if dead among
some grass of very much its own colour. Presently it looked up, and saw
the buck grazing with its head turned away; and a few more moves were
made, the leopard crouching whenever there was a chance of being seen.
It was a strange sight to watch the extreme sagacity of the leopard in
securing its natural prey. Until it got within a certain distance from
which the deer could be run down, anything might cause a failure; some
skittish doe or fawn might run and alarm the whole herd, and if so all
chance of capture must be abandoned. Now, however, the leopard's runs
were shorter and more frequent, and yet there was no alarm; the deer
were lying on a spot where the grass was short and sweet, and there
were little mounds here and there which afforded ample cover for their
enemy, who was now so near that the Queen could not help exclaiming to
one of the falconers near her,--
"Fie on the brute! he is a coward, Ahmed, and shall be shot if he
fails!"
"Nay, lady," was the reply, "he is no coward. Your slave never saw him
miss. Look!"
As the man spoke the leopard had made at last one spring forward
towards the buck, from a distance of some yards; but ere it could
seize the deer, it had bounded off at a pace which can hardly be
described, followed closely by its pursuer, and for a few seconds it
seemed doubtful whether the speed of the deer or the leopard would be
the greater. The actions of both were beautiful; the deer with its
head thrown back, its body stretched till its belly almost touched the
ground; the leopard's movements so rapid that they could hardly be
followed by the eye. But there was no doubt at last; putting forth all
its speed and strength, the leopard seized the buck by the throat with
its powerful teeth, and with the impetus both rolled over together.
"Shabash! Shabash! Well done, well done! good Julloo!" cried the Queen,
enthusiastically, as she raised her bridle hand and cantered down the
slope, as at the same time the leopard's cart was rapidly driven to the
spot, and the customary offering made to the animal to induce it to
quit its prey. "Shabash! Julloo! Shabash!" said the Queen, as, reaching
the spot, she guided her snorting horse up to the cart, and patted the
sleek skin of the leopard. "Thou hast done well, my son."
"And he is ready to do the same again, lady," said his keeper, with a
profound reverence, "if he may, and if your Majesty be not weary."
"Nay, Hussein, I am never weary of good sport. Time has been, as thou
rememberest, when I, a girl, rode with our Royal master on the plains
beyond the Krishna from morning till sundown, and the sweetest meals
we ever ate were those that thou and thy fellows used to cook for us.
Well, some such thoughts as these came over me as I stood on the top of
the crest yonder; and 'tis no harm telling them to thee, for thou hast
not forgotten old days."
The man looked up, his rough cheeks and grizzled beard wet with tears,
and kissed her foot reverently.
"No, lady," he said, gently. "Those who never forget the humble offices
of their poor servants live in their hearts, and those of their
children. Such an one art thou, and wilt be till Alla calls thee to
join him who is gone! Surely thy poor servant is blessed this day that
he hath brought back the memories of old times that were so happy!"
"And now away; take thy place; there will be no more deer till the
next ridge is passed; and this herd took to the west, I think. Then we
will go southwards, and beat round by the Talikota road; perchance we
may find a heron or a floriken, for the falcon is impatient;" and she
rode on up the gentle slope before her, which was clothed with the low
soft white grass in which floriken like so much to lie; and she had not
reached the crest before a fine bird rose silently out of the grass and
flew lazily on.
In an instant, however, the Queen had loosed the hood of her favourite,
and cast off the cord which tied its leg to her wrist, and the noble
bird at once darted in pursuit of its quarry. The Queen followed, and
her spirited horse strained at the bit to increase his speed; but
the Queen contented herself with keeping the birds well in view, and
watching the final swoop, though it might be prolonged. Indeed, few of
the Royal falcons could ever succeed in striking down a floriken strong
on the wing; its powerful swift flight, its endurance of distance, were
very different from the comparatively sluggish flight of a heron; and
it required a really good rider and horse to follow the direct flight
taken. Fortunately, on these downs the ground was firm if sometimes
stony, and the Queen rode on nearly at full speed until she saw that
except a few distant horsemen she was quite alone. Still she did not
slacken her speed, and alternately ridge and valley, valley and ridge,
were passed; and still the birds flew. At last the floriken turned, and
strove to evade its pursuer; but the effort was futile. After a few
turns the falcon struck it down, and began tearing off its feathers.
Just then a man, who was evidently one of the cavaliers of the city,
dashed up at full speed, and dismounting from his horse began to call
in the usual manner of hawkers to the falcon, but the bird did not know
him, and paid no heed to his endeavours; and at this moment the Queen,
dashing over a slight eminence by which she had been concealed, and
crying to the stranger to refrain, drew rein and called to the bird
herself, at the same time tossing a small strip of flesh in the air,
which she took from a pouch at her saddle-bow.
"Who art thou that interferest with the Royal falcons, and who taught
thee falconry to attempt to secure a hawk in that clumsy fashion? Who
art thou?" she said, sharply.
"Your Majesty has forgotten me," said the young man, removing the scarf
with which he had tied up his face during his march; "and yet may allow
your slave, Abbas Khan, to kiss your feet;" and the young man advanced
and made a low obeisance, even to the ground.
"Mercy of God!" cried the Queen; "and thou art surely in the flesh!
Why, they told me thou hadst been killed in battle; then that thou wert
sorely wounded, and dying in some fort."
"Thy slave is in truth here, and his destiny is propitious that he hath
thus met your Majesty alone. But is it seemly that my Royal mistress
should be thus alone? Where be all the laggard attendants?"
"No one could ride with me, Khan. None of their heavy war chargers have
so fleet a foot as my Mótee. Nay, by all the saints, he seems as if he
had not forgotten thee."
"Nor need he, lady," was the reply, "for I have often fed him and
exercised him, and have taught him some of his paces." And Mótee had
not forgotten his kind teacher; he buried his nose in his hand, and
rubbed it gently against the young Khan's breast.
"And who is this?" cried the Queen, smiling, as a strange figure rode
up on an ambling palfrey. "By all the saints, was there ever so strange
a figure on a horse!"
"It is my friend, the Senhor Padré of Moodgul, whom I received orders
to bring with me. Dismount," he said to the priest; "this is the Queen,
and thou shouldst give her thy salutation."
"Nay, but my blessing," said the priest, humbly, kneeling on one knee,
and taking off his hat and bowing low. "The blessing of God and Mary
the mother of Jesus be on the most noble and virtuous lady of her time!"
"The blessing of a holy man is ever acceptable to me," said the Queen,
with a gentle inclination.
The Padré had made no alteration in his usual priestly attire. His
broad-brimmed shovel hat of his order covered his head; his black
cassock descended almost to his feet; inside, he wore a pair of strong
riding drawers and his under garments, and a pair of simple sandals on
his feet.
"A Nazarene Fakeer," continued the Royal lady; "as such thou art
welcome to our house. But who taught thee to speak such excellent
Persian? I could follow thee at once."
"I learned it in my Lord's service, as I learned Canarese also,"
replied the Padré; "but I speak Canarese better."
"Wonderful!" cried the Queen; "it is even as I heard when I sent for
thee. Abbas Khan, wilt thou see to the good man's comfort till I can
give my own orders?"
"And his sister, Doña Maria, is in the litter which they have set down
yonder."
"I had hoped so," returned the Queen. "I fear I shall not be able to
see her at once. We shall be at Torwéh till to-morrow evening, and the
next day there will be a durbar in the gilded palace. Fail not to come."
"And my uncle, lady?"
"He is away with the King towards Purendah. There is no peace, I grieve
to say, with Ahmednugger; but thou hast heard this. And thy wound is
well?"
"It is quite healed, and now I am strong again, ready for my Queen's
service wherever it needs me."
"Ah, well! we will speak of that by-and-bye, Abbas Khan; but meanwhile
have great care to thyself, for I have heard unpleasant rumours, and
thou knowest I am thy well-wisher. Do not cross the Abyssinians; they
are not friendly, I hear, to thee. But I cannot explain more here, a
body of them is in the field with me, and it would be well if thou
couldst avoid them. Take the road by the Roza, it will be the safest."
As she spoke the Queen turned her horse, and without waiting a reply,
cantered up the slope by which she had come, and meeting her attendants
at some distance, displayed her trophy of the chase.
"Ye were but laggards," she said, with a smile, to the eunuchs. "I, and
my Diamond, had all the honour, had we not?" and she stroked her glossy
favourite's plumage, caressingly.
"But how did your Majesty get the bird? Who held your stirrup? Surely
you have been too rash!" said the head falconer.
"I did not dismount, my friend. A passing traveller picked it up for
me, and Diamond came to my wrist at my call. Enough, sirs, for to-day;
we are far from the palace, and the sun grows hot, even though my
umbrella is over me. Take Diamond from me, one of ye, he is too heavy
for my arm now that the chase is past."
CHAPTER II.
A RETROSPECT.
As the Queen rejoined her party she rode on in silence, musingly. "They
told me," she thought to herself, "I should never see the boy again;
that he lay wounded and dying in a distant fortress; and there were
many who wished, doubtless, in their hearts that he had died--many to
whom news of his death would have been welcome, to prevent strife. Yet,
would that have prevented it? Alas! how many times hath it sprung out
of trifles! How often the streets of my city have been red with the
blood of my own people! And now, again, these scenes may be renewed if
this poor fluttering heart be not firm! Ever since his dying mother
put him, a babe, into my arms, and said he was my son--ever since
his father, wounded to death, gave his hands into mine, and asked
me--for the sake of the blood shed for me--that I would be a mother
to him, have I not been so? Brought him up with the King, as his
foster-brother; borne with all his waywardness and rashness, and yet
loved to hear of his gallant deeds, and his devotion, and his honour?
And now am I to believe that he is an assassin and a coward? that he
slew Elias Khan treacherously, and abandoned his people to destruction
without striking a blow in their behalf? No! His face is as fair and
open as ever. His eyes could not have met mine so frankly had they
been those of a coward and traitor; and I must hear from his own lips
all the particulars of what has occurred ere I can make any decision.
I should not fear were the King present; but he is far away, and some
time must elapse ere he returns. Yet why should I fear? Greater crises
have passed over me than this; and the just Alla will help me to avert
strife, as He has done before. My boy will come to me to-morrow. He
shall attend the durbar, and in that he will hold himself, as he ever
doth and ever will, as a true and brave man should. I will caution him
to speak the truth fully, yet not so as to give offence, and among
soldiers who hear him that will carry greater weight than my poor
words. So, O beating heart, fear not, for the Lord is just, and thus I
trust, though I am but a weak woman."
The little colloquy with herself seemed to have revived the Queen's
confidence; her joyous spirits returned, and, as was usual with her,
she chatted gaily with those around her; and the field duty being
concluded, many of the leaders of both Abyssinians and Dekhanies joined
the cavalcade which preceded and followed her to the Royal palace.
I think, however, that it would be interesting to my readers to know
something of the real antecedents of this Royal lady; and without
attempting history, which would be out of place, I may be able to
review some of the events of her life briefly, yet with sufficient
distinctness to furnish materials from which her character may be
judged, at least, in some respects. The Mussulman historian, Mahomed
Kasim Ferishta, is fond of the character of Queen Chand, and very
simply, yet on every appropriate occasion, holds it up to admiration.
Yet this is little in comparison with the traditional knowledge of the
Queen which lives still among the people of Beejapoor and Ahmednugger,
and displays the popular affection for the Royal lady in a manner at
once affecting and sincere.
Chand Sooltana was the daughter of Hoossein Nizam Shah, the King of
Ahmednugger; and at the period at which the crusade against the Hindoo
Prince of Beejanugger was determined on, the alliance of Beejapoor
and Ahmednugger was cemented by a double marriage. Ally Adil Shah of
Beejapoor gave his sister to become the bride of Moortuza, the Prince
Royal of Ahmednugger, while he took the beautiful daughter of the King
of Ahmednugger to be his own bride. The great battle which decided the
supremacy of Hindoo or Moslim in Southern India was fought on the right
bank of the Krishna river in 1563, with immense loss on both sides;
but the powerful artillery of Ahmednugger, equipped and used in the
field under European system, mainly contributed to the victory which
the cavalry of Beejapoor secured. On former occasions there had been
alliances by marriage between these Royal houses which had had good
effect in preventing those jealousies and wars which had been but too
common; and on this occasion the result was no less beneficial.
After the war was over, the Royal pair betook themselves to the
settlement and pacification of the new provinces which, under the
terms of partition, had fallen to the lot of Beejapoor. These had
been ruled over by petty Hindoo barons and chieftains, who held these
possessions in feudal tenure, and had always been noted for turbulence
and disorder. They belonged, indeed, for the most part to the clans of
Beydurs who had held them for ages, and acknowledged the rule of no
power, Hindoo or Moslim, except when they were too weak to resist. In
this delicate work the Queen took a very active and most beneficial
part. She visited the Hindoo Princesses, was their advocate with the
King, and gradually brought them to yield to love and consideration
what they would never have yielded to threats or violence. Gradually,
too, the King's authority was established over all the new territory,
and though the work occupied some years, it was complete. All this
time the Royal lady was her husband's constant companion. She was not
secluded, and rode with him as he marched or hunted, without a formal
veil, though in deference to custom her face was always slightly
concealed. She was never absent from him in case of any resistance or
skirmish, and she became as familiar with war as he was himself. All
this time, however, her education proceeded. She became skilled in
Persian and Arabic, and spoke Turkish, Toorki, and the dialects current
in the army with ease and fluency, as well as Canarese and Mahratta,
which were the vernacular languages of Beejapoor and Ahmednugger. And
she had many other accomplishments. She drew and painted flowers with
great delicacy; she played upon the vina with skill, and sang with a
delightful voice many Persian ghuzals, and the pathetic Hindoo ballads
of her own native tongue. But, alas! she had no children.
Ally Adil Shah, her beloved husband, died in 1580, or sixteen years
after her marriage. At this period she must have been twenty-five
years old, or thereabouts. The King left no male heir, but by his will
appointed his nephew Ibrahim, son of his brother Thamash, to succeed
him, and the Queen Dowager as his guardian and Regent of the Beejapoor
kingdom, then, except the Moghul Empire of Dehly, the largest Mussulman
power in India; and thus the Queen's independent political life began.
Heretofore she appears to have led a joyous and peaceful existence,
without care. Her husband, though of a warlike disposition, fostered
trade, literature, and arts of peace; and after the destruction of
the Hindoo power he became at liberty to prosecute those great works
for the defence and adornment of his capital which still remain
as monuments of his enlightened liberality. By him the city was
surrounded by a superb wall of stone and a broad deep ditch. The
Jooma Mosque, which held six thousand persons at prayer, was begun and
completed. The whole of the city was supplied with water, the pipes of
which were laid through every street. A magnificent reservoir, called
the Houz-î-Shahpoor, was excavated and surrounded with apartments and
cloisters for merchants and travellers. In all these works, including
the King's mausoleum, which, however, was never completed, the Queen,
according to the traditions and contemporary records of Beejapoor, took
an active part, and was the King's constant companion in directing
them. She was his chief almoner also, and her charity and sympathy for
the poor were unbounded. In all this love and confidence she had no
rival; the King had no other wife, nor yet a mistress.
There is a portrait of the Queen still, I hope, in existence at
Beejapoor, taken before her husband's death by some Persian artist at
the Court. It is a profile, exquisitely painted in body colour, with
none of the stiffness which usually accompanies Oriental pictures. The
features are regular and very beautiful; the eyes large, of a soft
brown, with long dark eyelashes, the eyebrows arched. The mouth is very
sweet and gentle in expression, and bears a slight smile; but there
is a decided tone of firmness about the full round chin and graceful
throat; and the forehead, though not high, has a breadth and power
which must have been very remarkable. Altogether the Queen's is one of
those faces which, once seen, is never forgotten; and the complexion is
fair, with a faint tinge of carnation through the cheeks, which makes
it almost European. Could Titian but have painted the face, it would
have been one of the most perfect and interesting in the world. Her
acknowledged beauty, her talent, and her sweet disposition, rendered
her a popular favourite, and though local parties at Beejapoor were
often seriously divided, all accepted her regency with enthusiasm.
Kamil Khan, a nobleman at the head of the Dekhany party, who had
been employed as Executive Minister by her husband, was confirmed in
that capacity by the Queen Dowager, while she herself superintended
the education of the young King as her especial duty. Every day,
except Wednesday and Friday, he was seated on the throne to hear the
transactions of public business, accompanied by the Queen, who sat
veiled immediately behind him; and for a time Kamil Khan behaved
with every apparent respect and fidelity, but the man was base and
treacherous at heart. His constant endeavour was to sow dissension
between the Queen and her nephew; and his ill-usage of the people and
general unpopularity reached such a pitch that the Queen, finding
remonstrance of no avail, determined to remove him from office.
Kishwar Khan, a friend of her late husband, and whose character was
hitherto above suspicion, was invited to Court, and on his arrival
in the citadel with a small retinue, Kamil Khan, who had no friends,
fled to the outer wall, leaped into the ditch, swam across it, and
eventually passed the outer wall of the city by letting himself down
by his turban. He was pursued, however, and overtaken in his flight
towards Ahmednugger, and perished in a vain attempt to resist the
parties sent to apprehend him. But it was a rare thing in those times
to find any Minister of a native kingdom true to his duty and his
faith. Submissive, and apparently faithful for a time, Kishwar Khan was
unable to escape the temptation to which his office exposed him. He
became, according to the history of the time, haughty and insolent, not
only to the Queen, but to the nobles and officers of State, and she was
strongly advised by many to dismiss him. It had been well had she done
so at once. She had resolved to appoint Syed Moostafa Khan, Governor of
Bunkapoor, to the office, but her desire was frustrated by a horrible
and base act of treachery. An order under the Royal seal was secretly
written by Kishwar Khan, and despatched to Bunkapoor to a confederate,
who, in concert with the officers of the garrison, and believing the
purport of the Royal order to be true, put the unfortunate nobleman to
death.
The Queen's grief and anger at this infamous transaction, which had
resulted in the death, under her own supposed order, of one of her
oldest and most valued friends, knew no bounds; but she was helpless
before the power of the Minister who held sway over the Dekhany portion
of the army and the civil administration, and began to propagate
rumours that the Queen was secretly instigating her brother, Moortuza
Nizam Shah, now King of Ahmednugger, to invade the territories of
Beejapoor, and even to annex the kingdom to his own. Pretending the
utmost consternation on the subject, and fidelity to the young King, he
rushed with disordered clothes into his presence, and demanded for the
safety of the throne either that the traitorous Ahmednugger Princess
should be put to death, or confined for life in a distant fortress. The
young King bravely preserved his aunt's life, which was in imminent
danger, at the hazard of his own; but he could do no more, and under
acts of the most studied and offensive insult, Queen Chand was forced
out of the harem, and publicly carried off to the hill fort of Sattara,
one hundred and twenty miles distant.
The Minister had, however, only increased the love and sympathy of
the people of the capital for their beloved mistress. He endeavoured
to regain popularity by a splendid entertainment to the King; but as
he rode in the Royal cavalcade through the streets he was hooted by
the women, dust and ashes thrown upon him, and he was reviled as the
oppressor of the Queen and the murderer of Moostafa Khan. On such
occasions of violent popular excitement in the East, there is seldom
time or opportunity for flight, and the Queen's partisans were not
idle. Advantage had been taken of the absence of the largest portion
of the army on the northern frontier to force her from the city; but
these troops were now hurrying back to Beejapoor, and the very day
before their arrival, Kishwar Khan took the King to one of the Royal
gardens, not, as was believed by most, with the intention of putting
him to death and usurping the crown; but, as is perhaps more probable,
of concealing his own flight, for, leaving the King in the gardens, he
fled at once towards Ahmednugger. He arrived there, but was refused
shelter, and proceeding to Golconda, was slain by one of the relatives
of Moostafa Khan, in revenge for his kinsman's death.
Delivered from Kishwar Khan, the young King at once sent for his aunt,
and her office of Regent was resumed. The new Minister, Ekhlas Khan,
was an Abyssinian, but, like all his tribe, violent and uncontrollable,
and the factious dissensions which ensued between Dekhanians and
Abyssinians, which led to bloody contests in the streets, encouraged
the invasion of the kingdom by the Kings of Berar, Beedu, and Golconda,
and the close investment of the city followed at a time when there were
not two thousand troops for its defence. Ekhlas Khan, though turbulent
as a Minister, was, however, a brave and faithful soldier, and the
city was well defended. The Queen, accompanied by her nephew the King,
went from post to post at night, though the weather was the severest
of the rainy season, cheering, encouraging, and directing all. Two
divisions of cavalry without the walls did good service in cutting off
supplies and forage from the enemy and harassing their flanks; but at
last twenty yards of the city wall fell down after a night of heavy
rain, and an assault was imminent, but, owing to dissensions in the
enemy's camp, did not take place. Meanwhile the Queen, taking advantage
of the respite, not only guarded the breach in person, but collected
the masons of the city, and setting the example herself, and freely
distributing rewards, had the breach completed in time to prevent any
chance of attack by storm. She had never left the spot by day or night,
and all entreaties for her to spare herself from the inclement weather
and take rest were unavailing.
The sore straits to which the kingdom had been reduced by the violence
and obstinacy of the Abyssinian party now struck them so forcibly,
that their leaders went in a body to the Queen and laid down their
authority, beseeching her to do what she pleased with them so long as
she and the King were safe. The Queen received this evidently earnest
submission in a generous spirit. A new Minister, who possessed the
confidence of all, was appointed, and in less than a month an army of
twenty thousand of the old troops had collected at the capital. The
Queen's devotion and spirited personal valour had inspired confidence
in all, which now amounted to positive enthusiasm. The city had been
invested for more than a year, its weak garrison was often mutinous
and despairing, a large breach had occurred in the works, and without
them anarchy prevailed throughout the whole kingdom. Yet this noble
woman had redeemed all by her personal example, and the siege was
raised, the several allies retiring to their own dominions. And now the
Queen hoped for peace.
Alas! it was not to be yet. Dilawar Khan, one of the military
commanders, attacked the Minister, and blinded him, usurping the
Executive power. Many other atrocities were committed, and again the
Queen's authority was reduced to the mere control of the palace and
education of the King. But, in spite of many cruelties, Dilawar Khan
was an able administrator; the resources of the kingdom were again
developed, its Government began to be respected, and no more attacks
were made upon its possessions. The events I have detailed were crowded
into the space of four years, and as the King was approaching the age
at which his majority could be declared, the Queen hoped that with it
the rest and peace she so intensely longed for would come to her. But
there was still more to be done.
Not at Beejapoor, but in her native city, Ahmednugger. The King
Moortuza asked for the hand of Khodeija Sooltana, the sister of his
ward the King, for his son the Prince Hoosein, and considering that all
trouble at Beejapoor was at an end, the Queen Chand accompanied the
bride elect, the Royal party being escorted by the choicest of the
Ahmednugger cavalry. She had hoped to find peace in her old home; but
she found that home more convulsed with faction, and more distracted
within and without, than when she had left it. Her brother, Moortuza,
always violent, had become in reality mad, and had attempted the life
of his son Meerass, who, in revenge, attacked his father in the palace
at Ahmednugger, and caused him to be suffocated in a hot bath. An
account of this revolution is given minutely by the historian Ferishta,
who was in command of the palace guards, and which is very dramatic in
its details, but too long for extract. He does not, however, mention
the Queen Chand, who must have been in the fort at the time of the
tragedy. The new King did not long survive this act of parricide, and,
after a few months, was seized by his Minister and publicly beheaded
amidst the execrations of the people. After his death a frightful
tumult arose: the fort was carried by the mob, and hundreds of persons
of distinction, chiefly foreigners, perished. A period of anarchy then
ensued, when Ismail, a son of Boorhan, who was brother of Moortuza
Nizam Shah, and, therefore, nephew of Queen Chand, was declared King;
and Jumal Khan, head of the Dekhany party, constituted himself Regent
and Minister. This revolution was opposed by Beejapoor and Berar, and
the troops of the latter were defeated by Jumal Khan; but peace was
concluded with Beejapoor, and Queen Chand, wearied by constant strife
and atrocities which she had no power to control, was allowed to join
the Beejapoor army then in the field, and returned with it, though with
no authority, to the capital, there, as she trusted, to end her days
in peace. She was received by the people with their former enthusiasm,
and by the young King with no diminution of his old affection; but she
took no part in public affairs, which, under the young King, were very
prosperous. At Ahmednugger other revolutions followed with which this
tale has no concern. Ismail, who had succeeded, was, after some time,
attacked by his father, Boorhan, who had obtained the aid and sympathy
of Akbar, Emperor of Dehly, and was deposed, and Boorhan himself
reigned till his death in 1594 in comparative peace. He was succeeded
by his son Ibrahim, a weak, violent prince, and the fortunes of the
kingdom will be understood from the course of the present story to its
close. At Beejapoor Queen Chand lived in peace, and only assumed local
authority at the request of her nephew whenever his temporary absence
was necessary in tours of his dominions or in the field.
Such were the real antecedents of our "noble Queen." I trust they may
not be considered out of place in a work professedly of fiction, but
tend to make more intelligible that which would be otherwise, perhaps,
strange and confused. Few in England know that the contemporary of our
Queen Elizabeth in the Dekhan kingdoms was a woman of equal ability,
of equal political talent, of equal, though in a different sense,
education and accomplishments, who ruled over a realm as large, a
population as large, and as intelligent, and as rich as England; a
woman who, surrounded by jealous enemies, preserved by her own personal
valour and endurance her kingdom from destruction and partition; who,
through all temptations and exercise of absolute power, was at once
simple, generous, frank, and merciful as she was chaste, virtuous,
religious, and charitable--one who, among all the women of India,
stands out as a jewel without flaw and beyond price.
CHAPTER III.
THE EVENTS OF A DAY.
Abbas Khan had no intention of disregarding the Queen's directions to
avoid the body of Abyssinian cavalry which he would have met if he had
gone by Torwéh and the main streets of the city. It would have been
pleasant, no doubt, to have exchanged greetings with old friends of
all kinds, merchants and others, who lived in the great thoroughfare;
and at one time he had thought of lodging the priest and his sister
with a certain Armenian banker and jewel merchant who was well known to
him; but the priest had expressed some doubt as to consorting with the
Armenians, who were, as he explained, heretics in faith, and chances
of disagreement were better avoided in a strange place. "No matter
how humble they may be, we should prefer our own people. I have heard
they are numerous in the city, in the service of the King, and have no
spiritual guide among them," said the priest; and they rode on together.
Musing on his own affairs, and arranging in his mind how he should
lay the whole best before his Royal mistress, Abbas Khan rode slowly
on towards the city. Passing through the great cemetery known as the
Roza, or Garden, in which the mausoleum and mosque of the reigning King
were then in course of erection, and entering by the south-eastern
gate, he had completely avoided the outer portion of the city, and was
on the direct road past the citadel, to his uncle Humeed Khan's house,
which lay to the north-west side of it, not far from the stupendous
mausoleum of Mahmood Adil Shah, commonly known as the Gól Goomaz. This
was, if we may call it so, the most aristocratic quarter of the fort.
Here were the mansions of Ankoos Khan, of the Nawab Mustafa Khan, of
Khawar Khan, and a host of other noblemen, all surrounded by pleasant
gardens and courtyards, according to their pretensions. That of Humeed
Khan was by no means one of the largest, but it was a substantial,
comfortable residence, and its well laid-out garden was perhaps
superior to most others in its vicinity.
Abbas Khan had sent on his own baggage and the priest's overnight, with
a note to his aunt to announce his arrival; he was met, therefore, at
the gate by his trusty steward and a crowd of retainers, and by several
of the chief women servants, who, with trays containing mustard seed,
flowers, spices, and small lighted lamps, waved them over his head,
with cries of welcome; and bidding the steward see to the comfort of
the priest and his sister, Abbas Khan passed on into the inner court
of the Zenana, where his aunt, with her chief attendants, was ready to
receive him.
And it was a warm welcome that the Lady Fatima accorded to her long
absent nephew. She stroked his face fondly, and passed her hands over
his person from head to foot, kissing the tips of her fingers; and at
last, fairly casting ceremony aside, took him in her arms and embraced
him heartily, holding him from her from time to time as if to assure
herself that he was in very truth her own son. Fatima Khanum had,
however, no real son; one had been born years ago who had died young;
her two daughters were married, and with their husbands in different
parts of the country, and the good lady had adopted Abbas, the son of
her husband's late brother, as her son; and the boy had grown up before
her, the foster-brother of the King so long as his age permitted of
his living at the Royal palace, and afterwards with herself, until the
service of war and of the State called him into active life, since when
she had seen him rarely, and till the present occasion it was months
since he had been near enough to ride home to see her.
"Yes, thou art the same Meeah," she said, as the tears coursed down
her face, and an occasional sob of joy broke from her; "the same, only
stronger and more manly. But take off thy heavy mail and morion, and
sit here by me till thy bath is ready, and tell me all thy adventures.
Nay!" she continued, as he was about to seat himself on his cushions,
"not a word will I hear till thou hast bathed and eaten. I have
provided for thy friends in the garden pavilion, where they will be
quite private, and more at their ease than among us. Now away, and
return as soon as thou canst, when thou art refreshed."
The return to his old luxuries was by no means unacceptable to the
young man. The delicious bath, the offices of the eunuchs in attending
him, and their skilful manipulations; the absence of his heavy mail
shirt, greaves, and gauntlets, and the light fresh clothes ready for
him, gave him a sense of relief such as he had not enjoyed since he
left home months ago. Since then he had had unremitting active service
in the field, and was, indeed, never at rest even for a day; for alarms
were constant, skirmishes with rebel parties frequent, and anxiety
always present that he might be outwitted or overwhelmed by superior
forces. Nor was he quite easy about his men. Except ten retainers, all
the household troops were with his uncle, and the rest of those under
his command were at best uncertain, and often, indeed, insubordinate
and mutinous.
For before the plans of Eyn-ool-Moolk were developed, the Beejapoor
soldiery in the western part of the kingdom were much divided in
opinion as to whether it would be most profitable to join the Prince
Ismail's party, and to obtain the rewards in money, rank, and estates
that were so freely promised; or to hold to their own old position in
the State army, and be faithful. Abbas Khan's situation, then, had been
a trying one in many ways; but it was one he had sought himself, and
through all risk or positive danger he was determined to do his duty.
His stern uncle would accept nothing less in any case, and under any
failure would, he knew, cast him off for ever. Part of this we have
explained before, but it is necessary that his position should be
entirely known to account, for its peculiar interest.
I need not recapitulate the events which had occurred, and which, now
refreshed by his bath and breakfast, and with his aunt's own hookah
specially provided for him, Abbas Khan related with animation. His
wound was long since healed, but the discoloration of the cicatrix
showed clearly through the thin muslin tunic he wore, and the history
of it was none the less interesting that it could be seen and felt. The
Lady Fatima sat in an ecstasy, now weeping, now flushing with anger,
fascinated by the detail as it flowed with an eloquence and power which
were new to her; but when her nephew pressed her to tell him what
account had been given of him by those who had returned and by general
rumour, she was silent.
"I was sent for yesterday," she said, "by the Queen, who ordered me to
tell you nothing. She expects you to-night, and purposes to tell you
all herself; and you must bear me witness, by the love you have for me
and her, that I have told you nothing. I sent a messenger to inform her
that you had arrived, but she is still at Torwéh, and will not return
till after the afternoon prayer, and you will not hear till then.
Meanwhile many will come to see you, and you may hear something, but
believe nothing till you hear it from the Queen herself."
"And why this mystery?" asked the young man; "why do thine eyes fill
with tears? Danger is too familiar to me to dread it, and I know of no
enemies but the faction of Elias Khan; what have I to fear from that?"