CHAPTER I.

[Illustration:

_Frontispiece._ Page 363.

JEHANGIRE GOING TO VISIT MHER-UL-NISSA.]

_THE “PRIZE LIBRARY.”_

LEGENDARY & ROMANTIC

TALES OF

INDIAN HISTORY.

BY

THE REV. HOBART CAUNTER, B.D.

[Illustration]

LONDON:

FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.

AND NEW YORK.

PREFACE.

This Volume of Legendary and Romantic Tales of Indian History was one

of a series of historical tales founded on the histories of England,

France, Spain, Italy, and India, which obtained great popularity when

first published.

The copyright of them having passed to the present Publishers, they

have been induced to reproduce them in a compact form--complete in a

single volume--in the belief that by so doing they will be adding to

the literary pleasure of another generation.

PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION.

The success of the several series of “Romantic Tales of History”

already published has induced the publishers of these works to extend

them in order to embrace a portion of history generally considered

extremely exuberant in romantic features. The present series will be

confined to the Mahomedan conquests in India, in the records of which

are to be found numerous events of signal and stirring interest,

which, while they develope the character of a distant people in a

remote age, serve also to confirm many fine axioms of moral truth by

exhibiting how, under all the variations of clime and fluctuations of

circumstance, the great result of human actions is everywhere the same.

This being a portion of history with which the general reader is less

familiar than with that embraced in the preceding series of this work,

the choice has been made under the impression that it may lead to a

more extended reading of those annals which contain some of the most

interesting facts to be found in the records of ages.

But while I feel that the subject is an important one, I have not been

insensible to the difficulties with which it is encompassed, and in

proportion to the success of those volumes already before the public

has my consciousness of these difficulties been raised, for, feeling

that I have had greater impediments to success to overcome, I cannot

but be less sanguine in the expectation that I have realized what has

been so well done by my predecessors in a similar field.

Romantic as are many of the events which the Mahomedan annals supply,

they are nevertheless all of one tone and colouring. They want the

delightful blendings and tintings of social circumstances. Their

princes were despots, their nobles warriors, their governments

tyrannies, and their people slaves. The lives of their most eminent

men, who were distinguished chiefly for their deeds in arms, present

little else than a series of battles. Their principal amusement was the

chase, in which similar perils to those presented in war were courted

for the stern glory which followed desperate achievements.

If, therefore, in the following tales the variety should appear

less than in those found in the volumes of the same work which have

preceded these, the cause, and consequently the excuse, must lie in the

materials. Besides this, those beautiful features of domestic life so

frequently witnessed in our western world have little or no existence

in the land to which the present volumes are devoted. Women confined

in harems, and not admitted to the tender and endearing enjoyments of

family intercourse, degraded below the dignity of their nature and

of their reason, treated as secondary beings, as mere instruments of

pleasure, and as created for no better purpose than to perpetuate the

human race, are no longer objects either for the rich colouring of

romance or the graver delineations of moral narrative.

Great variety of character is not to be found among those isolated

beings who are so well calculated to cast a glory upon the human

pilgrimage,--not that variety of character does not exist, but it

is not developed. All the pictures of life, therefore, among such a

community will necessarily possess a certain sameness inseparable from

their very nature. I have, however, endeavoured to vary the materials

as much as was consistent with the régime of the history, though I

sometimes found them very intractable. I can scarcely hope that I have

succeeded in a labour of no common difficulty, but trust, nevertheless,

that this last series of “Romantic Tales of History” may not be found

undeserving of public patronage.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

THE TRAVELLER’S DREAM 3

THE IDOL OF SOMNAT 23

THE ROYAL MERCHANT 71

THE ABYSSINIAN SLAVE 100

THE RAJPOOT MARRIAGE 125

THE MAHOMEDAN NIMROD 167

THE RIVAL BROTHERS 203

THE SIEGE OF GUALIOR 240

THE PARIAH 266

THE DEFENCE OF CHITTORE 304

THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD 335

THE PRINCE AND THE FAKEER 393

THE OMRAH’S DAUGHTER 424

THE REVOLT OF THE FAKEERS 456

THE MAHRATTA CHIEF 474

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

Heg. 351. (A.D. 962.)--Aluptugeen, governor of Khorassan, broke out

into open rebellion and marched to Ghizny, which he subdued, and there

established an independent power. Munsoor, King of Bokhara, hearing of

this defection, conferred the government of Khorassan upon Abool-Hussun

Mahomed, son of Ibrahim Sunjur Toorkoman, and thrice sent armies to

attack Aluptugeen, which were on both occasions defeated. Aluptugeen

retained his independence fifteen years, during which his general

Subooktugeen frequently defeated the Indians.

Heg. 365. (975.)--Aluptugeen died, and was succeeded by his son Aboo

Isaac, who survived his accession but two years.

Heg. 367. (977.)--Subooktugeen was unanimously proclaimed king

of Ghizny by the nobles and chiefs. He had married the daughter

of Aluptugeen, and became as celebrated for his justice in the

administration of his government as for the extraordinary popularity he

acquired among his subjects of all conditions. During the first year

of his accession, Subooktugeen conquered the province of Candahar.

Resolving on a war with India, he marched in that direction, and having

taken certain forts, caused mosques to be built, and then returned with

considerable spoil to Ghizny.

Jeipal, a powerful prince of India, of the Brahmin caste, raised a

numerous body of troops to oppose the Mahomedans, and brought together

a great number of elephants, with a design to attack them in their own

country; but the King of Ghizny, sending an army to oppose the Indian

chief, the hostile forces came in sight of each other on the confines

of Lumghan. Here some smart skirmishing ensued, and Mahmood, the son

of Subooktugeen, afterwards celebrated as the conqueror of India,

though then but a boy, gave proofs of that valour and conduct which so

eminently distinguished his future life.

Jeipal’s troops having suffered from a dreadful storm of hail which

killed the cattle of the army and several thousand soldiers, their

general made proposals for peace, which, contrary to the advice of

Mahmood, were accepted by the King of Ghizny.

Jeipal, on reaching his capital, refused to fulfil the conditions,

and Subooktugeen again marched his forces towards Lahore. The Indian

general advanced to meet and give him battle. The Hindoos were

everywhere defeated, and pursued with prodigious slaughter to the

banks of the Neelab. By this victory the conqueror acquired immense

wealth, and a considerable accession of territory, causing himself to

be acknowledged king over the conquered country, and appointing one of

his officers with ten thousand horse to the government of Pishawur.

About this time died Munsoor, King of Bokhara; he was succeeded by his

son Nooh, against whom a formidable rebellion was raised by a chief

named Faik. Nooh having formed an alliance with the King of Ghizny,

the rebel was attacked and defeated by the latter, for which signal

service the sovereign of Bokhara conferred upon Subooktugeen the title

of Nasir-ood-Deen, Hero of the Faith; and upon his son Mahmood that of

Syf-ood-Dowla, Sword of the State.

The rebel Faik having again collected his forces, attacked Mahmood

unexpectedly and defeated him, taking his baggage. The father hearing

of his son’s disaster, marched to his relief, routed the insurgents a

second time, and thus completely quashed the rebellion.

Heg. 387. (997.)--Subooktugeen fell into a lingering disorder. Being at

this time at Bulkh, he determined to try change of air, and accordingly

commenced a journey to Ghizny. He had travelled only a few miles when

he was obliged to stop at Toormooz, a town not far from Bulkh, where he

expired, his remains being carried to Ghizny for interment.

The Traveller’s Dream.

CHAPTER I.

In the forests of Candahar, a solitary traveller was pursuing his way.

Overcome by the heat of noon he sat down on the margin of a small

stream that gurgled through the thick underwood, allowing his horse to

crop the fresh herbage upon its banks. The scene around him was gloomy

but imposing. So thick was the growth of the jungle that the sun’s rays

could not penetrate, except here and there, where patches had been

cleared by the charcoal-burners or for purposes of fuel; and these were

comparatively few. Some of the trees were of a growth so stupendous as

to impart a character of sublimity to the whole aspect of the forest.

Many of them reached the prodigious height of a hundred and thirty

feet, presenting a straight branchless stem, which rose like a colossal

pillar from the ground to the altitude of twenty yards without a single

branch or even a sprout upon its surface. Under the vast leafy canopy

which spread out above it, the wild elephant frequently reposed, and

seemed, by comparison with the stately growth beside which it rested,

but as some ordinary animal.

It is far from the haunts of men, amid the deep recesses of the

forest, or on the summit of the distant mountain, that nature is seen

to develop the noblest features of her beauty. The stillness that

reigns around, the solemn repose of the scene, not broken in upon by

human associations, nor interrupted by the voice of human intercourse,

enhance the impression of grandeur produced by the sight of objects

which cannot fail to elevate the soul to pious adoration of the great

and illimitable God of the universe.

The stranger was impressed by the somewhat painful novelty of his

situation, and solemn thoughts were awakened in his heart. He sat

calmly gazing upon the brook as it bubbled before him, when his

attention was suddenly roused by a crashing of the bushes, immediately

accompanied by a loud roar, and in another moment his horse was

prostrated by the paw of a huge lion. The traveller started from his

seat, drew his sword, and coming behind the ferocious visitor, cut the

sinews of its hind leg, and before the animal could turn, repeated

the stroke on the other, and thus completely disabled it. The savage

instantly relinquished its prey, but so tremendous had been the

stroke of its paw and the succeeding laceration so extensive, that

the poor horse rolled upon the streamlet’s bank in the agonies of

death. The lion roared with appalling fury--its eyes glared--its mane

bristled--but it was unable to resent the injury it had received. It

dragged itself forward upon its fore-legs with a vain endeavour to

retaliate. Its vanquisher approached fearlessly, struck it across the

skull with his sword, and, repeating the stroke, laid it dead at his

feet.

The loss of his steed was an untoward event, and as he would now have

to make his way through the forest on foot,--as, moreover, the sun had

long passed its meridian, he determined to pursue his journey without

further delay.

Strapping to his shoulders a kind of wallet which had been fastened to

his saddle, he commenced threading the thicket. His journey was long

and arduous, but on emerging into an open space, he saw a doe grazing

with her fawn. The latter had just been born, and the traveller coming

suddenly upon them, secured the little one, while the affrighted dam

fled in terror. Pleased with his capture, he bound the fawn’s legs, and

placing it under his arm, proceeded on his way.

He now quitted the cleared space, and plunged again into the jungle,

satisfied at having procured something to relieve his hunger, should

he be obliged to pass the night in the forest. When he had at length

reached a convenient spot where he might prepare a meal, he placed

the fawn beside the trunk of a blasted tree, and having kindled a

fire by the friction of two dry pieces of wood, he was about to

sacrifice the little animal, but perceiving the mother at a short

distance gazing upon him with an expression of the deepest distress,

he paused. The tears rolled down her cheeks--her head was raised, and

her eyes intently fixed upon the stranger’s countenance. They next

turned upon her innocent offspring that lay bound at the root of the

tree, unconscious of its danger, but still yearning for its parent.

She gradually advanced within a few yards of the spot on which the

traveller stood. He retired several paces; the anxious dam immediately

sprang towards its young, lay down by it, and caressed it with an

intelligible joy. On the traveller’s approach she quitted her fawn with

a bound of terror, but still retreated only a few yards, manifesting

the strongest symptoms of maternal suffering.

It was an affecting sight--an irresistible appeal to human sympathy.

The heart of the stranger was moved to pity, his bosom heaved with

generous emotion, and under the impulse of a fervid and holy exultation

he released the fawn from his captivity. The tender creature instantly

ran to its mother, which, with a cry of joy, passed forward towards

the thicket; but before she was secluded from the sight of him who had

delivered her young from death, she turned round as if with a look of

grateful acknowledgment, and plunged with her delicate offspring into

the close cover of the forest.

This was an act to gladden the heart of a good man. Life is the blessed

boon of Heaven, and the greatest of its gifts: to the mere animal,

the loss of it is the loss of all; and yet how wantonly does man

trifle with the life of animals, to which it is an object of such high

enjoyment; for dumb creatures, having no apprehension of pain, possess

the highest sense of mere corporeal fruition, so long as they are not

actually suffering.

The release of the fawn had softened the stranger’s sympathies and

impressed his feelings. Taking from his wallet a small quantity of

rice, which had been already boiled, he made a homely but grateful

meal, and determined to pass that night on the spot, endeared to him

by the consciousness, which it kept alive, of having performed a

benevolent action.

It was a heavenly night. The light of a clear moon peeped through the

trees, and seemed to dance in ten thousand phosphoric coruscations, as

the slender branches, agitated by a gentle evening breeze, diverted

its course for the moment, or trembled in its gentle beams. The

forest gloom contrasted solemnly with the silvery light of the deep

azure expanse above, and the general repose of nature, at that still

hour when man retires to rest from the stir and bustle of day, added

an additional tone of solemnity to the scene. The beast of prey was

abroad, and, as it prowled, its occasional roar was a sort of diapason

to nature’s imposing harmony.

The traveller having collected some dried leaves strewed them under

the broad foliage of a tree, the branches of which formed a thick

canopy within six feet of the ground, and casting himself upon this

easy woodland couch, courted that slumber which his fatigue had

rendered welcome. His reflections were peaceful. He reverted to the

occurrences of the day, and though the loss of his steed was a subject

of uneasy recollection, yet it was more than countervailed by the

happy remembrance of that little episode in the brief chronicle of his

life, which he never afterwards reverted to without satisfaction--the

restoration of the fawn to its bereaved dam.

He lay for some time pursuing the quiet tenour of his contemplations,

occasionally lapsing into a state of half-consciousness and

then reverting, by a sudden impulse of the mind, to perfect,

self-possession. At length, overcome by the active process of his

thoughts and fatigue of body, he fell into a profound sleep, in which

some of the most striking events of the past day were presented to his

imagination, combined with new associations, and invested with new hues

and a more varied colouring. He dreamed that he was visited by the

Prophet, who approached him in shining garments, from which a glory

was emitted so dazzling that he could not gaze upon it, and said--“The

generosity which you have this day shown to a distressed animal has

been appreciated by that God who is the God of dumb as well as of

rational creatures, and the kingdom of Ghizny is assigned to you in

this world as your reward. Let not your power, however, undermine your

virtue, but continue through life to exercise that benevolence towards

man which you have done this day towards the brute.” Having uttered

these words, the celestial messenger disappeared, and the stranger

awoke.

The moon was still bright in the heavens, but he could not again close

his eyes in sleep. The vision was too strongly impressed upon his

waking senses to allow them to yield to the gentle solicitations of

slumber. He arose, and watched the clear “pale planet,” through the

trees, as it slowly marched towards the horizon to make way for the

brighter dawn.

The dews fell heavily, and a thin silvery mist began to rise and invest

every object with an ashy tint, as the moon gradually faded in its

far descent behind the distant hills. The grey dawn at length broke

slowly over the plain, but was not perceptible to the traveller’s eye

until the valleys were flooded with the young dewy light. The mist had

thickened. The leaves of the trees dripped with their liquid burthen,

and every spot that was not protected by a mantle of thick foliage,

presented a bloom of moisture from the atmosphere, that seemed tinted

with hues from fairy-land. Each blade of grass curved under its watery

load, bending its delicate neck as if proud to bear the pure deposit of

the skies. Everything was clothed in the same soft drapery, which was

shaken off by the morning breeze, when each object resumed its natural

variety of hue, and harmonious conformity of light and shadow.

The traveller gathered together the leaves on which he had slept,

kindled them, and taking a small cocoanut hookah from his wallet,

smoked his chillam; then, making a scanty meal from the cold rice,

refreshed himself with a draught of the dews which he had allowed to

drip during the night into a plantain leaf doubled up in the form of a

cup.

Although his repast was a spare one, it was taken with a pure relish,

and having once more strapped his few articles of baggage upon his

shoulders, he prepared to resume his journey; but first turning

his face towards the holy city, he offered up his devotions with

pious fervour, and supplicated the protection of Heaven through his

wanderings.

As he pursued his solitary way through paths to which he was a perfect

stranger, he could not help recalling the vision which had haunted

his sleep. It had come so vividly before him that he more than half

persuaded himself it must have been intended to be a direct revelation

from Heaven, and yet, that a man without a name, without a home, a

stranger in the land, should become the monarch of a powerful empire,

seemed one of those impossibilities only to be dreamed of, but never

realised.

To his calmer reflections, the night-vision appeared nothing more

than the lively operation of a fancy excited by sleep, and which

had been rendered the more keenly alive to impressions from certain

peculiar coincidences of events that had deeply interested him, and

from those reflex images presented in slumber in consequence of the

strong feelings which those coincidences had awakened within him.

Nevertheless, in spite of the apparent unreasonableness of the thing

promised, the utter improbability of such an event taking place, and

the force of his arguments upon the folly of harbouring such a thought,

he could not expel from his mind the singular revelation of that night.

CHAPTER II.

The traveller now pursued his way through the intricacies of the

jungle, with much difficulty and equal patience. He had not long

quitted the spot of his last night’s repose, when, entering a small

glade where the wood had been cleared, he perceived a group of eight

men, seated round the glowing embers of a fire, some smoking, and

others apparently devouring the last of their morning’s meal. Knowing

that retreat would be of no avail to secure him from their hostile

intentions, if they were enemies, he boldly approached, and inquired

his way to the nearest hamlet. One of the men rose, and meeting him,

said with a significant laugh,

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind ending your journey here?”

“Indeed but I should. If you can direct me on my way, well; if not, I

have no time for parleying.”

“Good! but travellers that pass through these woods are in the habit of

paying for safe-conduct.”

“I require no guide, and therefore must decline the tribute.”

“Hark’ye! Do you think your single arm a match for eight pair? Be

advised, and lower your tone. We live here by our good wits, levying

contributions when the opportunity invites, and living on what the

forest provides, when such opportunities fail us. We must have what you

carry upon your shoulders, your money, and your provender, if you have

any. When we make our demands, remember we take no denial.”

“Then I am in the presence of robbers?”

“Ay! and what then?”

“This, that I shall not submit to your exactions, though you had a

hundred, instead of seven, to back you!”

The robber laughed; and, turning to his comrades, said, “Here’s a

fellow that wont be plucked without fluttering; we must try blows to

bring down the game, if he chooses to be deaf to persuasion. Come,”

said he, turning to the traveller, “get rid of that unsightly hump upon

your shoulders, and show how straight a man you are when you stand

upright, without an incumbrance.”

“Life,” replied the traveller, “is only to be valued at its worth;

and I am ready to relinquish mine, if it be Allah’s will, in defence

of my property. ’Tis no great matter for a man to die, who has known

little else than crosses in this world, and has nothing better to look

forward to. Take heed then, though you be robbers, and such are seldom

merciful, how you impede the progress of a desperate man.”

Saying this, he retreated towards a tree, against which he placed

himself, and drawing his sword, declared his determination to resist to

the death.

The robbers paused, surprised at the determination to oppose himself

against such palpable odds; but, in order to prove how the hero had

miscalculated his chances, one of the men discharged an arrow, and

transfixed his sword-arm, pinning it to the tree. The traveller

immediately snapped off the shaft, and raised his arm to strike,

but it fell powerless beside him. He was instantly overpowered and

disarmed; but upon examining the contents of his load, great was the

disappointment of the bandits. They scattered its contents upon the

ground, deriding the stranger’s risk of his life for property so

valueless.

“Well,” said the robber who had already spoken, “as he keeps no purse,

we must make one out of him. His limbs are of the right mould, and your

purchasers of slaves will give something for a sturdy labourer. We’ll

bid you good-bye when we can provide you a master who knows how to

pay for being furnished with a brawny pair of shoulders, that he may

lay his own load upon, without carrying them under his own head. Come

along; you shall rest quietly till that awkward puncture in your arm is

healed, and then you shall be shown the way to the next hamlet.”

The stranger’s arms were bound with his turban, and he was forced to

proceed between two of the bandits. They entered the thicket, and

after a walk of about five minutes, stood before several rude huts,

formed in one of the closest recesses of the forest. These hovels were

constructed from various growths of the jungle, a small square spot

having been cleared in front, where the outlaws smoked, cooked their

curries, and held their councils. Each hut accommodated a family, for

all the men were married.

As there was no spare dwelling for the stranger, one was immediately

constructed by a couple of the robbers, and completed in about two

hours. It consisted of a few slight bamboos, driven into the ground

at intervals of a foot, under the foilage of a low tree, which formed

the roof. These bamboos were crossed with smaller canes, and the

interstices filled with broad leaves and dried grass: the turf being

cleared from within, the habitation was complete.

On the third day after his capture, the traveller was commanded to

prepare for a change of condition. His wound was doing well, but the

arm continued useless. His hands had not been released from the bandage

by which they were confined when he was made captive. He was brought

out into the area before the huts.

“Now,” said the principal bandit, addressing him, “what say you to a

change of life, in the mode at least? We are robbers; our business

requires quick heads and stout hearts. You are a brave son of a good

mother: what say you to a union of interests with those who, as you

see, know how to live, and when provisions get scarce, are not over

nice in appropriating them without purchase?”

“I fear,” replied the prisoner, “that I have too quick a conscience for

a robber. You had better not trust me: I should betray you.”

“We’ll run the risk; a brave man never can discredit his courage, and

to skulk in the track of treachery is the choice only of cowards. We’ll

trust you.”

“You would act then with a fool’s discretion; for brave men should be

honourable, and ’tis an honourable act to proclaim rogues, who are the

bane of society:--not to proclaim them would be an act of treachery

against honest men.”

“In truth, I did not take thee for an honest man, though I did for a

brave one; but I suspect thee to be neither, and only fit to rub a

horse’s crupper, and perform the slave’s drudgery. So be it, thou shalt

soon know thy vocation.”

“These bonds are thy security,” said the traveller, raising his hands,

which were still tied with the turban. “Cowards are always brave, when

they are beyond the reach of danger. Does it become thy manhood to

insult a maimed and unarmed man?”

This appeal, though it galled the pride, roused the better spirit of

the robber, and he said:--“Well! our notions of valour may be like

our notions of honesty; therefore, let both be a divided question;

but, since you decline joining your fortune with ours, you must settle

our demand for home and nourishment, and as you seem to have no gold

of your own, we must turn you into a disposable commodity, and get

something for our trouble and care of you.”

The stranger now proceeded with his captors, and, after a march of some

hours, they reached a village bordering upon the forest. It consisted

of a few miserable huts, and its inhabitants were of the lowest

class. Shortly after their arrival, a merchant made his appearance,

who purchased the prisoner from the robbers; and he was left with a

stranger in the new and unenviable character of a slave. This was

anything but a realization of his dream; it however satisfied him, if

he harboured a different conviction before, that dreams are the mere

fantastic creations of an excited brain, and he felt ashamed of having

allowed so flimsy an illusion to obtain one moment’s influence over his

mind.

There was nothing to be gained by despondency, and he resolved to

submit to his destiny, with a secret trust in God, and a determination

to direct the tenour of his life according to the pure suggestions

of a rigid and inflexible conscience. So soon as he had become the

merchant’s property, the latter examined his wound, and, having

carefully dressed it, as carefully felt his chest and limbs, in order

to form some idea of the texture of his muscles. This preliminary

settled, he expressed himself well satisfied with his purchase. The

merchant was a little shrivelled man, with a light brown complexion,

exhibiting a dull ochreous tinge, as if in him the whole biliary

structure were placed in his head. He had a thin straggling beard,

so scattered over the corrugated surface of his sharp-pointed chin,

as to give him the appearance of a senile hag, rather than that of

a venerable slave-dealer. He was accompanied by several athletic

attendants, who amply made up in bone and sinew for the deficiency of

their master in both particulars.

Having asked his new slave a few questions respecting his former habits

of life, and thus ascertained that he had been accustomed to those

hardy exploits likely to have inured his body to endurance, calculating

that he should make a handsome profit by his bargain, the thrifty

chafferer ordered him to be carefully attended to. After a day’s rest

at the village, the merchant directed his route towards Khorassan,

whither they arrived, after a laborious journey. The slave was lodged

at the house of his purchaser, who fed him well, and used him with

sufficient kindness, in order to bring him into the best possible

condition for sale. He took care to have it rumoured that he had a

stout handsome fellow to dispose of, such as could not be matched in

all Persia; in consequence, many persons, willing to purchase, came to

see the marvel; but, finding that the description was not exactly borne

out by the reality, and the sum demanded being more than they could

afford, or were willing to pay, they declined entering upon a bargain.

The merchant began to grow impatient; and, as he was daily incurring

an expense without profit, he thought it would be better to abate

something of his demand and conclude an immediate sale, than to throw

away more money upon the doubtful chance of obtaining a better price.

An expedient, however, struck him. Conceiving that bondage could be

desirable to no man, it occurred to him that the object of his anxiety

and late disappointment might have the means of purchasing his own

freedom. When this bright conclusion came across his mind, delighted

with the excessive novelty of the thought, he argued that a man ought

to pay more for his own liberty than another for the privilege of

withholding it from him, because it was a far greater benefit to the

one than to the other; and he consequently determined to raise his

demand in proportion. With a portentous smile quivering upon his

features, he approached the object of his anticipated gain, and said--

“Would you not be glad to enjoy your freedom?”

“You may as well ask a starving man if he loves rice.”

“Are you willing to pay for it?”

“How?”

“In money.”

“No. I am not disposed to buy what is the blessed boon of Heaven, and

of this you have no more right to deprive me than I have to cut your

throat, which you well deserve, for being the encourager of knaves and

the supporter of brigands.”

The old man’s countenance collapsed like a death’s head, and, without

uttering a word, he tottered from the presence of his incensed captive,

as if stung by a scorpion.

From this time he treated his prisoner with much more rigour than he

had hitherto done, and at length came to the resolution of putting a

collar round his neck, and forcing him to perform offices of drudgery

for a daily compensation. It however fortunately happened that

Aluptugeen, Governor of Khorassan, hearing a favourable account of the

slave, desired to see him. He accordingly made his appearance, and was

immediately purchased by the governor, to the no small gratification of

the slave-merchant.

CHAPTER III.

The purchase being completed, the slave was removed to the Governor’s

palace. Here he was placed among the household servants; but

Aluptugeen, soon perceiving in him the promise of better things, had

him about his person, and he shortly became an obvious favourite with

his master. This flattering impression continued to increase, and he

was at last advanced to a post of some distinction in the state. Seeing

in his slave such superior endowments, Aluptugeen one day inquired of

him concerning his birth. The slave replied:--

“My history is brief. Though in bondage, I have done nothing to

disgrace my parentage. I was born free, though in poverty; I am

lineally descended from Yezdijerd, the last of the Persian monarchs,

who, as you no doubt well know, when flying from his enemies, during

the Caliphate of Othman, was murdered at a water-mill near the town of

Murv. His family, being left in Toorkistan, formed connexions among the

people, and his descendants have become Toorks. I am now a Toork.

“I was brought into the world amid poverty and destitution; but the

very wants to which my youth was subjected forced me to exert the

energies with which the Omnipotent had endowed me, and I became at an

early age skilled in the sports of the field, of a hardy frame and

daring temperament, with the determination of seeking and securing my

own fortune. My father, a man of information and letters, in spite of

the pressure of penury, did not neglect to instil into my mind the

obligations of virtue, and store it with the seeds of wisdom; I may

therefore be said to have been better educated than many who figure in

the courts of princes.

“From my earliest days, I had entertained a presentiment that the poor

Toorkoman’s son was born for something better than to pass his life

in indigence and obscurity. Under this impression, false as it has

hitherto proved, I quitted my father’s house in my nineteenth year, and

was on my way to join the armies of Ghizny, when I fell into the hands

of robbers, and have in consequence become the slave of a most generous

master.”

Aluptugeen was pleased with the history of his dependent, whom he soon

raised to still higher honours under his government. The favourite did

not disgrace his freedom, but rose rapidly into favour, until at length

was conferred upon him the distinguished title of Ameer-ool-Omrah,

chief of the nobles. He became now the first man in Khorassan, and was

finally placed at the head of Aluptugeen’s armies. He brought them to

a state of the highest order and discipline, led them on to conquest,

and was the idol of the troops. The enemies of his master were awed

into submission by the superior genius of his general, and peace and

prosperity prevailed throughout the empire. His rise to distinction was

as signal as it was rapid, and he could not help frequently reverting

to his dream in the forest, which appeared gradually advancing towards

its accomplishment. His father lived not to see the exaltation of his

son, but that son had his mother conveyed to Khorassan, where she

enjoyed the happiness of seeing him hailed by the public voice as a

great and good man.

What a singular change had come over the destiny of the stranger within

the lapse of a few years! The bondsman, who had bent the knee to his

superiors, was now bowed to as a great and glorious being. He was

the favourite of the Governor of Khorassan; he directed his master’s

councils, commanded his armies, and was the oracle of his cabinet. He

was constantly with the Governor, and nothing of moment was undertaken

without his advice. He was now the happiest of the happy. Beloved by

his ruler, the idol of all subjected to his control, the terror of

those neighbouring potentates who were hostile to the government of his

kind patron--he had scarcely a wish to gratify, and he felt that the

clouds which had hung upon the dawn of his career had rendered the

succeeding brightness only more vivid and joyous.

Aluptugeen had a beautiful daughter, whose affections were courted

by the most powerful nobles of Khorassan; but she continued deaf to

their advances. She was a woman of rare endowments, and therefore an

object naturally coveted by such a thought themselves in a condition

to woo her. She was not to be won. Many, with whom her father would

have gladly sought an alliance, were rejected, and the beautiful Zahira

remained unwedded. Her coldness was the universal topic of expressed

surprise; still she listened not to the voice of the wooer. She was

her father’s only child; and he felt naturally anxious, through her,

to perpetuate his race: the disappointment therefore saddened him. But

there appeared no remedy, as he did not choose to interfere with the

antipathies or predilections of a beloved daughter.

As the Ameer-ool-Omrah resided in her father’s palace, Zahira had

continual opportunities of seeing him. They frequently met--they

frequently conversed--and such meetings and such conversations begat

mutual good-will. The quondam slave soon perceived that he was not

despised; his admiration for the daughter of his patron grew at length

into a warmer feeling, and he became conscious that he loved her. He

was aware of the splendid offers that had been made to her, which she

had refused. He knew the extreme fastidiousness of her approbation, yet

was he disposed to think, or at least to hope, that she might be won to

return the ardour which glowed in his bosom towards her.

It was impossible they should frequently meet, without that optical

revelation which is invariably made where two hearts throb in unison;

and when he was satisfied, by the eloquent exchange of a certain

tenderness not to be mistaken, which the eye so legibly communicates

when it is really and evidently felt, that his passion for the lovely

daughter of Aluptugeen was returned in full force, he no longer

hesitated to declare his passion, which declaration was received with

an approbation that excited him to a perfect delirium of joy.

“Lady,” said the Ameer-ool-Omrah, in avowing his passion, “though once

a slave, I am lineally descended from a long race of kings; your purity

of blood will not therefore be tainted by an alliance with one who,

from the lowest degradation of bondage has attained to the highest

condition of freedom.”

“Noble,” replied the lovely Zahira, “in the choice we make of

those who are to guide our destinies, we should look rather to the

moral qualities of the man we select, than to those adventitious

circumstances which may either make him a sovereign or a beggar. To

choose a wealthy man is easy; to choose a man of birth and distinction

in the courts of princes is not more difficult. I have had the choice

of both; but to select a virtuous man, is one of the few auspicious

occurrences of our lives.”

“Lady, I pretend to no virtue, beyond those of the nobles who compose

the brilliant assemblage of your father’s court. There is, that I know

of, but one main difference between us; they have inherited rank and

opulence--it came to them without effort; mine, though descended from a

line of kings, has been obtained with the point of my sword.”

“I am content to share with you,” said Zahira earnestly, “the happiness

or misery of a united lot, provided my father withhold not his consent;

for I have no will, whatever wish I may entertain, apart from his. Duty

to a parent is only exceeded in intensity of obligation by duty to a

husband, and she who would fail to perform the one, would not be very

likely to perform the other.”

“I will immediately seek the Governor, and make known to him our mutual

desires. He esteems me highly, as I have reason to believe; but how far

his pride may struggle against his friendship, is a circumstance to be

ascertained.”

On that very day, the Ameer-ool-Omrah sought an audience with

Aluptugeen, and declared his passion for the daughter of that prince.

The Governor expressed no surprise, but said, “You know Zahira is my

only child--a sweet blossom, that now for sixteen summers has blown

round my heart with a purity and a fragrance that has rendered life to

me a scene of enviable enjoyment. It is my duty, therefore, no less

than my wish, to render that girl happy. She has already been solicited

in marriage by four different princes, who possess each an extensive

dominion and wide political influence; but she has rejected them.

Several nobles of my court have made advances to her with like success.

In such a solemn matter I shall neither bias nor direct her. You must,

therefore, win her consent before you can obtain mine.”

“I have avowed my passion, and your daughter has condescended to accept

my vows. She waits but your decision. If you are averse to our union,

my doom is sealed; if you approve of it, my happiness is secured.”

“If you have her consent I shall not withhold mine, and may the

blessing of that great and good Being under whose sanction marriages

are ratified, attend your union! She has at least fixed her heart upon

a worthy man, and I am satisfied.”

The marriage was almost immediately solemnized with great pomp and

splendour; and though some of the rejected nobles looked with envy upon

the happy bridegroom, it was nevertheless an event that diffused joy

throughout the whole district of Khorassan. Shortly after this union,

on the death of Abdool Mullik Samany, who reigned over Transoxania, the

nobles sent a deputation to consult Aluptugeen regarding a successor.

The dynasty of Samany was very powerful. Its power extended over

Khwaruzm Marvur-ool-Nehr, Jourjan, Khorassan, Seewustan, and Ghizny.

The Kings held their court at Bokhara. When the deputation arrived

from Bokhara, Aluptugeen hesitated not to express his opposition to

the accession of Prince Munsoor on the plea of his being too young,

recommending that his uncle should for the present assume the reins of

government.

Before this answer reached the capital, a party had placed Munsoor

upon the throne; consequently, when the young King sent a summons for

Aluptugeen to show himself at court, the latter, apprehensive that

mischief was intended, made excuses, and did not appear. In the year of

the Hegira, 351, and 962 of our era, Aluptugeen raised the standard of

rebellion and marched to Ghizny, which was subdued by the bravery and

conduct of his son-in-law, and there established an independent power.

Munsoor, hearing of this defection, conferred the government of

Khorassan on a noble of his own court, and sent armies to attack

Aluptugeen, which were successively defeated by the husband of

his daughter. This raised the latter still higher in the love and

confidence of the troops. His arms were everywhere victorious. The

power of Munsoor was abridged, and he began to tremble for the security

of his kingdom.

During fifteen years, Aluptugeen retained his independence. He was

frequently engaged in war with the Indians, in which his troops were

invariably successful. He lived to a good old age, and died A.H. 365,

A.D. 975, regretted by his subjects. He was succeeded by his son

Aboo-Isaac, who immediately upon his accession proceeded to Bokhara,

accompanied by his brother-in-law the Ameer-ool-Omrah. Aboo-Isaac

was well received by Munsoor, who granted him a formal commission as

governor of Ghizny. His general was likewise appointed by the King as

his brother-in-law’s deputy and provisional successor.

Aboo-Isaac survived this event but a short period, when the husband

of Zahira was unanimously acknowledged King of Ghizny by the chiefs

and nobles. Thus was the dream fulfilled--the quondam slave became

a powerful sovereign, and was no less a man than the celebrated

Subooktugeen, father of the still more celebrated Mahmood Ghiznevy, who

may be termed the first Mahomedan conqueror of India.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

Heg. 387 (A.D. 997).--On the death of Subooktugeen, his second son

Ismaeel, who had prevailed on his father in the latter’s last moments

to appoint him his successor, ascended the throne of Ghizny. Mahmood,

though an illegitimate son, disputed his brother’s right of succession;

and a battle ensuing between their respective armies, Mahmood

prevailed. Ismaeel was immediately confined in a fort in Joorjan; where

he remained until his death, and his victorious brother ascended the

throne.

Heg. 390 (1000).--Mahmood defeated Khuluf, governor of Seestan. He also

marched into India and made himself master of several provinces.

Heg. 391 (1001).--The king of Ghizny obtained a victory over the army

of Jeipal, who, together with fifteen sons and near relations, was

taken prisoner, five thousand of his troops being slain on the field

of battle. Among the spoils were sixteen necklaces inlaid with jewels,

one of which, belonging to Jeipal, was valued at a hundred and eighty

thousand dinars, the dinar being about the value of nine shillings

sterling. Jeipal, having resigned his crown to his son, in compliance

with the customs of his race, ordered a funeral pile to be prepared,

and setting fire to it with his own hands, perished in the flames.

Heg. 392 (1003).--Mahmood again marched into Seestan and brought

Khuluf, the governor, prisoner to Ghizny.

Heg. 395 (1004).--Rajah Beejy Ray, governor of Bhateea, having

refused to pay tribute to Anundpal, the son of Jeipal, on whom he was

dependent, Mahmood took Bhateea by assault; two hundred and eighty

elephants, numerous slaves and other valuable spoils were obtained in

the town, which the conqueror annexed, with all its dependencies, to

his own dominions.

Heg. 396 (1005).--Elik Khan, king of Kashgar, and father-in-law of

Mahmood, invaded the latter’s territory. Mahmood was returning from the

siege of Moultan when the news reached him. He immediately hastened

to meet the invader, and a desperate battle was fought near Bulkh, in

which the king of Kashgar was entirely defeated. This year the king of

Ghizny likewise defeated Sewukpal, who had thrown off his allegiance,

and made him prisoner. The rebel was compelled to pay four hundred

thousand dirhems, about eight thousand three hundred pounds sterling.

Heg. 399 (1008).--Mahmood made himself master the fort of Bheem.

There, on account of its vast strength, the Hindoos had deposited the

treasure consecrated to their idols, so that the booty obtained by

the conqueror was prodigious; the specie alone, independent of plate,

bullion, and jewels, is said to have amounted to upwards of three

hundred and thirteen thousand pounds sterling.

Heg. 401 (1010).--Mahmood defeated the prince of Ghoor, and annexed his

country to the dominions of Ghizny.

Heg. 402 (1011).--Mahmood reduced Tahnesur, a holy city of the Hindoos,

about thirty miles west of Delhi, which he plundered, broke the idols,

and sent the principal idol Jugsoma, to Ghizny, to be trodden under

foot. A ruby is said to have been found in one of the temples weighing

four hundred and fifty miskals; a size altogether incredible.

Heg. 404 (1013).--The fort of Nindoona, situated in the mountains of

Bulnat, was reduced by the king of Ghizny.

Heg. 406 (1014).--Abool Abass Mamoor, king of Khwaruzm, obtained

Mahmood’s sister in marriage.

Heg. 407 (1015).--Abool Abass Mansoor fell by the hands of

conspirators, but his death was revenged by his brother-in-law, who put

the murderer to death.

Heg. 409 (1017).--The king of Ghizny took the fort of Mutra, in

which he found immense treasures. He next invested the fort of Rajah

Chundpal, which surrendered almost immediately. Having likewise

defeated Chundur Ray, he returned to Ghizny loaded with spoil, with

which he built a magnificent mosque, known by the name of the Celestial

Bride. In its neighbourhood the king founded a university, which was

supplied with a vast collection of curious books in various languages.

It contained also a museum of natural curiosities. For the support of

this establishment he appropriated a large sum of money, besides a

sufficient fund for the maintenance of students and proper persons to

instruct them in the arts and sciences.

Heg. 410 (1019).--The king of Ghizny caused an account of his exploits

to be written and sent to the Caliph, who ordered it to be read to the

people of Bagdad, making a great festival upon the occasion, expressive

of his joy at the propagation of the faith of Islam.

Heg. 412(1021).--Mahmood defeated Nunda Ray, who had slain his ally the

Rajah of Canowj, securing considerable treasure, besides four hundred

and eighty elephants. His general also reduced Nardein, in which was

a famous temple containing a stone with curious inscriptions, and,

according to the Hindoo traditions, forty thousand years old.

Heg. 415 (1024).--Mahmood marched to Somnat, which he finally took, and

destroyed the celebrated Idol, in the belly of which was discovered a

quantity of diamonds, rubies, and pearls of immense value. Among the

spoils of the temple was a chain of gold weighing two hundred mauns, or

about four hundred pounds weight. It hung from the top of the building

by a ring and supported a great bell, which called the people to

worship.

Heg. 417 (1026).--Mahmood returned to Ghizny after an absence of two

years and six months. This year he marched against the Juts, destroyed

four thousand, and according to some eight thousand, boats. Few of the

Juts escaped destruction: those who did, fell into the hands of the

conqueror.

Heg. 418 (1027).--Mahmood died at Ghizny in the sixty-third year of his

age. He reigned thirty-five years, and was buried by torch-light with

great pomp and solemnity in the Kesr Firozy at Ghizny. This celebrated

monarch was in person about the middle size, but well made, and

strongly marked with the small-pox. His son Mahomed succeeded to the

throne.

The Idol of Somnat.

CHAPTER I.

Shortly after the sun had risen, a beautiful Hindoo was washing her

graceful limbs in the crisp waters of the sea, which gently curled

over a smooth pebbly beach, a short distance from the fortifications

of Somnat. This town was situated on the neck of a peninsula washed on

three sides by the ocean, and fortified with great strength. There was

only one approach to it. It was reported that the Ghiznivites, under

Mahmood their sovereign, were on their march towards the town in large

force, at which the infatuated Hindoos affected to rejoice, proclaiming

in the frantic wildness of their enthusiasm, that their great idol,

to whom all things upon earth were obedient, had drawn thither the

Mahomedans to blast them in a moment and to avenge the destruction of

the various gods of India. Upon this vain-glorious boast they appeared

to rely.

The town was crowded with inhabitants who seemed determined to

resist to the last gasp of life the threatened assault of their

foes. Nevertheless, they trusted more to the imagined supremacy of

their idol, than to their own efforts of resistance. Though the

fortifications were strong for the period, when cannon were not

employed in sieges, and even the battering-ram was but seldom resorted

to, yet, being only of mud, they were not impregnable to the assaults

of a brave and resolute foe. They were defended, moreover, by a host of

fanatics, thousands of pilgrims, and crazy visionaries who crowded to

worship the celebrated idols contained within their walls, forming the

uncertain instruments of defence, against which the hardy and resolute

troops of Ghizny, inured to warfare and accustomed to conquest, had to

contend.

The inhabitants of Somnat were confident in their numbers, and this

being increased by their expectation of divine interposition through

the influence of their stone divinity, they hailed with derision

the approach of their foes, observed their festivals with increased

acclamations, as if the menaced hostility promised rather to be scenes

of pastime than of devastation.

The threatened siege did not in the slightest degree interrupt the

daily observances of the Hindoos. The women went to the sea-shore to

bathe as usual, perfectly unapprehensive of danger from the advancing

army of Mahmood.

The beach on one side of the town was very retired, and, beyond the

battlements landward, flanked by a thick wood. Hither the women

repaired to perform their matutinal ablutions, and being considered

a spot sacred to this purpose, it was seldom or never intruded upon,

except on chance occasions by the stranger.

Here, as I have already said, according to her invariable practice,

about the period of sunrise, a beautiful young Hindoo mother was

performing those lustrations imposed by her religion, and which, apart

from any spiritual consideration, are indispensable in a tropical

region. The beach sloped gradually into the sea, in which she stood up

to the shoulders, her long black hair streaming like a silken fringe

upon the rippling waters. Her eyes were frequently bent downward, as

if in reverential abstraction, after which she would raise them to the

clear blue sky, rich with the pure tints of heaven, and brightened by

the fresh genial radiance of the morning sun. She was only dawning into

womanhood though a mother, her age not being yet sixteen. Her child

was lying on the beach wrapped in a small coverlet, and basking in the

young sunlight. The babe was but a few weeks old, and the youthful

mother felt for it all the yearning of a parent for her first child.

She looked at it occasionally from the place where she stood, draining

the water from her streaming tresses, and cleaning them with a care

that showed a consciousness of their beauty, and her eye glistened with

a parent’s pride as she gazed upon the earliest fruit of her wedded

love.

The infant was laid upon the dry soft sand, a few yards above where the

water reached at high tide. Several other women were at this moment

bathing at some short distance from the young mother, who now quitted

the water, having first carefully arrayed her hair, and in a short

time was wrapped in that loose becoming drapery which sets off to such

advantage the slender, but round and graceful forms of the Hindoo

women. Her bust was enclosed in a vest of bright crimson silk, fitted

closely to the shape, and covering the arm midway from the shoulder

to the elbow. A long piece of fine muslin encircled her head, falling

over her neck and shoulders behind, and passing the lower parts of the

body in a variety of elegant undulating folds peculiar to the taste of

oriental beauties. Standing a few yards from her babe, she arranged

her dress with a neatness and precision which sufficiently indicated a

consciousness of the becoming. She had just completed this necessary

arrangement of her toilet, and was about to turn towards her tender

offspring to proceed homeward, when a wolf darted from the neighbouring

thicket, seized the unconscious infant, and was retiring with all

speed towards the wood. The distracted mother gazed for an instant in

speechless agony, but quickly recovering herself, she sprang after the

beast with the swiftness of an antelope, screaming the while with an

energy that made the forest re-echo her cries.

The wolf was encumbered by the weight of its burden, and the cloth

in which it was wrapped trailing upon the ground, as the animal ran,

greatly impeded its progress. Her companions gazed after the anxious

mother, as she followed wildly in pursuit of her infant; without making

the slightest effort to assist her. They stood with open mouths, but

neither a sigh of sympathy escaped their bosoms, nor did even an

aspiration for the bereavement of the young mother rise to their lips.

The wolf had nearly reached the thicket with its prey, and the wretched

parent was about to yield herself up to the wild impulse of despair,

when a horseman emerged from a path in the wood, and seeing the

distress of a young and beautiful woman, the cause of which became

instantly evident, he urged his steed forward, and reaching the wolf

before it had time to enter the jungle, struck it on the back with his

sword. The blow was given from so sinewy an arm as almost to sever the

brute in twain. It immediately dropped its prey, writhed for a few

moments, and died. The eager mother threw herself frantically on the

body of her first-born, and began to bewail its untimely fate with

piercing shrieks of loud and bitter agony. Supposing that it was dead,

she clasped it to her bosom and called upon her idol to restore the joy

of her life; but the stone divinity, dumb and insensible as the earth

on which she had prostrated herself, heard not her lamentable cry. The

huge image of Somnat, adored by millions of enthusiasts, and enriched

by the perpetual offerings of wealthy devotees, standing within the

walls of a gorgeous temple, which might have vied with the proudest

palaces of Egypt’s kings in the brightest days of their renown, heard

not the tender supplications of one of its devoted adorers, but stood

in its grim majesty inaccessible to the appeal which might have melted

any stone that had not been employed to fashion a divinity.

The child, feeling the pantings of its mother’s bosom, uttered a

cry that in a moment subdued the mental anguish of its parent. Her

lamentations ceased--she gazed upon it--unfastened the cloth in which

it had been tied--examined it with an expression of excited anxiety,

and finding that it was uninjured, gave a scream of joy, and clasped it

with fervency to her breast.

The wolf had seized only the wrapper in which the infant had been

secured, so that when released from the monster’s jaws, the babe was

without a scratch. The youthful mother was wild with transport. She

fixed her beaming eyes upon her preserver with a look between amazement

and exultation, but without uttering a word.

By this time the stranger, beneath whose sword the wolf had died,

stood near, apparently enjoying the rapture of the young Hindoo.

For a few moments, he left her to the feelings in which her ardent

heart was evidently revelling, forbearing to interrupt an enjoyment

second only to the fruition of paradise. He beheld her beauty with

fervent admiration, a beauty seldom paralleled, and heightened by

the tender excitement under which she was at that moment labouring.

Having recovered from the shock of agony produced by the apprehension

of her child’s peril, her thoughts were now sufficiently collected to

acknowledge her obligations to its deliverer. She again turned upon

him her large dark liquid eyes with an expression of melting gratitude

which could not be mistaken.

The stranger approached. She shrank from him, in spite of the

obligation which he had placed her under, because he was of another

creed. The tie of his jumma or tunic proclaimed him a Mahomedan, and

she almost shuddered as he came near and bent over her. She could not

smother her deeply-rooted prejudices against the enemies of her race,

and the blasphemers of her gods.

“I am happy,” said the stranger, “in having been the instrument of

preserving your infant from the ravening wolf. Though our creeds

differ they ought at least to concur in the natural law of reciprocal

benefaction. I rejoice to have saved the child of one who has been

taught to look upon me, and those who profess a similar faith, as

fit to hold intercourse only with the scum and off-scouring of human

society, and trust that while such an act offers an appeal to your

gratitude, it will convey a lesson of wisdom. I would that you should

not only look upon me as the saviour of your babe, but put me on the

footing in social dignity with those of your own belief in matters

concerning the life which is to succeed the present, and think not that

all virtue expires when not fostered by the warm atmosphere of Hindoo

superstition.”

“Stranger,” replied the mother, looking tenderly upon her child, now

drawing from her the maternal nutriment, “I cannot gaze upon this

dear object without being sensible that, apart from all prejudices

raised by those conventional laws which different creeds impose, I am

your debtor for the greatest enjoyment which this world can realise.

You have restored the infant to its longing mother, and whatever the

restraint by which I may be repelled from welcoming the saviour of my

child with those outward expressions of acknowledgment which I might

be permitted to show to a member of my own faith, believe me I shall

never forget that the greatest debt of my life is due to one who is

considered the enemy of my country’s gods, but whom I have found to be

the most signal and magnanimous of friends.”

“Perhaps the enthusiasm of your gratitude will subside when you know to

whom you have been indebted for the salvation of your offspring.”

“No!--such knowledge cannot alter the fact of my obligation. I may

indeed regret the spiritual and social bar which lies between us, but I

never can forget the act which has restored to me a life that I value

far more dearly than my own. But may I ask to whom I am indebted for

such a signal act of magnanimity?”

“To Mahmood of Ghizny, the most inveterate foe of your race, who

despises your gods, and is at this moment preparing to hurl your

gigantic divinity, installed in yonder gorgeous temple, from its proud

pedestal, and make its worshippers ashamed of having so long prostrated

themselves before a block of stone.”

The lovely Hindoo shrank from her interlocutor when he declared himself

to be the greatest enemy of her nation’s gods. She trembled for the

moment, but her high sense of moral obligation bore down the weak

fences of prejudice, and she assured him that the preserver of her

child could never merge in the enemy of her race.

“Prepare,” said Mahmood, “to behold me shortly enter those walls in

triumph; but be assured of your own safety, and you may yet live to

know that the sovereign of Ghizny never professed a kindness which he

did not rigidly perform.”

CHAPTER II.

The Hindoo mother, having made her acknowledgments to the deliverer

of her child, entered the walls of Somnat, and sought her home. She

related the adventure of the morning to her husband, at this time lying

ill of fever. He was a man of high caste, and entertained all the

prejudices of his national superstitions in an eminent degree. This

tendency was aggravated to a morbid excess by his present illness. The

relation greatly distressed him. The idea that his infant had been

snatched from death by a worshipper of gods which his nation did not

recognise, agitated him to a paroxysm of excitement. He raved, and

cursed the chances that had exposed his offspring to such pollution. He

would rather the wolf had devoured it, than that it should have owed

its preservation to the arm of a Mussulman, and he the greatest enemy

of the Hindoos and their religion.

The Hindoo father was a young man of about thirty, handsome and

amiable, but a rigid observer of the national superstitions. He was

affectionate to his wife, in a degree seldom equalled by Hindoo

husbands, and she returned his tenderness with a pure and ardent

attachment. In spite, however, of his fondness, like all husbands

of his tribe he was not only a master but a tyrant. The wife was

subservient to an extent that rendered her domestic life a slavery; but

being impressed with a conviction that such subserviency was the proper

sphere, because it was the destined lot of woman, she submitted without

a murmur. Still she was relatively happy; for, by comparison with the

generality of Hindoo wives, her social comforts were considerable. She

felt conscious of possessing her husband’s attachment; and, though his

general conduct towards her was authoritative, it was seldom harsh. Had

it been otherwise than authoritative, she would have despised him as

descending from the dignity of his manhood, and foregoing the especial

immunities of his privileged sex.

Upon the present occasion, harassed by suffering of body and anxiety of

mind, the sick man treated his young and lovely consort with a severity

which he had never before exercised.

“The vengeance of Siva will be directed against this house for the

folly of a woman. The god of Somnat has seen the pollution offered to

the offspring of one of his worshippers. Take heed that the fiery gleam

of his eye does not blast thee, when thou next offerest thy oblations

at his holy shrine.” The youthful mother raised her head; the long

lashes that fringed her soft but intensely bright eyes were moistened

with the dew of sadness. It gathered gradually, until the weight of

the liquid gem was too great a burden for the trembling lashes to

support, and then trickled slowly down her clear brown cheek. She

uttered not a word, but clasped her babe with greater fervour to her

bosom. The husband saw her emotion, and was moved; nevertheless, he

bade her quit the apartment and leave him to his repose, which, alas!

came not, for the excitement had only aggravated his malady. He was

scorched with fever; and, in the course of that night, his peril was

imminent. The tender partner of his home and of his love did not quit

his side for a moment. She saw his danger; and the gloomy thought of

her own death came with the chill of a night-blast upon her soul. The

awful customs of her tribe forbade that she should outlive him; and

the horrible manner in which her death would be consummated seemed to

freeze the very fountain of life as she thought upon it. To be cut off

by the appalling process of cremation, ere the sweet fragrant blossom

of existence had fairly opened into womanhood, was a sad and bitter

thought. Still, the sufferings of the man she loved recalled her from

these sad reflections, and she gazed upon him with an interest in

which, for the moment, all her prospective sufferings were absorbed.

He spoke not, but the thought of that contamination, which he supposed

to have passed upon his child by the contact of one of another creed,

evidently remained the paramount impression on his mind; for when the

mother presented him her infant for a paternal caress, he turned from

it with a shudder, and refused to allow it to be brought into his

presence.

Hour after hour the tender consort watched by his side, submitting

without a murmur, or even a look of dissatisfaction, to the petulance

induced by his disease. She watched him as he lay upon his

rug--anticipated his wishes--soothed his sufferings--prepared whatever

he took with her own hand--but all her attentions seemed likely to be

bestowed in vain. The full, rapidly throbbing pulse; the burning brow,

the dry palm, and the brown furred tongue, upon which the cool liquid

was evaporated the moment it came in contact with it, all proclaimed

the jeopardy in which the invalid lay.

The native physician by whom he was attended ordered him decoctions,

prepared from some lenitive herbs; these had not the slightest effect

upon his disorder. When this arrived at a certain height, and the

medical visitor saw that all material remedies were useless, he

impressed upon the wife the necessity of immediately repairing to

the temple of Somnat, and supplicating the divine intercession of

its idol, promising her that her husband’s health would certainly be

re-established, if she could only prevail upon the stone divinity to

listen to her supplications.

“All that art can do,” said he, “I have done to restore this unhappy

man, who must soon yield up his spirit to be the inhabitant of another

body, unless the deity of our temple raise him up at the intercession

of a pious heart. Go, and may your prayer be heard!”

This was no very encouraging expectation. The unhappy young creature

now felt assured that her husband could not live, unless restored by

superhuman means. The creed in which she had been reared taught her to

trust in the efficacy of such means, and to believe that they would be

accorded to a pious solicitation; she was therefore determined to offer

her supplications in the temple, in the hope of averting her husband’s

death, which, in fact, would involve her own. At this moment a Brahmin,

and one of the officiating priests of the sanctuary, entered the sick

man’s apartment. He was a sanctified man, with a gross, misshapen

body, gross from indolence and indulgence, and bearing about him the

unequivocal marks of the coarse bloated Sybarite. His shorn scalp

bore not indeed the frost of age, but the deep corrugations by which

the forehead was crossed showed, in characters too legible to need

interpretation, that time had already prepared the furrows for the

seeds of death. The old man’s countenance was haggard, though placid;

but it was placid rather from insensibility, than from the access of

elevated feeling. The eye was sunk beneath a projecting brow, that

hid much of its expression, and its faded lustre spoke not that mute

language of passion which his heart frequently prompted, but which the

eye was too lustreless to betray. His legs were shrunk to the bones,

and seemed scarcely able to bear the burthen of obesity which laziness

and indulgence had imposed upon them. He hobbled to the couch of the

dying man, looked at him for a moment, doubled his legs under him as

he seated himself upon the floor, desired the cocoa-nut hookah to be

brought, and, having inhaled the sedative luxury for a few moments,

said, with an air of the utmost unconcern, “Thy soul is about to assume

a new body; what are thy hopes?”

The invalid said faintly--“I have not lived an unholy life, and

therefore hope that I shall be advanced one step towards absorption[1]

into Bhrim, when my spirit throws off the vile crust by which it has

been encumbered here.”

“Then you are prepared for the change--you are tired of this world?”

“No,” said the dying man with energy, “I would fain live, because there

is a dark uncertainty in the future that clogs my spirit and weighs it

down. It is an awful thing to die, and I would if possible escape death

until age should no longer encourage a desire of life.”

“Dost thou think old men wish to die?”

“If their lives have been virtuous, why should they desire to live,

when their capabilities of earthly enjoyments are past?”

“Because to them there is the same uncertainty in the future as to

thee. In life there is positive enjoyment to the last; with the end of

life what guarantee have we for the joys of a future existence?--they

may be visionary.”

“But the blessed Vedas teach us otherwise?”

“Ay, the blessed Vedas! they cannot be gainsaid; they are the voice

of the divinity: Krishna speaketh through them, but then they are the

sealed oracles, which only we of the sanctuary can expound; and they

promise that reliance upon the ministers of our temple will be rewarded

in the metempsychosis. There is still hope of thy release from this

perilous malady. Let thy wife visit the temple, and bow before the

image--the deity of our race, and thou shalt have thy health return to

thee.”

He continued smoking for a few moments, during which not a voice

interrupted the silence. Having swallowed a large pill of opium, he

rose, and taking the invalid’s wife on one side, said to her, in a low,

husky whisper--“The hand of death is upon thy husband; nothing short of

divine interposition can save him. If he dies, you know that his widow

must accompany him to the swerga.”

“I am prepared for the sacrifice. Fear not that I shall degrade my

lineage by shrinking from performing that solemn obligation which the

most perfect of all religions imposes upon the bereaved widow. It is

her blessed privilege; I shall not forego it.”

“But would you not willingly evade the consummation of so dreadful a

sacrifice?”

“No; I would, under no consideration, evade the performance of an

obligation as sacred as it is awful, and obligatory in proportion as it

is sacred.”

“Nay, these are not your real sentiments; you need use no disguise

with me. I can save you from the necessity of dying upon the pile,

if you’ll make it worth a priest’s while to risk the peace of his

own soul in that strange land of darkness or of light--who shall say

which?--whither thy husband is rapidly hastening!”

“Save me! Why would you save me from a sacrifice which I deem an

immunity from mortal cares? In this life, a woman’s condition is one

of endurance, of slavery, of pain; I would be glad to enter upon an

existence where each and all are unknown.”

“You speak indeed like a feeble woman. Do you not know that, if your

body is consumed with your husband’s on the funeral pile, your soul

will follow his to whatever destiny it may be appointed? This is a sad

hazard, for he dies in the prime of manhood, when the blood is warm and

the senses are all full of the glowing warmth of young and vigorous

life. He has had no time to expiate, by penance the miscarriages of

youthful years. The mellowing hand of age has not yet taught him

experience, nor the penalties of indulgence wisdom. Thou art too lovely

to follow him to a future doom that befits thee not.”

By this time the opium was beginning to act upon the aged debauchee,

and his eyes emitted the fire, and his limbs the elasticity of

youth--so potential is that debasing drug. The lovely Hindoo was

shocked; but it was dangerous to offend a Brahmin. Advancing, he laid

his shrivelled hand upon her shoulder, and said--“Daughter, come to

the temple this night, and bring thy offerings to the idol; be assured

thou shalt not want an intercessor. Think no more of burning. When thy

husband dies, thou mayst yet be happy. The multitude must think that

the sacrifice is performed, but trust to me, and feeble as this arm may

seem, it will prove an arm of might in thy protection--it shall snatch

thee from the flames.”

“Leave me,” said the unhappy wife; “one who knows her duty, and how

to perform it, needs no adviser but her conscience. I shall endeavour

to propitiate the divinity, by presenting my oblations before the

presiding deity of our holy temple, and there lay my hopes.”

“This evening we shall meet,” said the Brahmin, as he retired with an

alacrity peculiar alike to robust youth and opium.

The faithful, though unhappy wife, crept softly to her husband’s side,

and gazed upon him with a glance of anxious inquiry, but spoke not,

fearing to disturb him. Overcome by his exertion of talking with the

Brahmin, he had fallen into a deep but disturbed sleep.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The belief of the Hindoos generally is that, after a course of

progressive changes, through each of which the soul advances to a

higher state of purification, it is finally absorbed into the Deity,

which is, as they conceive, the perfect consummation of bliss.

CHAPTER III.

The sun went down in glory, and smiled upon its own land when it

withdrew behind the ocean, as if unwilling longer to look upon the

griefs with which the world that had so lately glowed with its pure

vivid light was encumbered. Evening suddenly flung her shadows over

the city of Somnat, but the stars sparkled in the purple concave of

heaven like children of joy, imparting a beautiful relief to the grave

solemnity of night.

At rather a late hour the melancholy wife quitted the side of her

husband, whose malady had not abated, and repaired to the magnificent

temple of Somnat, at that time the most celebrated in Hindostan. It

stood upon an elevated part of the town, and covered a vast space

of ground. It was a ponderous edifice, exhibiting that elaborate

detail of ornament combined with massive grandeur peculiar to the

early Hindoo temples. Within, it consisted of one vast aisle several

hundred feet long, the roof supported on either side by magnificent

columns, ornamented even to superfluity with sculpture, each column

detailing an episode from the Mahabarat. Every pillar was cut from a

single block of granite, elaborated with an accuracy of touch, and a

justness of proportion, not exceeded by any monuments of ancient art,

save those of Greece. The light was admitted through a vast dome in

the centre, beneath which the huge idol stood like a Colossus, casting

one unvarying expression of grim insensibility upon its prostrate

but humble adorers. The figure was of stone, clumsily wrought into a

monstrous form. The head was ornamented with gems of prodigious value,

similar gems being likewise fixed in every pillar of the temple. Its

eyes were formed of two rubies of such transcendent lustre as to

inspire the worshippers with a holy awe when they prostrated themselves

before this hideous image.

There were no lights used in the temple at night except one pendent

lamp, the light of which being reflected from the jewels in the idol’s

head, and from those fixed in the various columns that adorned the

sacred edifice, spotted the whole area with a dazzling gleam which

appeared the effect of superhuman agency.[2]

The most costly offerings were daily made to this factitious divinity,

but the depository of its immense wealth was a secret, as the Brahmins

pretended, known only to the deity to whom it had been dedicated.

On two sides of the temple were various apartments occupied by the

functionaries of the sanctuary, which no persons were permitted

to enter, save those to whose habitation they had been especially

appropriated. Strange and mysterious events were said frequently to

take place within those secret and forbidden retreats, supposed to be

hallowed by the holy lives of their spiritual occupants.

The Brahmin who had recently visited the invalid had an apartment near

the shrine, and was one of the officiating priests in this fane of

superstition, where, under the mask of religion, the most revolting

abominations were nightly practised. Like the Eleusinian mysteries,

they were hidden from the public eye, as only fit to be witnessed by

those whom it would seem to have been thought that vice had sanctified.

With a resolved but throbbing heart the beautiful Hindoo wife entered

within the black narrow portal of this gorgeous but gloomy structure.

The lower part of the edifice was involved in a shadowy light which

imparted a cavernous solemnity to this house of a most unholy worship.

The huge idol rose amid the distance surrounded by a blaze of light

that filled the dome in which the colossal image stood, but did not

extend far enough to pierce the distant gloom.

As she stalked forward with a measured pace, the monstrous figures

surrounding the columns seemed to glare upon her from their granite

pedestals like so many petrified ogres. Her heart throbbed with

emotion. The object of her visit at this dark hour of night rose to

her memory with an impetuous impulse, whilst the associations of the

gloom of the grave, and that of the consecrated edifice which she had

now entered for the purpose of propitiating a deaf and dumb idol for

the benefit of a departing soul, and to arrest the summons of death,

sent a chill through the whole mass of her blood which seemed to reach

and congeal the very fountain of life. When she reached the dome there

was not a person but herself that she could perceive in the sanctuary.

The light of the solitary lamp hanging from the centre of the dome was

reflected from thousands of brilliant gems which cast a radiance around

the figure of intense and dazzling brilliancy. She prostrated herself

before the image, and poured the full tide of her heart’s emotions in a

prayer for the restoration of her husband.

A general belief prevailed among the Hindoos of that part of the

country that souls after death were summoned before the Idol of Somnat,

which transported them into other bodies according to their merits in

this life, where he became a sort of Hindoo Rhadamanthus, resembling

that infernal justiciary, however, in nothing less than in the rigid

impartiality of his justice. It was also declared by the Brahmins

belonging to this celebrated temple, that the ebb and flow of the tides

represented the reverence paid by the ocean to this shrine.

Having paid her devotions, the supplicant approached the base of the

idol, and laid a handful of gold upon it; for her husband was wealthy,

and the god of Somnat never heard a vow that was not accompanied by an

offering. She prayed that her husband might be spared to her; or, if

the slender thread of his destiny was already spun, that his soul might

be transferred into a nobler body, and be thus advanced one step nearer

to that final and beatific state of absorption so anxiously desired by

all faithful Hindoos. As she concluded, there was a strange unearthly

sound heard from within the image; the eyes seemed to glow with more

intense brightness, and when she rose from her posture of prostration,

to her surprise the aged Brahmin who had lately visited her husband

stood before her. She looked upon him, however, without apprehension,

feeling herself in the presence of an omnipotent agent, and not

entertaining a thought, in the innocence of her pure heart, that the

altar of deity could be polluted by the most licentious impurities.

“The divinity is propitiated,” said the sanctified impostor. “Your

prayers have been heard, and you are favoured with the especial notice

of one, in whose term of life the Maha Yug[3] is no more than a single

instant, by comparison with this earth’s duration. Prepare to meet the

god at midnight.”

“You mock me. Does the deity condescend to become incarnate, and reveal

himself in a mortal body to his worshippers?”

“Yes: where it is his will to favour those whose homage he approves,

he reveals himself to them in the likeness of his creatures, generally

assuming the form of some devout priest, whose ministrations he

especially approves, and thus signifies his approval. You will see

him this night, under the similitude of a favourite Brahmin. He has

determined to grant your supplications.”

She was astonished at this communication. The reverence in which she

had been accustomed to hold the character of the priesthood--the wild

solemnity of the scene around her--the dazzling light that seemed

supernaturally to float over the ponderous image--the excitement

under which she laboured, from her anxiety for her husband’s welfare

and the issue of her appeal--the promise that her supplications had

been favourably heard--all tended to throw her into such a tumult

of agitation, that she became bewildered; and, under the impulse of

superstitious enthusiasm, consented to meet the god at midnight.

Guileless as the mother dove, she did not dream that danger could

accrue from her meeting a spiritual being who merely condescended

to assume the garb of mortal flesh, in order to render himself

intelligible to mortal faculties; and as, according to the impure creed

in which she had been reared, gods had occasionally united themselves

to mortals in an alliance of love, her heart’s purity was not shocked

at the idea which the Brahmin broadly hinted, of the divinity of Somnat

favouring her by such especial predilection. She was aware also that

her husband, as well as herself, would look upon it as a signal mark of

distinction, and feel himself honoured at his wife’s exaltation by so

eminent a token of divine preference.

The wily Brahmin, however, knew his victim too well to suppose that,

notwithstanding her visionary impressions, she would fall an easy prey;

and it was only whilst he could keep up the delusion under which she

then laboured, that he would find her a submissive votary at the shrine

of the most odious superstition which has ever degraded the sacred

name of religion. In order to maintain the excitement by which she was

at that moment actuated, and strengthen the impressions to which she

was expected to become a prey, some of those abominable mummeries were

performed, so commonly practised at the altars of Hindoo gods. A number

of dancing girls were introduced, who went through various obscene

antics before the idol, in which several Brahmins joined, with all the

apparent enthusiasm of an absorbing devotion.

The beautiful Hindoo looked on without a blush, under the persuasion

that these were sacred ministrations peculiar to the divinity of

Somnat, and she came to the conclusion that such were the pleasures in

which that divinity delighted to revel. After these orgies had been

gone through, and the temple of religion made a scene of revolting

indecency, the lamp was suddenly extinguished, and the immense edifice

involved in profound darkness. The young wife was confounded. She

heard the laughter of those who, like the Greek bacchantes, had been

performing the grossest scenes in the very presence of their deity,

and shouts of joy seemed to issue from a thousand throats. She stood

mute, between astonishment and apprehension. Her awe had given way

to momentary terror. She was preparing to retreat toward the portal

through which she had entered, when a soft but repulsive voice caught

her ear:

“Come to the embrace of the god; he awaits thee; ’tis midnight, and he

is impatient to meet thee.”

Her heart palpitated; she was struck with a sudden suspicion. The voice

was evidently disguised, but, to her quick ear, could not be mistaken:

it was that of the Brahmin. Her brain flashed with instant conviction,

as if the deity had lighted up her soul with a positive revelation.

The impulse was irresistible. The illusions of superstition vanished,

and she felt herself in the meshes of the betrayer. She gasped for

breath; she spoke not; she groped for a resting-place, and her arm fell

upon the pedestal of the idol.

“Come,” said the voice, in a gentle whisper; “why this delay? The god

is impatient, and he is not used to be slighted: where he honours, he

expects obedience. Come!”

“Avaunt! deceiver,” she cried. “You have marked me for your victim. I

am betrayed. Why should the divinity of Somnat assume the form of an

aged and deformed Brahmin, when he might clothe himself in the fairest

garb of mortal flesh? My dream is past. I am your dupe. Away, and

leave me. Never will I submit to pollution by one who makes religion a

pander to his odious passions. A light has broken upon me. The deity

has indeed heard my supplication, and saved me from the machinations

of one who will swell the ranks of the Asuras, amid the darkness of

Lóhángáráká.”[4]

The Brahmin, finding himself foiled, quitted his expected victim in a

fury of disappointment.

She stood alone, leaning on the image, rapt in a trance of painful

abstraction. Suddenly she felt the idol totter; a noise was heard from

within, like the hissing of ten thousand serpents, immediately after

which fire issued from the nose and mouth of the image, and fell in

thick showers around. The whole temple was illuminated, and the door

instantly became visible to the worshipper. She darted forward in spite

of every impediment, and at length succeeded in gaining the entrance.

She felt the pure breath of heaven upon her burning brow, and rejoiced

in her escape. Reaching her home at length, in a tumult of hope and

anxiety, she found that her husband had gone to that land where “there

is time no longer.”

FOOTNOTES:

[2] This is stated in the Zein-ool-Maasir.

[3] The Maha Yug, or great Divine Age, is the longest of the Hindoo

astronomical periods, containing a cycle of four million three hundred

and twenty thousand years.

[4] The last of the thrice seven hells of the Hindoos. Lóhángáráká

signifies hot iron coals.

CHAPTER IV.

Immediate communication was made to the relations of the defunct,

that the deity of Somnat had heard the prayers of his relict, and he

that was transported to a higher region, to be subjected to a change

in the course of his transmigration that would bring him nearer to

the final bliss of absorption into the universal Bhrim. The various

connexions of the deceased were all summoned, and the neighbourhood

immediately resounded with cries of lamentation, and those frantic

ululations invariably heard at Hindoo funerals. The women stood

screaming over the body with dishevelled hair, beating their breasts

and rolling themselves upon the floor like so many wild beasts, whilst

the disconsolate widow sat apart, abstracted by the thoughts of her

own approaching sacrifice. She moved not; her eye was fixed on the

ground, but the fountains of her grief were dry. Not a tear came to her

relief--not a sigh escaped her bosom. The one awful image of death, in

its most appalling form, absorbed her whole mind.

The Brahmin, before spoken of, appeared to officiate upon this

melancholy occasion. He whispered in the widow’s ear words of

consolation and hope, but she heard him not. He talked of her rescue

from the fiery death about to be prepared for her; she disregarded him,

and turned from the aged sensualist with an expression of disgust. His

eyes gleamed in their hollow sockets with a deep leaden glare, and

the blood rushed a moment to his flaccid cheek. He turned from his

anticipated victim to proceed with the obsequies. When everything had

been provided, the spiritual functionary, having previously bathed,

took a narrow slip of a certain herb, and binding it round one of the

fingers of the deceased, sprinkled upon the floor a quantity of lustral

water, obtained from the sacred river,[5] a libation to the gods, whom

he invoked with numerous prostrations, and a variety of wild gestures.

The people assembled joined in a prayer for the future repose of their

relative’s soul.

When this part of the ceremony had been performed, in the strictest

manner prescribed by their formularies, fire was brought from the

temple, where it had been purposely kindled, and certain herbs,

consecrated to this solemn purpose, were disposed near the body in

four different places. Some relatives of the deceased cast into the

fire a quantity of dried cow-dung pulverized. During this portion of

the preparatory rites, the officiating Brahmin was occupied in prayer,

but paused in the midst of his orison, to perform an essential part of

the funeral solemnities. A cow, adorned with flowers, was introduced

at this auspicious juncture, and presented to the minister to prevent

the defunct from being unhappy in his mutation, which the venerable

hierophant promised, without any reservation, that he should not be, in

consequence of the Brahmin’s prayers. Several offerings of a different

kind, but no less valuable, were made to this disinterested priest

before the obsequies were completed.

The ceremony of the Prayatchitam, or expiation of sins, was next

performed. It consisted of prayers, after which the soul of the

deceased was evoked, and certain astrological calculations made

respecting the constellation under which he expired.

The body was now washed. On the forehead was marked the sigh of the

caste, with a compost of ochre, fine clay, and oil; it was then arrayed

in the funeral robe, and a piece of areka-nut forced into its mouth.

A small fillet of linen was next torn into strips over the face; with

those strips the two thumbs were tied, and the corpse being rubbed with

a piece of sandal-wood, which emits a very strong and fragrant odour,

was laid upon a palankeen covered with red cloth, the Hindoo pall, and

ornamented with flowers.

A large aperture was now made in the wall of the house, which had no

second story, and through this the body was conveyed in a sitting

posture to the pile, the aperture being closed up the moment the corpse

had been carried through.

When the procession had reached the gate of the court fronting the

house, it was preceded by two men nearly naked, bearing each a long

trumpet, the mournful sound of which, as dissonant as it was loud,

blended with the noise of tomtoms, finger-drums, cymbals, and various

other noisy instruments, produced a din sufficient to scare the living

into the condition of the dead. To this portentous clamour the numerous

relatives of the deceased united their wild wailings, more like the

baying of dogs than the lamentations of rational beings. Some cried,

others screamed and tore their hair, whilst several sang the praises of

the defunct in a hoarse monotonous chant. The dress of these energetic

mourners consisted simply of a single piece of cloth wrapped round

their bodies, hanging from the head to the knees.

When the procession reached its destination, the palankeen was placed

upon the ground, four furrows were traced towards the four cardinal

points and oblations of gengeli and rice were offered to those aerial

spirits supposed to inhabit the mansions of the dead, in order to

propitiate their goodwill.

The nose of the defunct was now pinched, to ascertain if there remained

any signs of life; for the Hindoos suppose that the dead may be

resuscitated, though no such fact is recorded by their fabricators of

marvels. Water was next poured upon the head of the corpse, and the

noise of tomtoms and trumpets was redoubled, to awaken the dead man

should he happen to be in a trance. It being at length ascertained

that the spirit had quitted, and not returned to the insensate clay,

the body was again placed on the palankeen and carried close to the

spot intended for the funeral pile, the immediate vicinity having been

first purified with Gangetic water, and cleared of every particle of

dirt supposed to convey defilement. This portion of the ceremony was

accompanied with numerous prayers and prostrations.

All these forms having been scrupulously observed, the corpse was

placed upon a stone always erected near the Chodelet, which is the

place appointed for cremation of the deceased. This stone represents

Aritchandren, a virtuous king, who, becoming slave to the chief of the

Pariahs, was employed by his master to take care of the Chodelet,

and receive the taxes to be paid on burning the dead. After various

fantastic mummeries and vociferous supplications, some pieces of copper

money were buried before Aritchandren, together with a small bit of

new cloth and a handful of rice, by way of a burial fee. One of the

Pariahs, whose office it was to look after the fire, then approached

the stone, and informed Aritchandren,[6] that, having received the

regular tribute, he must permit the body to pass. The palankeen was now

sent back, the hair and nails of the defunct were carefully cut, and

the funeral pile was prepared. Branches of the sandal tree were made

use of for this purpose, it being imagined by all pious Hindoos that

this tree has more virtue than any other, save the mango, in promoting

the happiness of the deceased, both being trees consecrated to their

gods. Branches of the ficus religiosa and of the banian tree are

occasionally used, but only by those who cannot afford to purchase the

more costly wood of the rarer trees.

The pile being at length prepared, the corpse was placed upon it. The

nearest relation performed this melancholy office, and prepared the

last repast for the dead. In order that the departed might go into the

other world with sufficient food for his journey, butter, rice, and

curds were put into the hands, mouth, and ears of the corpse.

Thus ended this part of the ceremony.[7] It was a long and tiresome

process, but nothing could divert those engaged in it from performing

the minutest thing prescribed in their formulary. On the morning of

the Hindoo’s death, alarm had been spread through the town of the

approach of Mahmood’s army, which report was shortly after confirmed by

his investing the fort with thirty thousand men. This did not in the

slightest degree interrupt the obsequies. Not a creature present seemed

to bestow a thought upon the danger of being threatened by a large

besieging army, headed by a great prince and a successful warrior.

They relied upon the protection of their idol, which they imagined

could blast the enemy with the lightning of its wrath, and rescue them

from the threatened peril. They heard the din of battle while engaged

in performing the funeral rites, but it diverted them not from their

solemn purpose. The name of Mahmood the victorious was shouted without

the walls, and re-echoed within them with a general acclamation of

defiance. Thousands of unarmed fanatics crowded the ramparts, confident

of divine interposition, and loaded the air with curses upon the

followers of a new faith.

During the performance of the funeral rites, the beautiful widow had

remained apart, absorbed in the solemn intensity of her own thoughts.

The death of a husband whom she tenderly loved shook her heart with

a severe pang, and the thought of the awful sacrifice which his

death imposed upon her dilated her bosom with a deep and palpable

terror; still she resolved to die. With her the high sense of duty

was paramount over every selfish consideration, and she braced her

resolution to undergo one of the most fearful sacrifices which the

madness of bigotry has imposed upon the credulity of devout but

imbecile minds.

The body of her husband was already upon the fatal pyre, and all things

were ready for her to consummate that act of devotion, which, as she

had been taught to believe, should secure her an eternal communion with

her consort in paradise. The Brahmin approached her to announce that

she was waited for. He advanced towards her alone, and bade her be of

good cheer.

“Thou shalt not perish,” he cried; “trust to me and I will save thee,

to reap the harvest of joy in an earthly paradise, before you ascend to

one of brighter promise indeed, but of more remote certainty.”

“What mean you? My doom is fixed. I must join my husband upon the

funeral pile, that our souls may ascend together to that sphere which

his spirit is destined to enter.”

“But would you not rather evade this fiery death?”

“Why should I? Is it not imposed upon us by a wise and immutable

will?--how then can I evade it?”

“Would you rather live?”

“Not if it be my duty to die.”

“You are not bound to perish unless you desire it. The deity will

absolve you from the obligation upon certain conditions.”

“What are they?”

“That you will reward with your love his vicegerent here, whose

ministration he has approved, and to whom he has imparted superhuman

power, as the reward of a life of faithful homage. I will bear you to a

retreat where no sorrow shall visit you, and where every moment of your

life shall be gilded with a blessing.”

“Mocker!--this is no time for delusion: bear me to the pyre, and you

shall see how a Hindoo widow can die.”

“But why would you court death, when happiness is within your grasp!”

“Because death with a beloved husband were a blessed boon compared with

life with an aged and sensual Brahmin. Priest, I despise thee:--lead me

to the pyre.”

The Brahmin was silent. He folded his arms, and fixed upon her a look

of deep and implacable malice.

“I fear thee not,” she cried, rising; “conduct me to my doom; the gods

will applaud what their priest may scorn; but I reverence the one and

despise the other.” She beckoned to her women, who approached, and

declared to them that she was ready to ascend the pyre, upon which

her husband’s body had been already some time laid. The ministering

priest did not utter a word, and made ready to commence the initiatory

ceremonies.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] The Ganges.

[6] The Greek Charon and this Hindoo toll-taker would appear to be

identical; but the Greeks have been indebted to Hindoo superstition

for many other notions, the parallels of which are too strong to be

mistaken.

[7] See Sonnerat, vol. ii., on Hindoo funerals.

CHAPTER V.

The unhappy widow now prepared herself to perform the dreadful

sacrifice which was to free her from the cares of this world and

exalt her to the Swerga bowers, or Hindoo paradise. She was stationed

before the door of the house of mourning in a kind of rostrum, which

was profusely and extravagantly ornamented; tomtoms, trumpets, and

cymbals continuing their deafening clangour as before. She placed a

small piece of areka-nut between her almost motionless lips and softly

aspirated the name of Somnat’s idol. She next adorned her head, neck,

and arms with all her jewels, arraying herself in sumptuous apparel,

as if about to appear at the marriage ceremony, instead of a funeral

solemnity.

The array of her person being concluded, she proceeded toward the place

of sacrifice, accompanied by numerous friends, to the sound of those

instruments which had already preceded the procession of her husband’s

body. Several Brahmins, including the hierophant, walked by her side

encouraging her with assurances that she was going to enjoy eternal

felicity in regions where there is no misery known, and where she

would become the sita[8] of some god who would espouse her as a reward

for her constancy and virtue. They further promised her that her name

should be celebrated throughout the earth, and sung in all their future

sacrifices. This proves a strong stimulus to some women, who go to the

pile voluntarily, and with an enthusiasm truly astonishing; for there

is no legal obligation to perform the suttee.

A cup was now handed to the unhappy victim of the most barbarous

superstition that has ever stained the black annals of fanaticism. She

drank of it without the slightest emotion. In a few minutes the effects

of this draught were visible. Her eyes glistened; she erected her frame

to the full height of her stature, and looked around her with a flushed

cheek and stern severity of purpose which sufficiently showed that the

fever of enthusiasm was beginning to circulate rapidly through her

veins. As the aged Brahmin approached her, she looked at him with a

glance of defiant scorn, and pointing to the pile on which the corpse

of her husband had been laid, said, with a raised brow and flashing

eye--

“Dost thou think I would escape that fiery passage to everlasting

repose? Thou wouldst withhold me from my glory. My soul shall ascend

on wings of flame to the abodes of those who never die. I see the

beckoning spirit in yonder cloud waiting to bear mine to its eternal

home. Thou wouldst tear me from my bliss. Away, away!”

She immediately grew calm and began to prepare for the sacrifice with

a truly sublime solemnity. Her relations came to her, with an alacrity

that showed how gratified they felt at the oblation she was about to

offer. The place was surrounded by an immense concourse, upon whom the

victim occasionally cast a glance of pity mixed with triumph at the

approaching consummation of her destiny. The music, if such it might be

termed, had ceased while the preliminaries of the sacrifice were taking

place, and an intense and awful silence reigned among the assembled

multitude.

The beautiful widow now advanced to the foot of the pyre, prepared to

consume that exquisite frame in the early freshness of its blossoming

youth. The Brahmins crowded round her, endeavouring to sustain her

fortitude to endure the coming trial by songs in which they artfully

introduced the most fulsome eulogies of her heroism. This appeared to

elevate her courage amid the awful array of death. It was now announced

to her that the fatal moment had arrived when the flames were to

embrace one of the most perfect bodies that Nature had ever moulded.

She did not quail at the summons. Her eye dilated, her nostrils

expanded, her lips parted, and her whole countenance was lighted up

with a sublime energy of expression that recorded, with the mute but

soul-stirring voice of an oracle, the deep and solemn purpose which

engrossed her soul. She stood a few moments as if in prayer. Her babe

was brought and placed within the arms of a once yearning mother. The

feelings of nature revived. She spoke not, but pressed it tenderly

to her bosom. Tears streamed down her cheeks in a flood, still not a

feature quivered. The palpitations of her heart were perceptible under

the slight muslin drapery that covered her bosom. It heaved beneath the

suppressed throes of her emotion, but the countenance betrayed not the

internal struggle. Her tears gradually ceased to flow. Her eye cleared

and resumed its former expression of solemn determination, and she

waved her hand as a signal that she was ready.

Two Brahmins now advanced with lighted torches. Having fervently

kissed her infant, she placed it in the arms of an attendant, and

it was instantly removed from her sight. At this moment her nearest

relations approached; to these she bade a tender adieu. Having

distributed her jewels among them, she embraced them severally, when

they retired and left her alone with the ministers of death.

Not a breath stirred among the multitude as she prepared to ascend the

pile. Hundreds stood agape with awe at witnessing the solemn spectacle.

Having performed certain preliminary rites, a signal was given by the

chief Brahmin, when she raised her dark but bloodless brow towards

heaven, sprang upon the pile, embraced her husband’s corpse, and in a

few moments was enveloped in flames and smoke, which hid her from the

sight of those who had assembled to behold this dreadful sacrifice.

No sooner was the fire kindled than the notes of innumerable

instruments were heard, shouts and acclamations rent the air, in

order to prevent the sufferer’s screams of agony being heard. Ghee

was poured upon the burning pyre to accelerate the horrible process

of destruction, and the flames raged with such fury that in a short

time not a vestige remained but the ashes of the dead. The crowd then

quietly dispersed, rejoicing at having witnessed so acceptable a

holocaust.

While this dreadful act of superstition was performing, the town of

Somnat was in a state of siege; still the turbid stream of fanaticism

was not diverted from its course. When the Mahomedans invested Somnat,

the citizens had flocked from all parts and crowded the ramparts to

repel the enemy; but so soon as they saw their formidable array, the

discipline of their troops, and the fearless manner in which they

rushed to the assault, the astonished Hindoos, alarmed for their own

safety, thronged to the temple by hundreds, prostrating themselves

before their favourite idol, and supplicating deliverance from their

foes. Many, drowned in tears, vowed to perform sundry dreadful penances

in case the Mahomedans were repelled from their walls; but the idol

returned no answer to their petitions.

Mahmood, perceiving the ramparts almost deserted, ordered his troops

to advance to the walls and apply the scaling-ladders, which was

instantly done; and they commenced to mount the ramparts, shouting

aloud “Allah Akbar!” God is great! Those Hindoos who remained upon the

battlements, offered a spirited resistance. With the wild energy of

despair they rushed upon the Mahomedan soldiers as they ascended, and

threw them headlong from the ladders. Hearing the noise of the assault,

and the enemy’s war-cry, those citizens who had quitted the walls in

order to propitiate their divinity by prayer, returned to the ramparts

in vast numbers, and opposed themselves to the besiegers. These latter,

no longer able to retain their footing, wearied with their exertions,

and dispirited by such unexpected opposition, fell back on all sides,

and were at length obliged to retire.

Next morning the action was renewed with no better success, for as fast

as the besiegers scaled the walls they were cast down backward by the

besieged, who now gaining confidence from the advantage obtained on the

preceding day, resolved to defend their city to the last. They imagined

that the divinity who presided over Somnat had heard their prayers,

and would not permit their foes to triumph over them; and under this

impression they fought with a resolution that bore down all opposition.

They poured into the temple after the repulse of their enemies with

offerings to their idol, which were of course accepted, to their great

joy and that of the divinity’s ministers, who undertook to dispose of

those offerings in a manner worthy of the liberality of the devotees

who presented them.

Mahmood was perplexed beyond measure at the disastrous issue of the

siege. He saw his army daily diminishing in an undertaking upon which

he had set his heart. He determined however to accomplish his object,

or perish before the walls of Somnat.

For some days he made no attempt against the town, but remained quiet,

in order to restore the confidence of his troops, which had been

greatly shaken by the unsuccessful issue of the late assault.

Their success against the beseigers had greatly elated the citizens,

and they began to despise the foe which they had so much dreaded. In

order to show his contempt for the Mahomedans, a devotee let himself

down by a rope from the rampart, and advancing towards the enemy’s

camp, stood before the king’s tent, braving Mahmood with his late

failure, and prophesying that every Mahomedan would be blasted by the

breath of Somnat’s idol before the rising of another sun. He was at

first looked upon as a madman, but some of Mahmood’s soldiers being at

length incensed at his audacity, seized him, and brought him before

their sovereign. Upon being asked why he had quitted the town, he

replied he came to warn them that they would be all swept from the face

of the earth by the vengeance of a god who would not spare them for

their attempt to profane his holy shrine.

“I come to defy you,--to show how impotent you are to impose injury

upon anyone claiming especial protection of the divinity worshipped

by all pious Hindoos. You are all under the ban of our idol. You are

doomed to destruction. I go to prepare the scourge that shall sweep you

from the face of this globe.”

“You will never return,” said Mahmood, “to accomplish your contemplated

plan of retribution; but I will show yonder fanatics how little

reliance is to be placed upon the god of an idolator. What say you to

hanging in the sight of your city’s battlements?”

“You dare not provoke the vengeance of an enemy which has already

convinced you of its might. I despise your threats--I fear not

hanging--death has no terrors for me--violence towards one whose

penances have purified his spirit for a higher gradation of existence

in another life, will only bring the curse of retribution upon

you, while to me it secures blessings which you will never have an

opportunity of enjoying.”

“Soldiers,” said Mahmood to some of his military attendants, “hang that

madman upon the nearest tree.”

The Hindoo smiled as he heard the order given.

“My death will be avenged,” said he, “though you send me to Paradise.

You may deprive me of life, but you cannot withhold from me the power

of defying and scorning the race of Islam.”

At a signal from their sovereign, several soldiers seized the fanatic,

and hung him upon a tree within sight of the ramparts. The man died

uttering expressions of triumph at his martyrdom. He was seen from the

walls by his countrymen, who imprecated curses upon the heads of his

murderers. The body was cut down as soon as life was extinguished, the

head severed from the trunk, and flung over the battlements of Somnat.

The citizens bore it to their temple in triumph.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] Bride.

CHAPTER VI.

When the Hindoo widow ascended the pile, the straw by which it was

surrounded was immediately ignited, and having been previously wetted

in a slight degree, a smoke was raised which enveloped the whole

fabric, and completely concealed the victim from view. She was wrapped

in a holy trance, and it was some moments therefore before she became

sensible that the fire had not reached her. To her surprise she felt

herself gradually sinking amid a gloom so cavernous that the first

idea which flashed upon her mind was that death had done its work

upon her body, and that she was descending into those regions of

everlasting darkness where the wicked expiate their crimes in this

world by unmitigated and eternal penalties. She, however, perceived

that the dead body of her husband was still beside her, and this

restored her to consciousness. In a few moments the descent of the

platform was arrested; she was suddenly seized and lifted from it; the

frame instantly rising with the corpse, which was consumed without the

horrible sacrifice of a living body.

The widow was confounded at her situation. The effects of that

stimulating potion which she had taken to sustain her through the awful

rite about to be consummated, had subsided, and she trembled at the

apprehended terrors in store for her. She was encompassed by a gloom

so profound that she could not distinguish a single object. She heard

not a sound, save a breathing almost close to her ear, which satisfied

her of the juxtaposition of some living being. She did not stir, but

endeavoured to collect her scattered thoughts. Her natural energy of

character overcame the more violent impulse of alarm, and in a calm,

collected tone, she said, “Why am I thus torn from the embrace of

my dead husband, with whom I was about to proceed to the bowers of

Paradise?”

No answer was returned to her inquiry. She heard only the shouts of the

multitude above, who were exulting at her imagined immolation, with

the frantic transports of demons loosed from their eternal prisons, to

wander awhile in the freedom of crime beyond the confines of their own

dreary habitations.

After some time, hearing no sound near her, not even of a respiration,

save her own, she began to grope around. The intensity of the darkness

had somewhat subsided, and her eye had become sufficiently familiar

with it to be enabled to obtain a dim perception of objects. She

proceeded cautiously forward until her progress was arrested by a

wall. Following the course of the masonry she perceived that she was

in a small circular chamber, from which there was a passage through

a low, narrow portal. The floor of the apartment consisted of earth,

covered with dried cow-dung, which was perceptible to her as she trod

the chamber with naked feet, having cast off her sandals before she

ascended the funeral pile. She had already strung her mind to the

necessary climax of determination which had enabled her to brave death

in its most horrid form, and was consequently not terrified at the idea

of dying under circumstances less appalling.

She was on the floor, her mind filled with images of death, when

suddenly a light was seen approaching through the dark passage opposite

to which she happened to be lying, and a bright figure, enveloped in

light, appeared to enter the portal. Every part of the figure was

illumined; and yet the light did not appear to radiate from it, for

all around was darkness. It was about the size of a man, and exactly

resembled the huge idol of Somnat. The widow started to her feet as the

singular object approached. It advanced to the centre of the apartment,

and remained stationary.

The phosphorescent figure, instead of illuminating the apartment,

seemed to attract to itself every particle of light, rendering the

gloom around it so intense that nothing else was visible. It glared

upon the astonished widow from eyes fixed in their sockets, like

diamonds riveted into the living rock, with a lustre so unearthly

that she was obliged to seek relief in the darkness from a sight of

the hideous phantom. She drooped her head and remained in a state of

agonizing suspense as to the issue of this terrifying visitation. She

began to question her vitality. And yet the strong perception of her

senses--the tangible evidence of life in her own movements--the hearing

of her own breath--the feeling of her heart’s pulsation--all convinced

her that she was alive. Could this be a visit from the idol as promised

by the Brahmin? She would judge by the issue. And yet could the deity

have rescued her from the performance of an oblation universally held

by all devout Hindoos to be so welcome to him? Can he abrogate his own

laws. The thing appeared impossible. By whom then had she been rescued

from death?

In spite of the natural tendency of her mind to superstition, a secret

misgiving occasionally invaded it that she was about to become the dupe

of some spiritual juggle. The overtures of the Brahmin recurred to her

mind, and the anxiety he had expressed to save her from performing

the suttee. She began to dread that she was in his power; and yet the

strange supernatural shape at this moment before her seemed strong

evidence that she was in the presence of something unearthly.

Several female figures, all of the same lustrous description, as

if radiant with their own inherent glories, next appeared to enter

the vault, and surround the representative of Somnat’s Idol. They

prostrated themselves before it, and then such an exhibition of

indecency was represented as caused the widow to turn with a feeling of

sickening disgust towards the wall in order to exclude from her sight

the revolting objects. The blood mantled to her very temples: it was

now manifest to her reason that she could not be in the presence of her

god, but that she had been made a dupe of the basest artifices. She had

no difficulty in suspecting the author of her present imprisonment.

Whilst these thoughts were passing rapidly through her mind, her ear

caught a voice which, though feigned to imitate something superhuman,

she instantly recognised as that of the Brahmin, towards whom she

entertained sentiments of unqualified disgust.

“The deity of Somnat visits thee with his especial predilection. Thou

most favoured of thy sex, hail the coming of the god with joy, and

receive him to thy embrace.” A hand was laid upon her arm; she shrank

from the touch as if it had been the contact of a torpedo.

“Man of infamy,” she said calmly, “I am not to be deceived either by

your wiles or by your sorceries. Scenes to which you would invite me

but ill become the purity of heaven, where they alone abide who are

free from carnal defilements. When the ministers of religion convert

her sacred temple into a place of revelry and unchaste joys, the words

of spiritual blessing can no longer proceed from such polluted lips. A

light seems to have broken upon my soul, and to have imparted to it a

new sense of perception. I know not how, or why the revelation has come

upon me, but I feel that I have been a dupe--that your religion is a

scandal--that by you the deity is vilified, his altars defiled, and his

temple desecrated--that I am betrayed, and that you are a villain.”

No answer was returned. She heard footsteps slowly retreating, and

fancied she could distinguish the dim outline of a figure through the

gloom. The silence and mysterious conduct of her persecutor surprised

her. She feared to quit the cell, knowing not whither the passage might

lead, and determined to perish in her present solitary prison rather

than consent to anything which her heart did not sanction.

Beginning to feel drowsy from the effects of the draught which she

had taken before ascending the pile, and fearful lest, if she allowed

herself to be overcome by sleep, some base advantage might be taken

of her, she paced the vault rapidly in order to dissipate the effects

of the narcotic, the influence of which had not entirely subsided. In

a short time some one again entered the apartment, and the same voice

informed her that a curry had been prepared, and a jar of Gangetic

water provided for her neither of which she felt any inclination to

touch. It occurred to her that the food might contain some treacherous

drug; she therefore determined not to taste it.

Her heart now reverted to her infant with all a mother’s longing. When

she thought of its being in the hands of comparative strangers, who

could not feel towards it a parent’s tenderness, her anxiety became

vehement. It was her only tie upon earth, and the big tear filled her

eye as she reflected that she had probably beheld it for the last time.

Having at length walked off the effects of the potion, the excitement

of her mind dispelled all desire to sleep, and she seated herself upon

the floor of her gloomy apartment, determined to wait with patience the

issue of her odious captivity.

She was not long allowed to enjoy the solitary quiet of her own

thoughts. This was soon interrupted by a strange sound like the roaring

of flames within a narrow flue, and shortly after the vault was filled

with a pale dusky light which gave a horrible aspect to everything

around. It illumined the chamber, which she now perceived was a small

circular cavern, with a domed roof, in the centre of which was a square

aperture that passed upward beyond the reach of the eye, emitting

no light, and through this it was clear that she had been lowered

immediately after she ascended the pyre.

The sudden glare which had succeeded to the intense darkness, produced

such an oppression upon the sight that she was obliged to close her

eyes for several moments. When she opened them, a scene was presented

to her view, which, though it excited her terrors, could not subdue

her constancy. The chamber appeared filled with shapes of the most

horrible description; these approached her, and standing by her side,

seemed to deride her with demoniacal ferocity. She heard no sound, but

the objects presented to her view were appalling. She saw women in

every conceivable state of mutilation, writhing under the infliction of

demons, who grinned with ferocious delight at the agonized contortions

of their victims. Creatures of monstrous form and lineament with

hideous countenances rushed towards her, threatening torments too

horrible to describe.

One figure, representing a sort of hippogriff, armed with a weapon of

torture, from which branched a great number of barbs, was seen standing

over a prostrate female, into whose bare bosom he continually thrust

the instrument, while she appeared to be convulsed with agony beneath

the frightful infliction. Upon the head of this monster was a square

tablet of Palmyra leaf, on which was traced in fiery characters, “Such

is the doom of those who despise the favours of Somnat’s god.”

The sight of this object recalled the widow’s terrors. The conviction

instantly came that she beheld a mere juggle, and her alarm at once

subsided. What she saw might be the effect of sorcery, but it was

clear to her that the farce was got up in order to terrify her into a

participation of guilt, at which her pure soul revolted. The voice of

the odious Brahmin recurred to her recollection, and the illusion at

once vanished.

She determined to perish rather than become the willing dupe of a

being, the thought of whom inspired her with ineffable abhorrence.

Gazing calmly at the mummery, which after a while subsided, she

was again left in darkness and to the welcome solitude of her own

reflections. It was indeed a relief, for the continual excitement to

which she had been exposed rendered quiet a luxury, even amid the

impenetrable gloom of a dungeon.

CHAPTER VII.

Although Mahmood had been so severely foiled in his attempts upon

the city of Somnat, still he resolved not to abandon the enterprise.

Their success in repelling the besiegers had elevated the courage

of the Hindoos to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. They persuaded

themselves that the power of their idol had been exerted in favour of

his worshippers, and that their enemies would perish to a man. Several

fanatics singly quitted the fort, to cast defiance in the enemy’s

teeth, and brave death, which the Mahomedan sovereign inflicted upon

them, with undaunted resolution worthy of a better cause. They appeared

to glory in their martyrdom, as scarcely an hour had passed, since the

first repulse of the besiegers, in which these executions had not taken

place in sight of the ramparts.

The Hindoos, confiding in their numbers, and in the protection of their

idol, determined upon a sally, which, with the blind fury of zealots,

they made about noon, under the glare of an intensely ardent sun,

reflected with augmented ardour from the high battlements of their

city upon the adjacent plain, on which the Moslems were encamped. On a

sudden the gates were opened, and out poured a multitude of ill-armed

and undisciplined troops bent upon slaughter. They rushed forward,

shouting like maniacs, but were embarrassed by their numbers. They did

not appear to have calculated upon the regular and steady discipline

of their enemies, who had been inured to warfare, and accustomed to

conquer, under the conduct of their warlike monarch, but expected to

overwhelm them by the mere force of numbers, backed by the potent aid

of their stone god.

Mahmood drew up his troops behind the tents, which broke the furious

onset of his foes, and enabled him to attack them in separate bodies.

The first rush of the Hindoos was checked by the steady valour of the

besiegers, who scattered destruction among their ranks, and in a short

time the plain was strewed with the dying and the dead. The Hindoos did

not continue the struggle; they were quickly repulsed. A rout followed,

which ended in a tumultuous flight. They were pursued to their very

walls by the Moslems, but the gates were closed, both against the

pursued and their pursuers.

The idolaters from the ramparts beheld the rout of their troops with

dismay. They pressed again into the temple, prostrated themselves

before their idol, made piaculary offerings, and supplicated his aid

to chastise the murderers of his true worshippers. The deity was deaf

to their entreaties. Shouts of the victors and cries of the vanquished

were wafted by the gentle breeze to the sanctuary, but its stony idol

was unmoved. They repaired again to the ramparts, expecting that the

Ghiznivites, flushed with success, would storm the city. The frantic

Hindoos, however, were determined to defend their walls to the death.

They saw the enemy rushing forward; they heard their shouts of triumph;

the scaling ladders were already applied, when unexpected succour

was seen advancing along the distant plain. It was an army of their

countrymen, marching to the relief of Somnat. Arriving before the

Ghiznian camp, they presented themselves in order of battle. Mahmood,

determined to frustrate this attempt to reinforce the garrison,

recalled his troops from the pursuit, and, having left a portion of

his army to keep the garrison in check, advanced with the remainder

towards the Hindoo forces. These were fresh, having performed but a

short and leisurely march, while the Mahomedans were fatigued with

their late exertions, and flushed with the excitement of victory, which

rendered them too confiding and careless. They, moreover, entertained a

contemptible idea of their enemies, and thus gave them an advantage, of

which the latter did not fail to avail themselves.

The Hindoo army was composed of troops very different from those

fanatics who had hitherto defended the walls of Somnat, being chiefly

formed of regularly-trained soldiers, who had frequently been opposed

to the Moslem arms. Mahmood, heading his victorious Ghiznivites,

pressed forward to the attack with an impetuosity that caused the

enemy to recoil, but quickly rallying, they maintained their ground

with a resolution that astonished the Mahomedans, and rendered the

victory doubtful. The battle raged with great fury, yet neither party

gave way. For a long time the balance of advantage did not appear to

vibrate in favour of either. The idolaters, looking upon the struggle

from the battlements of their city, cheered their countrymen with loud

acclamations, at the same time invoking their idol to cast the foes of

their country and of their religion into the sea. Women were seen upon

the walls, holding up their infants to infuse new energy into those

troops which had marched to raise the siege of their beloved city.

Among the Hindoo forces were some Rajpoots, who fought with a

desperation which nothing could resist; and if the whole army had

been composed of these, it would more than probably have turned the

scale of victory against the Moslems. They were, however, cut off to

a man. The Hindoos at length began to waver, but fresh troops coming

to their assistance, the struggle was still maintained on both sides

with desperate determination. The shouts from the battlements seemed to

inspire the Indian army with unwonted resolution, while it depressed

the energies of their enemies. At length, however, by a vigorous

onset, the Mahomedans caused the foe to vibrate. Mahmood, seeing his

advantage, ordered his troops to advance and complete the rout, when

his ardour was checked by the arrival of new enemies. Two Indian

princes joined their countrymen, with considerable reinforcements, and

the battle raged with renewed fury.

The Mahomedans began now to waver in their turn. The Hindoos being

inspired with fresh courage advanced to the charge with an impetuosity

which caused the Ghiznivites to recoil; Mahmood, at this moment

perceiving his troops about to retreat, leaped from his horse, and

prostrating himself raised his eyes to heaven, and in an attitude of

the humblest supplication implored the divine aid. Then mounting his

horse, he took his principal general by the hand, by way of encouraging

him and the troops under his command, and advanced on the enemy. The

solemnity of his manner and of the act which he had just performed

filled the soldiers with holy fervour. They expected that the prayer

of their sovereign, so piously offered, would be heard, and gazed upon

him with the enthusiasm of men determined to conquer or perish. As he

advanced he cheered them with such energy that, ashamed to abandon

their king, with whom they had so often fought and bled, and who had

always led them on to conquest, they with one accord gave a loud shout

and rushed forward. In this charge, made with an impetuosity which

nothing could resist, the Moslems broke through the enemy’s line, and

fighting with that confidence which this advantage inspired, soon

left five thousand of their foes dead upon the field. The rout became

general, and the vanquished Hindoos fled on all sides.

The garrison of Somnat beholding the defeat of their companions gave

themselves up to despair, abandoned the defence of the city, and

issuing from the gate to the number of several thousand embarked in

boats, intending to proceed to the island of Serindip, the modern

Ceylon. This attempt, however, was frustrated by the vigilance of the

king, who having secured several boats left in a neighbouring creek,

manned them with rowers, together with a detachment of his best troops,

and pursued the fugitives, on which occasion he took some and sank

others of their flotilla, so that very few escaped.

Having now placed guards round the walls, and at the gates, Mahmood

entered Somnat, accompanied by his sons, a few of his nobles and

principal attendants. He found the city entirely deserted by the

troops, but there remained within the walls an almost infinite number

of pilgrims and devotees, who were in the daily habit of offering their

devotions before the celebrated idol. Many of the inhabitants were

persons of great wealth, upon whom the Mahomedan king did not hesitate

to levy such contributions as the conquerors of earlier times never

failed to impose upon the rich who happened to be among the vanquished.

Mahmood had not forgotten the beautiful Hindoo widow whose infant he

had rescued from the wolf; and one of his first objects upon entering

the city was to ascertain the place of her abode. He soon learned that

she had followed her husband to that unknown land which can only be

reached through the dark valley of the shadow of death. He was deeply

affected. Her beauty had excited his admiration. The scene in which he

had become with her so principal an actor had left a deep impression on

his mind, and a tear rose to his eye as he heard the sad tidings of her

death. He demanded to see the child. It was brought before him. He took

it in his arms, in spite of the horror with which its rigid guardians

looked upon the profane act. The infant smiled in his face, as if it

recognised the obligation which it was under to him. It put its little

hand upon his cheek. He was moved. The stern but generous warrior felt

his heart swell. Giving it to an attendant--

“This shall be the child of my adoption,” he said. “It is indebted to

me for its life, and I shall take upon me the direction of its future

destiny.”

The relatives were amazed. They expostulated; they imprecated the

vengeance of their god upon the unsanctified mortal who should dare

turn from his faith the son of a Hindoo. Mahmood smiled at their

objurgations, and dismissed them, but retained the infant.

He commanded to be brought before him the Brahmins who had urged

the widow to commit herself to the flames, and had been present at

the odious sacrifice. All answered the summons except the chief who

officiated upon that melancholy occasion. He was nowhere to be found.

The conqueror sternly inquired why they had induced the widow to

consummate such an act of infernal superstition.

“Because,” said the elder among them, “it was our duty to secure

her soul a place in Paradise, rather than suffer it to be doomed to

everlasting penalties, by failing to perform that solemn oblation which

the god of the Hindoos requires of all pious widows.”

“Thou shalt follow her to Paradise, then,” said Mahmood, with a bitter

smile, and he ordered the speaker to be instantly cast over the

battlements. The rest were allowed to retire, with a caution never

again to exercise any rite of their religion that should involve a

human life.

The Hindoo child was sent into the king’s harem and placed under the

charge of a nurse. Meanwhile the sovereign issued orders that the chief

Brahmin who had officiated at the late suttee should be sought after,

being determined to make a severe example of him, and then proceeded to

the temple.

Having entered the gorgeous edifice, he approached the huge image and

struck it with his mace by way of contempt; then ordered two pieces

to be broken off and sent to Ghizny, that one might be thrown at the

threshold of the public mosque, and the other at the principal entrance

of his own palace. This was accordingly done.

CHAPTER VIII.

The circumstances related in the last chapter took place during the

occurrence of those which happened to the Hindoo widow, from the

period of her husband’s death. She still remained in the vault. After

the exhibition of infernal agents had taken place, she was left a

short time to the more agreeable solitude of her own reflections,

but this was finally interrupted by her old tormentor. She heard his

slow and stealthy tread; she could just perceive the dim outline of

his figure, as he entered the vault, and it was now rendered the more

distinguishable by being covered with a plain wrapper of ashy-white

linen. He advanced under the cover of darkness, still flattering

himself that he should not be recognised. The widow was at this moment

seated on the ground. Groping his way, the aged debauchee put his hand

against her face, and having thus ascertained his propinquity, he said

in the same counterfeit tone of voice which he had hitherto assumed--

“Is the condescension of the god of Somnat still slighted by the

refractory widow? Know that he has power to annihilate thee,

or--what is far worse--to doom thee, through all the changes of thy

metempsychosis, to ineffable sufferings, which nothing can remit or

modify: but he has likewise the power to exalt thee to a participation

with himself to endless beatitude, in which thy obedience to his

desires will inevitably terminate!”

“Blasphemer!” she exclaimed, in a tone of calm but intense bitterness,

“I know thee; thou art no god, but one of the vilest ministers of evil.

Thou profanest the sanctuary of him thou servest with impure and unholy

rites, such as no deity can approve. The spiritual nature of the great

Being whom we adore, and whose image stands within the walls of that

hallowed pile, which thou hast so basely polluted, cannot defile itself

by any corporeal taint. The vices which gods condemn cannot be approved

by them, and what they disapprove their pure and essential natures

cannot practise.”

“You are uttering blasphemies,” replied the Brahmin, now assuming his

natural voice, perceiving he was discovered. “The gods delight to

reward their pious ministers, and the divinity which you have all your

life served, and to whom I have ministered during the longest period of

mine, has yielded thee to the embraces of one who adores thee.”

“If this be true, why hast thou assumed the character of that divinity,

and in the pretended identity of his august person, presumed to address

me with thy unholy love? Why have I been tormented with thy odious

juggles or sorceries? Why am I confined in this cavernous prison?

Is it under the sanction of that Being who is the perfection and

concentration of all good--the hater and antagonist of all evil?”

“But what you call evil is good, and encouraged by the divinity. The

enjoyment of holy men is desired by the Deity, because it is not evil.

It is essentially good; it is the reward of faithful services and

arduous labours; it leads to happiness. How then can it be evil? What

you call my sorceries were representations, caused by the idol which

you have despised, of what those may expect who presume to provoke his

wrath. Know, too, that the god of Somnat has visited you, and in me

you now behold him. He has assumed the form of his minister whom he

honours, to bestow eternal dignities upon a woman he adores.”

He threw his arms round her. She rose and flung him from her with a

force that cast him upon his back.

“Wretch!” she cried, with the dignity of subdued emotion, “think not

to lead me blindfold into guilt, by assuming the character of a Being

who is unable to endure the stains of thy pollution. Quit me, I command

thee, and leave me here to die; for know that I would rather perish by

the slow process of starvation than submit to the moral defilements

with which you would encrust my soul.”

The old man rose with difficulty, muttering curses, and hobbled from

the vault. Unappalled by the prospect of the vilest persecution, or,

with perhaps more probability, of a horrible death, the lovely Hindoo

calmly resigned herself to her destiny, resolved to perish, under

whatever aspect death might approach her, rather than become the

victim of her odious persecutor. Her mind was agitated by a tumult

of conflicting thoughts. She had been made sensible of having lived

hitherto under the delusions of a false faith. Her conclusions upon the

nature and quality of Deity became vague and undefined, and she knew

not on what to repose her trust. Still her soul was impressed with the

one vast idea of omnipotent agency, and she felt that she was under

both its dominion and its power. The purity of her own conscience gave

her confidence that she should not be deserted.

She had not been long balancing the issues of life and death, when

two female devotees, in the habit of attending upon the idol, and

familiarized with scenes of the grossest vice, entered the vault, one

of them bearing a lamp. They were dressed in the meretricious attire

peculiar to their vocation, and employed all their arts of persuasion

to induce the youthful widow to dismiss her absurd prejudices, as

they termed her virtuous resistance, and submit to the will of their

god, who, they assured her, was a tender and indulgent divinity. She

repelled their arguments with lofty scorn. Finding that persuasion was

lost upon her, one of them said--

“Well, use your own pleasure; but since you refuse the offers of your

spiritual guardian, you must no longer pollute with your presence the

secret sanctuary, where he condescends to visit those whom he honours

with his preference. Follow us.”

“Whither would you lead me?”

“You will shortly know.”

“I shall not stir from this spot in such company.”

The women set up a loud laugh, and one of them, approaching the widow,

said with a gesticulation of vulgar ferocity, “Follow us quietly, or,

by the chackra[9] of Vishnoo, you will be dragged like a refractory

beast. Think a moment before you determine to resist.”

The widow replied not, but by a movement of her hand signified her

consent to follow. One of the women went before with the light, and

the other behind. They passed through a long narrow passage, vaulted

overhead, and evidently underground. There was no outlet on either

side. It was terminated by a straight staircase, so narrow that only

one person could ascend at a time. Upon reaching the top, there was a

small square landing-place, with two doors at opposite sides.

“Here you will enter,” said the foremost woman, pointing to one of the

doors.

“Whither does it lead?”

“Into the bosom of the idol. There you will meet the god, there you

will be advanced to endless honours, there one who adores you awaits

your coming.”

“I am not to be deluded by these profane pretensions. Here let our

conference end. Open, if I am to enter, and let me know at once the

worst that is to befall me.”

A small silver bell was now rung by one of the women, when the door

slid sideways through a groove and presented a narrow portal. The widow

entered fearlessly and the door instantly closed behind her. She was

at the bottom of a short flight of stone steps, at the top of which

appeared a brilliant light. She ascended with desperate resolution,

determined to ascertain at once the full extent of the mischief to

which she was to become a victim. On gaining the top of the stairs,

she entered a circular chamber, about six feet in diameter. The

floor was covered with a beautiful Persian rug, and the light was so

intense as for the moment to be extremely painful. It was reflected

from an invisible source by means of reflectors composed of gems. The

walls of the apartment were decorated with jewels of immense size and

brilliancy, and gems were likewise strewed in heaps upon the floor.

The treasure displayed was prodigious. It appeared like a scene of

enchantment. The wealth of a universe seemed to be concentred in that

one spot.

The widow had not long gazed upon the vast wealth before her, when a

small door which she had not hitherto perceived, slowly opened and the

old Brahmin entered. There was an expression of triumphant malignity

in his deep dull eye. He closed the door carefully behind him. “Now,”

said he, approaching his victim, “for the consummation at once of

my pleasure and of my vengeance. Here resistance will be vain. My

ministers are at hand. Those women who conducted you from the vault are

within call, therefore be advised. Consent to be the bride of Somnat’s

idol, in the bosom of which you now stand, and the wealth which you

behold is at your disposal; refuse, and the idol’s curse will follow

you through the world to the place of everlasting retribution.”

“You know not a woman’s resolution,” replied the young widow firmly; “I

will never consent to the degradation you propose. Do your worst.”

“Be it so, then,” cried the Brahmin, and seizing a staff, he was about

to strike a gong that hung from an iron bar which crossed the chamber

about six feet from the floor, when a strange noise was heard without,

and the image vibrated to its very foundation. The Brahmin trembled,

and sank upon his knees. The beautiful Hindoo gazed on him in silence

and without emotion. The noise increased, the walls of the chamber

oscillated. With the calm confidence of speedy deliverance she looked

forward to the result. Her companion was still upon his knees overcome

by the stupefaction of terror.

Voices were now distinctly heard, and one smote on the widow’s ear

like familiar music. It was Mahmood’s. He had entered the temple of

Somnat just as the lovely widow had ascended into the hollow bosom of

the image. Having seen his orders executed upon the colossal frame, a

crowd of Brahmins, perceiving their god in jeopardy, rushed forward

and besought the king’s attendants to intercede with their sovereign

to spare it, offering Mahmood a large sum of money, to be instantly

paid down, if he would desist from further mutilation. His officers

endeavoured to persuade the king to accept the money, urging that as

the destruction of one idol would not put an end to idolatry, it could

not serve the cause of true religion entirely to destroy the image; but

that the sum offered might be distributed among the faithful, which

would be a meritorious act.

The monarch acknowledged there might be much truth in what they said,

but, nevertheless, declared that he would not consent to a measure

which would place him before posterity as Mahmood the “Idol-seller;”

whereas it was the height of his ambition to be known as Mahmood “The

Destroyer of Idols.”

Having finally delivered his determination, he ordered his troops to

proceed with the work of destruction. The gigantic image tottered

beneath their strokes. It was at length split; the next blow laid open

its hollow body, and to the surprise of the king and his officers

its immense wealth was exposed to view; but their astonishment was

infinitely increased when upon enlarging the opening, the Hindoo widow

appeared standing in the centre of the cavity with the aged Brahmin

kneeling beside her. The king instantly recognized her. She rushed

towards him and exclaiming, “My deliverer!” fell into his arms.

“You have saved me,” she cried hysterically, “from pollution and from

death. Yonder is my persecutor. In another hour I should have been what

I shudder to contemplate.”

The Brahmin was dragged from his den of infamy. He shrank from the

gaze of the scornful Mahomedan. His own companions slank out of the

temple and left him to his fate. He was instantly hanged from one of

the pillars of the sanctuary which he had so frequently profaned.

The beautiful widow became Mahmood’s favourite queen, which event

immediately followed upon her unexpected deliverance from the “Idol of

Somnat.”

FOOTNOTES:

[9] A sort of missile discus, with which the divinity Vishnoo is always

represented armed.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

Heg. 421 (A.D. 1030).--A conspiracy was formed in favour of Prince

Musaood, the king’s brother. Mahomed was surrounded in his tent by the

conspirators and his person seized. The refractory nobles immediately

joined Musaood and swore allegiance to him. Mahomed was deprived of

sight and cast into prison.

Heg. 422 (1031).--The king raised Altoon Tash, one of his own domestic

sweepers, to the viceroyship of Rye in Persia.

Heg. 423 (1032).--Khwaja Ahmud, the vizier, died.

Heg. 424 (1033).--This year was remarkable for a great drought and

famine in many parts of the world. The famine was succeeded by a

pestilence, which, in less than a month, swept away forty thousand

persons from Ispahan alone. In Hindostan whole countries were

depopulated.

Heg. 425 (1034).--The Ghiznivite general Boghtudy was defeated by the

Suljooks.

Heg. 427 (1036).--A new palace was finished at Ghizny. In it was a

golden throne, studded with jewels, erected in a magnificent hall:

over the throne was suspended by a golden chain a crown of gold,

weighing seventy mauns or a hundred and thirty-five pounds, and

emitting lustre from numerous precious stones. This formed a canopy

for the king when he sat in state to give public audience.

Heg. 431 (1040).--Musaood, being defeated by the Suljooks, and

deserted by his generals, his subjects restored his brother Mohamed,

whom he had blinded, to the throne.

Heg. 433 (1042).--Musaood was assassinated in the fort of Kurry.

Modood, his son, marched against his uncle, and defeating him, put him

and all his sons to death. About this time the Toorkomans of Toghrul

Beg made an incursion into the Ghiznivite territories by the way of

Boost, against whom Modood sent an army which gave them a signal

defeat.

Heg. 438 (1046).--Toghrul Beg began to entertain treasonable designs

against his sovereign, but upon his treachery being discovered, his

adherents deserted him, and he was obliged to fly from the king’s

dominions.

Heg. 440 (1048).--Modood conferred the royal dress, drums and robes

upon his two eldest sons, Mahmood and Munsoor.

Heg. 441 (1049).--Modood died, having reigned upwards of nine years.

He was succeeded by his brother Abool Hussun Ally, who married the

late king’s widow; but was deposed two years after by Sultan Abool

Rusheed, according to the most authentic accounts, a son of the

Emperor Mahmood. He was assassinated a year after his accession by

Toghrul Hajib, and Furokhzad, a son of Musaood, raised to the throne.

Heg. 450 (1058).--The king became afflicted with dysentery and died,

after a reign of six years.

Heg. 450 (1058).--Furokhzad was succeeded by his brother Ibrahim, who

sent an army into India and conquered many provinces in that country

which had not yet been visited by the Mussulman arms. It was during

this reign that Eiz-ood-Deen returned from India, where his father

had been an exile, married a princess of the house of Ghizny, and was

restored to the principality of Ghoor.

Heg. 472 (1079).--Ibrahim took the town of Dera by assault.

Heg. 492 (1098).--Sultan Ibrahim died and was succeeded by his son

Musaood, who after a reign of sixteen years, without domestic troubles

or foreign wars, died in the latter end of the year of the Hegira 508.

Heg. 508 (1118).--Arslan, son of the late king, ascended the throne

of Ghizny, and imprisoned all his brothers except one, who avoided by

flight a similar fate. This latter prince having collected an army,

defeated his brother, and ascended the throne. Arslan, after a short

reign of three years, suffered a violent death.

Heg. 511 (1121).--Sultan Beiram became king of Ghizny.

Heg. 512 (1122).--Beiram having defeated and taken prisoner Mahomed

Bhyleem, governor of Lahore, who had rebelled against his government,

pardoned him, on his swearing allegiance, and returned to Ghizny.

Mahomed Bhyleem again rebelled, was defeated and slain. Beiram having

executed Kootb-ood-Deen Mahomed Ghoory Afghan, to whom he had given

his daughter in marriage, was attacked and defeated by Alla-ood-Deen,

brother of the murdered prince, and obliged to fly from his dominions.

Heg. 547 (1152).--Sultan Beiram died after a reign of thirty-five

years. He was succeeded by his son Khoosrow, who reigned seven years

and died at Lahore, and was succeeded by his son Khoosrow Mullik.

Heg. 576 (1180).--The kingdom of Ghizny was invaded by Shahab-ood-Deen

Mahomed Ghoory, son of Eiz-ood-Deen. He finally evacuated the kingdom,

carrying with him Mullik Shah, the king’s son, a child only four years

old, as a hostage.

Heg. 580 (1184).--Mahomed Ghoory made an attempt upon Lahore, whither

the Emperor had removed his court, but being foiled, subjected the

country to devastation by fire and sword.

Heg. 582 (1186).--The prince of Ghoor again returned to Lahore with a

large army and took the city. The Emperor, seeing no means of escape,

threw himself upon the mercy of his enemy. Mahomed Ghoory demanded

instant possession of Lahore. The gates of the city were accordingly

thrown open to receive him, and the empire passed from the house of

Ghizny to that of Ghoor. Sultan Khoosrow Mullik reigned twenty-eight

years.

The Royal Merchant.

CHAPTER I.

“Boy,” said Sam to his son Eiz-ood-Deen, “I’m sadly tired of this

banishment. One’s own country, after all, is the only paradise upon

earth, and to be exiled from it is a sad penalty to a patriotic heart.”

“But,” replied the son, “you entered this land of strangers under

poverty and bereavement; you have here raised yourself to distinction

and wealth; your adopted country has been more favourable to you

than your fatherland; why, therefore, should you seek to quit these

hospitable shores for those from which you were once spurned a beggar

and an outcast?”

“Because the yearnings of nature are too strong to be resisted.

Besides, there I am known to belong to the blood of her kings; here I

am looked upon as a mere trafficker in merchandise, upon which, indeed,

I have grown rich, but in a manner that ill becomes the offspring of

royalty.”

“I have been too long accustomed to consider this as my native land to

desire to seek another home; but the desires of the son ought to yield

to those of the father: I am, therefore, content to quit it whenever

you may deem it fitting.”

The merchant Sam was, in truth, son of the king of Ghoor, a mountainous

region, which finally became tributary to Ghizny, and had been obliged

to fly from his country on the death of his father, who, while

attacking a fort, was killed by an arrow, which entered his eye.

The son fled into India, and finally settled at Surat, a city or

considerable commercial importance, about twelve coss from the sea.

Being of an enterprising turn of mind, he assumed the business of a

merchant, and, in the course of a few years of successful traffic,

became a man of great wealth.

Although he found few Mahomedans at Surat, there were a number of old

Parsee families, who had fixed their abode in a certain quarter of the

city. With these he freely associated, as they were not so backward in

holding social intercourse with strangers as the native inhabitants,

among whom the exclusive prejudices of caste were maintained generally

with extreme rigour. The Parsees being a mercantile people, the

royal merchant found that they very much advanced the success of his

ventures, and with them, therefore, he dwelt upon terms of mutual

good-fellowship. Having, however, reaped the full harvest of his

industry, he was anxious to return to that exaltation in his native

land which he had forfeited by his flight, especially now that he

possessed the means of maintaining a dignity which his ambition

rendered him eager to enjoy. His son, though he yielded to the wishes

of his father, had other views. When he had left his native mountains,

he was too young to retain any endearing impressions of home or of

country; he, therefore, felt no desire to quit a spot which was

endeared to him by other ties than those of a long residence.

Eiz-ood-Deen was in the habit of visiting the family of a Parsee who

had an only daughter, a beautiful girl in her thirteenth year. She

was the pride of her father, and he watched over her with a vigilance

only equalled by his fondness, being anxious to keep her from the view

of suitors, as he had betrothed her to the son of a wealthy Parsee

merchant in Bombay, to whom she was shortly to be married. It happened

that she felt an invincible repugnance to the young man to whom she

was betrothed, but had never dared to express this repugnance to her

father, knowing the extreme severity of his resentments when his

purposes were crossed, and being well assured that even his parental

affection would give way before the fierceness of his anger, if she

should dare to rebel against his authority.

She had frequently observed Eiz ood-Deen, when he called upon her

parent, through the venetians of her window that overlooked the

street, but which she had never ventured to raise. She was much struck

with the easy elegance of his person, and the lively intelligence of

his countenance, which had a sprightliness and characteristic amenity

of expression far more attractive than mere exclusive beauty. He was

in his nineteenth year, vigorous and well formed, and altogether

an interesting rather than a handsome person. She could not help

contrasting him with the object of her father’s choice, who was a short

fat youth, with an ungainly countenance, and pitted with the small-pox.

The sight of the Mahomedan rendered her more than ever averse to the

Parsee, and she soon became silent and desponding. Her father perceived

the change, but could not draw from her the cause of her depression. He

never, for a moment, imagined that it could arise from any antipathy to

the object of his choice for her, because he was firmly persuaded that

she had no choice in the matter, his fiat being the rule of her will.

He was uneasy, however, at the change, as his affection for her was

surpassed only by his desire to see her the wife of a wealthy husband,

which she would have in the son of his friend, the Bombay merchant.

Eiz-ood-Deen had heard much of the beauty of the Parsee’s daughter, but

had been in the habit of visiting at his house for the best part of a

year without having once seen her. She, however, had indulged herself,

by seeing him enter and quit the house almost daily for several months,

and the first favourable impression which his person made upon her in

no degree subsided; so far from it, that she felt for the first time

the two extreme passions of love and hate glowing in her bosom at the

same moment--love towards the Mahomedan, and hatred towards the Parsee.

She frequently pondered upon the misery of her lot, in being doomed to

wed a man whom she loathed, and debarred, by the difference of creeds,

from marrying one with whom she fancied she could realize her fairest

dreams of happiness. She became at length so excited by anxiety, that

she determined to brave all hazards, and, in defiance of her father’s

anger, reveal her passion to the object of her love. It was some time

before a safe opportunity occurred.

One morning her parent was suddenly called from home, and, to her

joy, Eiz-ood-Deen appeared in the court. She raised the venetians as

he approached the door, and exposing her young glowing countenance,

upon which the blush mantled like the opening tint of the vernal

rose, told him her father was not within. He stopped a moment to gaze

upon her, but overcome with the novelty of the act she had committed,

she withdrew her head, and dropped the venetian frame. The Mahomedan

was riveted to the spot. He was so overcome by astonishment at the

unexpected sight of so much beauty, that he had not the presence

of mind to utter a word. At length the sudden impulse of surprise

subsided, and he recovered his self-possession. As her apartment faced

the court which was seen from the street, he knew it would expose the

lovely girl to the worst suspicions if he remained under the window; he

therefore entered the house, as if ignorant that the Parsee was from

home. He here encountered an old woman who, as he soon ascertained,

was an attendant upon the young mistress of the mansion. She was a

low-caste Hindoo, and, knowing the sordidness of the class to which she

belonged, he had no difficulty in bribing her to bring him into the

presence of her young mistress. They met on that very morning. Vows of

perpetual love were interchanged, and the beautiful girl agreed to fly

with him to his native country, in order to avoid a union against which

her heart revolted.

Interviews were from this time almost daily contrived between the

lovers by the old woman who watched for them, who would have hazarded

her soul for gold; it was this only that kept her faithful, but her

fidelity was known by those who purchased it to be held by so slippery

a tenure that they were both anxious to be beyond the influence of

treachery.

“My father,” said Eiz-ood-Deen one evening, “when are we to quit this

land of the stranger?”

“Why, my son, I thought thou didst not seem inclined to quit it;

therefore, on thy account, I dismissed it from my thoughts.”

“Nay, my sire, a parent’s wish is law to a dutiful son, and I trust you

have never found me so wanting in filial obligation as to oppose, even

by a thought, the desire of one to whom I owe not only my being, but

the blessings of a happy life.”

“Well, my son, I have long been prepared to visit the land of my

fathers, and, if you concur, we’ll take ship at the full of the present

moon, when we shall enjoy the blessing of heaven’s light by night as

well as by day.”

Everything was immediately prepared for their departure, and

Eiz-ood-Deen congratulated himself that the lovely Parsee would be the

happy companion of his voyage. That night his thoughts were so full

of joy that he could not sleep. He lay pondering upon the bliss which

appeared to be in store for him. He was the only child of a parent, no

less indulgent than wealthy, and beloved by a beautiful girl, with whom

he anticipated that he should pass a life of unmixed enjoyment: but

alas! how seldom are the soberest expectations realized! Disappointment

almost invariably follows the glowing dreams of enthusiasm.

The next day he repaired to the Parsee’s house; the door was closed

upon him. He saw no one but a menial, who told him that his master was

desirous he should never more project his shadow over his threshold.

“What is the meaning of all this?” inquired Eiz-ood-Deen, with a

beating heart and quivering lip.

“Think a moment,” replied the man, “and you will be at no loss to

guess.”

This was an unexpected shock. He sickened as he thought upon the

melancholy consequences that might arise to the object of his fondest

affections, and quitted the house with a sad presentiment of mischief.

It was clear they had been betrayed. The old woman no doubt, in the

hope of reaping a richer harvest, had revealed their visits to the

inexorable parent, and the consequences of his anger would no doubt be

extreme.

During the whole of that day he could obtain no tidings of the Parsee’s

daughter. Many dark hints were thrown out by some of his tribe, whom

Eiz-ood-Deen knew, which led him to apprehend some fearful consequence,

but he could ascertain nothing positive. He returned to his father’s

house. The worthy merchant was surprised to see the gloom with which

his son’s countenance was overcast, and inquired the cause; but an

evasive reply silenced his questions, though it did not hush his

suspicions.

The following morning Eiz-ood-Deen was walking beyond the suburbs

of Surat, and bent his steps towards the cemetery of the Parsees. It

was a circular inclosure, protected by a wall about four feet high.

Within was a deep vault, covered by an iron grating, upon the top of

which the bodies of the dead were placed, and there left to corrupt,

the bones finally falling into the receptacle below, whence they were

removed at certain periods, and cast into the sea. Reaching the wall,

he sat on it, in order to rest himself or to give free scope to the

sadness of his thoughts in the immediate vicinity of so solemn a spot.

Looking towards the grating, he saw a body which had been that morning

placed upon it. Urged by an irresistible impulse, he leaped into the

inclosure, and approaching the vault, was horror-struck at beholding

the disfigured corpse of the Parsee’s daughter.

CHAPTER II.

Eiz-ood-Deen returned to his father’s house stunned with the shock

he had received at the Parsee cemetery. It struck his mind with the

fiery quickness and impetuosity of the thunderbolt that the fond girl

had been murdered--murdered because she loved him--murdered for his

sake. This was a dreadful reflexion. There was no interfering with the

domestic habits of the Guebres. They were governed by their own laws,

with which the native authorities at Surat presumed not to interfere;

he had, therefore, no means of instituting an inquiry into the death of

his beloved. He was the most wretched of men. The blast of desolation

had swept over his heart, and he looked upon himself as a seared

and blighted thing, which the sun of joy could no longer warm into

blossoming life. He was now as anxious to depart from Surat, as he had

once been to remain.

The only thing that pained him at quitting the scene of his misery was

the thought of leaving unrevenged the death of that tender girl whom

he had so fondly loved. But how was he to prove that she had been sent

out of the world by violence? Besides, had he not been guilty of an act

of deep moral obliquity in carrying on a clandestine intercourse with

the daughter of a different tribe, corrupting her father’s servants,

and meditating her final abduction? He felt upon what tottering ground

he trod, and therefore soon abandoned all thoughts of revenge. His

father could not account for his agitation; attributing it, however,

to those capricious sallies of youth which are frequently the mere

sudden eruptions of passion arising from trifling disappointment, he

did not take the trouble to inquire very minutely into the cause, but

occupied himself about preparing for his voyage. As the transfer of

property to any great distance was impracticable, he turned a large

portion of his wealth into jewels, which were less difficult to be

disposed of, could be easily secreted, and occupied little room. These

preparations engaged him for some days, during the whole of which

period Eiz-ood-Deen was a prey to the severest grief. He scarcely

uttered a word. His father now imagined that his sorrow arose simply

from the circumstance of his being about to quit a spot endeared to him

by the strong and linking associations of youth, but felt no doubt that

when the first ebullitions after departure should subside, new scenes

and new objects would soon absorb his attention, and win him from his

partialities to the scenes of his boyhood.

Having made the necessary preparations, the old man purchased a vessel,

which he manned with Hindoo sailors, for the best of all possible

reasons, because no other were to be had. The vessel was a large clumsy

boat, carrying about sixty tons, with no deck, save a kind of poop,

under which there was one small cabin. She was manned by fifteen native

seaman. Everything being put on board, the merchant Sam, with his son

Eiz-ood-Deen, set sail from Surat with a favourable breeze. The old

man’s heart bounded as he quitted those shores which had been the place

of his exile for years, and although he had filled his coffers with

money in this strange land, his predilection for that of his birth

had never been once stifled; it was still glowing. He was anxious to

lay his bones among those of his forefathers, and he tried to rouse

the spirits of his son to the same level of gratification with his

own; but the image of death was too vividly impressed upon the mind

of Eiz-ood-Deen to be so readily effaced. He could not banish it. It

seemed as if a fiery hand had seared it upon his brain with an impress

so deep and glowing that the finger of death only could obliterate the

tracing. His heart sickened when he reverted to the repelling reality.

“Nay, my son,” said the glad father, “you seem as if you grieved at

a parent’s joy. Why this gloom? Is there no other country upon the

globe’s wide surface which can yield us as glad a home as that which we

have quitted. Why do you repine? What have you relinquished? Were we

not living among communities which despised our religion, and held us

unfit to be admitted to the privileges of social intercourse? Were we

not rather tolerated than welcomed by those idolators whom our religion

has taught us to despise?”

“Then why, my father, have you made their country your home for so many

years? They admitted the exile among them, and surely those people

are not to be despised who received him whom his own countrymen had

abandoned. But you mistake the cause of my sorrow. I grieve not at

quitting the land of my father’s exile; on the contrary, I rejoice at

it: but there are griefs which weigh heavy on my heart, and never shall

I remember the city which we have quitted but with a pang that must

lacerate my bosom.”

The merchant was astonished. Absorbed in the pursuits of trade, he

had allowed his son to have so much his own way, that he knew little

or nothing of his pursuits, and had been altogether ignorant of his

acquaintance with the beautiful Parsee; he was, therefore, not a little

surprised when Eiz-ood-Deen related to him his attachment towards the

Guebre’s daughter and the lamentable issue of it.

“Alas! my boy,” said the old man, “there is little doubt but your

suspicions respecting the end of that poor girl are correct. The

strictness of the Guebres in maintaining the purity of their women is

so severe that even the slightest suspicion subjects them to certain

death. The power of inflicting summary punishment upon offenders of

this kind is in the hands of the parent, and pardon seldom passes from

the domestic tribunal for those sins to which death is awarded. The

poisoned bowl has sent that innocent victim to the land of shadows,

where our spirits shall everlastingly wail or rejoice.”

The son concurred in the probability of this having been the fact,

as he recollected the swollen and blackened state of the corpse. The

conversation becoming painful, he relapsed into his former mood of

silent abstraction.

It happened that among the property which the merchant had put on

board the vessel was a large royal tiger, so fierce that it was placed

in an iron cage, secured at the stern. The merchant had purchased it

some short time before he quitted Surat, intending to present it to

the King of Ghizny, who, as he had ascertained, possessed an extensive

menagerie, and was particularly fond of collecting wild beasts. The

tiger had been caught in a trap, and never, therefore, having been

tamed, was excessively ferocious.

They had been but a few days on their voyage, when the weather began to

assume a threatening aspect. The sun was overcast, and the heat became

almost suffocating. Not a breath of air stirred. The water had a gentle

swell, and was as smooth as a mirror; but there was a dull greenish

tint on the surface, which looked like a skin in the human body

tinged with the morbid hue of disease. Not a ripple agitated the lazy

mass, which undulated with a slow sluggish movement as if its natural

principle of motion were impeded. The vessel laboured through the

glassy but ponderous waters with a lumbering uneasy roll, that rendered

it difficult to maintain an easy position either within or without the

cabin.

The haze thickened and lay upon the sea, which it shrouded with a thin

vapoury veil, through which, when the clouds rolled from before his

orb, the sun occasionally glared with a fiery and portentous glow. The

Hindoo sailors were silent and looked grave, seating themselves by the

ribs of the vessel and looking into the sky with a foreboding gloom

that did not much tend to cheer the heart of the venerable merchant.

They appeared, however, to take no precautions against the approach of

a hurricane.

The boat had been under easy sail the whole day, and she was now left

almost to take her own course. The navigators began to chew opium and

to lie listlessly upon their rugs, as if anxious to put themselves in

a state of enviable oblivion as fast as possible. The man at the helm

fastened it in a certain position, and followed the example of his

companions. Soon after noon the wind freshened; the sun more frequently

looked from behind his curtain of dusky vapours, scattering through the

mist a red ochreous glow upon the sluggish waters. Clouds, deepening

in intensity as they gathered, rose rapidly from the horizon, and

overspread the heavens with their rolling masses, which seemed to hang

over the sea like a pall.

The sun at length went down in darkness. Some of the clouds upon the

horizon, as he sank behind them, were tinged with a dull fiery tint,

resembling the hue of hot iron immediately after the first red heat

has subsided. The wind was now blowing a gale, and the wrack flew over

the heavens as if the winged messengers of the skies were hurrying to

collect the elements for the work of devastation. The vessel was old

and leaky; her seams opened to the assaulting billows, which had now

cast off their sluggishness, and hissed and foamed around her with a

fierce activity of motion that darkened the countenances of the native

seamen, and appalled the two passengers. The merchant looked upon the

troubled heavens, and his heart sickened. The fearful presentiment

of death passed over his excited mind with the fierce rush of the

whirlwind. He dropped upon his knees: his prayer was incoherent; it

was broken by the frightful images presented to his mind. The son

was less agitated. His late sorrows had softened the terrors of the

scene, and the memory of that hapless girl who had died--and perhaps a

death of agony--for his sake, who now appeared about to follow her to

the last home of the blessed, subdued his alarms. He soon grew calm.

In proportion as the peril increased, he braced his mind to meet the

coming shock, but the poor old merchant was fearfully excited. He had

looked forward still to years of enjoyment in his native land, to which

he was attached by a link as strong as human sympathy could forge. He

continued to pray, but his aspirations seemed not to rise beyond his

lips: they were stifled in the terrors which gave them their first

impulse, but crushed them in the soul as they struggled to get free.

With the darkness the hurricane rose to a climax. The booming waves,

gleaming with that pale phosphorescent light which seems to make the

gloom of a tempestuous night only more hideous, broke over the vessel’s

bow, heaving into her undecked hull a body of sparkling water that

threatened every moment to swamp her. Still she rushed onward through

the foaming ocean, leaping over the billows with a sort of convulsive

energy that shook every timber in her frame, and opened her seams to

the assailing element. The tiger roared, dashing from one side to

the other of his cage, which he threatened every instant to shake in

pieces. His howlings were continued with scarcely any intermission, and

added another feature of terror to the storm.

The Hindoo sailors were perfectly passive. The vast quantities of opium

they had swallowed stupefied them so completely that they appeared

utterly unconscious of the surrounding peril. The vessel was allowed to

take her own course, and she was urged towards the shore. The rudder

was torn from her stern, and she lay like a huge log upon the convulsed

bosom of the ocean. Not a hope of escape remained. She was nearly

filled and on her beam ends. She rocked and heaved under the lashings

of the storm, like a creature in the throes of death. Her sails were

rent, and fluttered in the gale in thin strips, clattering amid the

roar of the tempest to the answering groans of the masts, that bent and

quivered like the tall thin stalk of the young bamboo.

Midnight passed, but the storm did not abate. The air was loaded with

pitchy masses of rolling vapour, which hung so low that the vessel’s

masts almost seemed to pierce them as she rose upon the circling crests

of the billows; they spread like a pall over the Heavens. There was no

light but what arose from the sea, and the intense darkness rendered

the aspect of the tempest still more terrific. During the whole night

it continued without intermission. The dawn revealed a wide expanse

of waters agitated into frightful commotion; the wind howling through

the air with a vehemence that seemed at once to shake the earth and

convulse the sea; the Heavens overspread with an interminable tract

of deep blue vapour which the eye could not penetrate. The vessel now

began to reel and stagger under the weight of water which she had

frequently shipped from the heavy seas that had dashed over her. She

laboured with difficulty through the rolling surges.

It was evident that she could not wear out the storm. Every moment

she rose less buoyantly. Her rudder gone, she was tossed at the mercy

of the billows. The merchant wrung his hands in agony; tears streamed

down his cheeks, and his eyes were fixed upon the convulsed ocean with

an expression of horror. Eiz-ood-Deen, on the contrary, gazed with a

sullen calmness on the terrifying scene. He spoke not; he put up no

prayer to Heaven; no silent aspiration rose from his heart to his lips,

but he looked with a stern apathy at the death which he every moment

expected.

A sudden reel of the vessel now brought her up against a wave which

dashed with a terrific shock over her bow, that made her whole frame

vibrate. The shock was so great that it forced up the lid of the

tiger’s cage, and left the terrified animal to its freedom. Alarmed at

the tremendous concussion, it leaped from its prison, and, bounding

forward, seated itself upon the roof of the cabin; but the vessel

taking a sudden lurch, and at the same moment another huge billow

dashing over its bows, with a loud roar of terror the affrighted beast

sprang into the deep. The crisis had now come. Another wave struck the

vessel on her quarter, a lengthened crash followed, her seams divided,

and, after one heavy roll, she went down with a hiss and a gurgle, as

the yawning vortex opened before her, that mingled fearfully with the

shrieks of her despairing crew while they were drawn into the abyss

which closed over them, the clamorous elements singing their requiem as

they sank into one common grave.

A spar had separated from the vessel as she went down, and floated free

upon the waters. The merchant and his son had both leaped into the

sea, and after a few desperate struggles each grasped the spar, but

the old man’s exhaustion prevented him from holding it securely. The

water bore him from his hold, and the agonized son saw him struggle in

vain to reach it. Quitting the spar, he swam towards his father. The

merchant threw out his arms with desperate energy to keep himself above

the surface, but every wave covered him. He shrieked, the water filled

his mouth; again he shrieked, again the fierce waters stopped his cry,

another and another struggle--there was a stifled moan. At length his

arms fell, his senses faded, he became still.

At this moment the son reached him, but too late. He had begun to

sink. There was no object on the surface. The spar rolled again near

Eiz-ood-Deen, and he grasped it with the clutch of desperation. He was

nearly exhausted, but with an instinctive desire of life, which they

only can apprehend who have beheld death before them in an array of

horror, he lashed himself to the spar with his turban, hoping that,

should the storm abate, he might be rescued from his peril by some

vessel, or cast on shore; for though the density of the mist prevented

the eye seeing objects beyond a few yards, yet he felt satisfied that

he could not be far from the coast. Perilous as his situation was, hope

did not desert him; and he who had looked at the approach of death with

indifference while there appeared a reasonable chance of escape, now

shunned it with a fierce instinct of preservation, when its triumph

seemed almost reduced to a certainty. He had not been long lashed to

the spar when, through the uproar of the tempest, he heard a strange

noise behind him, and turning his head, to his consternation beheld the

tiger making its way towards him through the raging waters. It snorted

and panted with its exertions; still it raised its noble head amid the

waves, rising above them with a buoyancy beautiful to behold, in spite

of the painful apprehensions with which it was accompanied. In a few

moments the tiger reached the spar, and placed its fore paws upon it,

close by the side of the merchant’s son. It offered him no violence,

but, looking wildly in his face, seemed to eye him with an expression

of sympathy, as if acknowledging a fellowship of suffering. Emboldened

by the forbearance of the noble animal, Eiz-ood-Deen laid his hand

gently upon its head. The tiger depressed its ears, gave a loud kind of

purr, and crept closer to the side of its companion.

Though frequently covered by the billows, Eiz-ood-Deen had lashed

himself to the spar too securely to be shaken off, and the strong claws

of the tiger kept it from a similar contingency. After being tossed

about for upwards of three hours, at the imminent peril of his life,

the merchant’s son and his feline associate were dashed on shore near

the mouth of the Indus.

CHAPTER III.

Eiz-ood-Deen was so exhausted on being cast upon the strand, that when

he had disengaged himself from the spar and crawled up the beach beyond

the reach of the surf, he fell into a profound sleep. When he awoke,

the tempest had almost entirely subsided; and to his astonishment he

found the tiger at his side with one of its paws upon his breast and

looking steadfastly in his face. The recollection that they had been

companions in peril, and the favourable manner in which the ferocious

creature had received his caress upon the spar amidst the turbulence of

the excited ocean, abated his apprehensions of the animal’s hostility,

which seemed to have forsaken its natural instincts, and he laid his

hand fearlessly upon its head. The tiger instantly purred, rolled upon

its back, and exhibited marked symptoms of delight, rubbing its broad

forehead against Eiz-ood-Deen’s face, and spreading out its capacious

tongue as if to show him the tenderness of a tiger’s caress. This was

an exceedingly welcome indication of good fellowship to the merchant’s

son; nevertheless he could not help fearing that when hunger should

remind the voracious beast of the necessity of appeasing its natural

longing, it might take a fancy to him for its first meal.

He was so bruised by the spar to which he had been attached when cast

upon the beach, and moreover his strength was so reduced by his long

and arduous struggles, that he could not proceed in search of some

friendly habitation; he therefore bent his way towards the nearest

jungle, to which the tiger leisurely followed, being determined there

to pass the night and seek out an asylum the following day. As evening

advanced, he crept into a thicket, and heaping some dry jungle-grass

under a tree, threw himself upon it. The tiger quitted him; and he

concluded that having found a congenial retreat, it had gone in search

of a supper, which he hoped would prevent him from being distinguished

by so flattering a preference as he had apprehended.

He had now time to reflect upon his bereaved condition. All his fathers

property had been put on board the vessel, and all had therefore gone

to the bottom, save a few jewels which the wary merchant had caused

him to secrete about his person for the sake of security, in case the

crew should turn pilferers and practically illustrate the doctrine of

appropriation. The old man had stowed his most valuable gems within

the folds of his own turban, which went to the bottom with him; so

that of all his immense wealth a trifling wreck only was preserved by

the son, who was now a comparative beggar in a strange country, with

the habits of which he was not familiar, and towards the inhabitants

of which he felt no sympathy. His future prospects were none of the

brightest. Although he had escaped death under its most fearful aspect,

he possessed nothing in his own estimation to render life desirable.

He had been cut off from all that was dear to him in the world, and

there remained nothing to enhance the world to him. He thought upon his

parent’s lamentable end, and wept. The dreadful fate of the Parsee girl

rushed like the simoon blast across his heart and wrung it with intense

agony. He wondered why he had not courted death amid the howling

storm, and could scarcely account for his having used such endeavours

to preserve a worthless and miserable existence: but he felt that he

was called upon to struggle through the difficulties by which he was

beset; and the pride of resistance at length rousing his spirit, he

resolved to rise superior to his destiny, and exert all his energies to

lift himself from the depression into which a course of concurrent but

hostile circumstances had plunged him.

He arose as soon as the broad light had made its way through the thick

growth of the forest, when to his surprise he found the tiger again at

his side. Its jowls were streaked with blood; and, from the roundness

which its flanks exhibited, it was evident to him that it had not gone

without its evening meal. It fawned before him with a fondness that

won his interest for the noble beast, which wagged its tail, advanced

into the thicket, then stopped and looked back, as if inviting him

to follow. There was an earnestness in the animal’s motions which

determined the merchant’s son to see whither it would lead him.

Perceiving him prepared to follow, the tiger bounded forward with a

suppressed roar. After passing through a portion of the forest where

the growth was unusually thick, his dumb guide suddenly stopped, and

Eiz-ood-Deen advancing perceived the tiger standing over the mangled

body of a buffalo recently slain. A portion of it had been eaten--the

whole of the intestines: but the most fleshy parts remained entire.

Eiz-ood-Deen drew a sharp double-bladed dagger, which he always carried

in his cummerbund; and cutting off a slice from one of the haunches,

returned to the spot where he had passed the night. Having kindled a

fire, he broiled the meat; and climbing a cocoa-nut tree that grew near

the beach at the edge of the jungle, he gathered several nuts, which

afforded him a refreshing beverage, and was thus considerably refreshed

by his morning’s repast. The tiger lay at his feet and slept. Instead

of feeling any terror in the presence of this powerful and ferocious

creature, he was animated by a confidence that tended much to quiet the

morbid anxieties of his mind. He felt a security against aggression,

which gave a stimulus to his determination to grapple manfully with

circumstances; and he began to think that he was still born to be a

distinguished man.

As soon as he felt his body sufficiently recruited to proceed,

Eiz-ood-Deen commenced his journey towards Ghizny. He had a long and

dreary way before him, but was supported by the consciousness that,

having been preserved from the tempest and from the natural ferocity of

the tiger, he was destined to sustain a character in the world. There

was an excitement imparted to his thoughts by the singular peculiarity

of his condition, and the shadows of despondency began to dissipate

before the active energies of his mind. A new field of speculation

appeared to be suddenly open before him; and when the loss of those who

were dear to him, and of his father’s treasure, passed like shadows

over his brain, they were repelled as by a sunbeam by some elevating

impulse of thought, and he pursued his way through the forest with a

comparatively unburthened heart. The tiger continued to follow him,

as if loth to relinquish the companionship of one who had been its

associate in peril, and towards whom its natural instincts of ferocity

seemed to subside into those milder ones which belong to the gentlest

of the dumb creation. It frolicked before his path, and fawned at his

feet when he rested, exhibiting the strongest symptoms of delight

when he patted its sleek broad back, purring under the pressure of

his hand, relaxing its large bright eyes into an expression of gentle

satisfaction, protruding its huge tongue, and passing it over its

formidable jaws, at once showing its power and its docility.

It was a strange thing to see a creature of such prodigious physical

energies, and with a disposition to exercise them whenever opportunity

might present itself, throwing off the habits of its nature, and, as

if by some supernatural transformation, exhibiting the very opposite

qualities to those which are innate with all its race. The circumstance

appeared to the merchant’s son a happy omen of his own future success,

and in the strength of this expectation he proceeded on his way. As he

was walking leisurely through a beaten path in the forest, he heard

something strike a tree just before him, and raising his eyes perceived

that an arrow was sticking into the bark. He turned his head, but there

was no person visible, and he paused in some uneasiness. Whence the

arrow had proceeded, or from whom, were alike a mystery. That he had

been the object of the archer’s aim he could not for a moment imagine,

as the shaft had struck in the trunk of the tree at least three feet

above his head, and he knew too well the dexterity of Indian bowmen,

whether warriors or robbers, to suppose that so false an aim could

have been taken by anyone accustomed to the use of this weapon. He was

perplexed; he knew not what to think. At length he saw the eyes of the

tiger fixed as if upon some object in the thicket. Drooping its ears

and gently undulating its tail, it dropped a moment on its belly, then

bounded forward, and was in an instant lost in the thick undergrowth

which nearly covered the whole face of the jungle.

After a few moments a cry of agony was heard, which was answered by a

stifled roar not to be mistaken. Eiz-ood-Deen rushed forward in the

direction of the sound. He heard a low mumbling as he neared the spot,

and making his way into a patch of small wood and jungle-grass, he

there saw the tiger standing over a man’s body, which was dreadfully

lacerated. Its paw was on the breast, into which the claws were fixed,

the bone being in several places perfectly bare. The skull was crushed

nearly flat, and the ferocious animal stood growling over its victim

as Eiz-ood-Deen approached. A strung bow was lying by the side of the

corpse, from which it was natural to conclude that this was the body of

the man who had discharged the arrow into the tree.

The tiger began voraciously to devour its prey; and when Eiz-ood-Deen

approached, and placed his hand upon it, the creature gave a quick

short growl, raised its paw suddenly, and struck him down. He was

stunned a moment with the force of the shock, but, rising instantly, he

retreated a few yards, and found to his extreme gratification, that the

tiger’s claws had not been protruded when it struck, as there was no

wound.

The merchant’s son made no further attempt to interrupt the creature’s

meal, which it was proceeding to despatch with characteristic voracity,

when, on a sudden, several arrows were fixed in its body. Raising its

head, it tore the shafts from its flanks; then with glaring eyes and

erected fur, darted forward in the direction whence the arrows had been

discharged. Its career was almost immediately arrested. It staggered

and fell dead. As it advanced, there had been a second discharge of

arrows, three of which entered its brain.

Eiz-ood-Deen saw with regret the noble creature lying prostrate in

death, remembering the peril they had shared in the late tempest, and

the tiger’s consequent gentleness towards himself. While he was gazing

at the body of the prostrate beast, several men advanced from the

thicket and surrounded him. “Who are you,” said one of them, “that the

brindled savages of the forest seem thus to respect?”

“A poor traveller on his way to Ghizny, which he hopes, through your

kind succour and direction, to reach.”

“But how comes it that yonder grim brute, which so unceremoniously

banqueted upon our companion, who lies yonder with his eyes to the

broad heavens, whither his spirit will never enter, did not make a meal

of thee? He seems to prefer flesh that has been forest-fed to the tough

and dry product of the town.”

“My history with reference to that beast is a strange one. We were

hurled into the sea from the same ship, and clung to the same spar for

preservation. The creature was near me in peril, and when we were cast

on shore together, fawned before me instead of exercising upon me the

savage propensities of its nature. Animal instincts are as inexplicable

as they are wonderful.”

“A likely story, in truth! but whether true or false, our companion has

been killed and you must supply his place. A tall sinewy fellow of your

growth and bulk is sure to make an apt as well as a comely robber.”

“I am afraid you will find me but an awkward practitioner in a

profession which I so little understand.”

“Ay, I suppose you are what those fools who affect to be good and

wise among us, call an honest man--whose whole life is only one broad

varnished lie. Honesty is a mere term for a purpose. Where are there

greater rogues than they who would be teachers of their fellows, and

under the veil of religion commit the vilest abominations, and dub them

with the name of honesty? We’ll soon teach you a different lesson. We

pretend not to be honest, for thieving is our craft, and we glory in

making the pampered pay for our civility when they happen to cross

our path. You’ll quickly learn to get rid of your qualms, for with us

hunger is a frequent visitor, and you’ve no notion how eloquently it

persuades men to become rogues. But you must go with us, whatever may

be your antipathies.”

There was clearly no use in contending with a set of desperadoes, who

had evidently made up their minds to have their own way; the merchant’s

son, therefore, followed them, without attempting the slightest

expostulation.

The robbers conducted him into a deep recess of the jungle, where there

was the ruin of what appeared to be an ancient temple. It was low, not

more than a few feet above the common level of the forest, and was

entered by a narrow portal which led into, several small dark chambers,

inhabited by the bandits, of whom there were upwards of thirty.

Eiz-ood-Deen was refractory, and did not choose to enrol himself among

this marauding company. They treated him with considerable harshness;

he nevertheless continued firm in his resolution to remain their

captive, rather than unite with them in their practices of plunder.

It happened that the robbers had received intelligence of a party of

troops being on their way, with supplies, towards the camp of Sultan

Ibrahim, sovereign of Ghizny, who had invaded India with a numerous

army. As their route lay through a part of the jungle, the robbers

determined to attack the detachment in a narrow pass, where they

would be unable to act effectively, and plunder the waggons. This was

accordingly attempted, and with some success. They partially robbed one

of the waggons, and bore off an officer who defended it. In the evening

they brought their prisoner to their forest dwelling. Dissatisfied

with the issue of their expedition, they determined to attack the

waggons again on the following day; and in order to effect this with

greater security, they put to their captive certain questions, which he

refused to answer. Every temptation was offered to induce him to make

disclosures, but he declined giving the slightest communication; this

so incensed the robbers that they shot him to death with arrows. They

were not, however, suffered long to triumph in their cruelty. On that

night their haunt was assailed by the troops which they had so recently

attacked, and the greatest part of the band were made prisoners.

CHAPTER IV.

Eiz-ood-Deen was made prisoner with the rest or the robbers, who were

severally put in irons, and finally marched to Ghizny, where they were

cast into separate dungeons. The merchant’s son now looked upon his

doom as sealed. Taken up as a robber and murderer, he saw little chance

of escape, and began to look forward with dreadful apprehensions to

undergoing an ignominous death. How was he to prove his innocence when

he had been taken in the very den of those criminals who had committed

the murder, and was declared by them to be one of their party? He could

bring forward no proof of his innocence to countervail such strong

presumptive evidence of his guilt. His mere declaration would scarcely

be listened to, it being well known that the guilty almost invariably

declare themselves innocent. He paced his prison with a restless and

impatient step. It seemed as if the doom of destiny were upon him.

Since the death of that guiltless girl, whom he had hoped to make his

wife, he had known nothing but misfortune. The conviction smote upon

his heart that he had been saved from destruction, when the hurricane

stirred the elements into frightful combination, and threatened every

moment to engulf him amid the raging billows, only to meet a more

dreadful doom upon land. He now regretted that he had not perished amid

the turbulent waters which bore his father to the abode of spirits, or

that the tiger had not struck him dead when it raised its paw against

him in the jungle. What was to be done? There was no evading the doom

which awaited him. He must die a degraded criminal, his body would be

thrown to the vultures and to the jackals. It was a fearful thought! To

have his bones whiten in the sun, and his flesh furnish a banquet for

beasts of prey!

The robbers were severally tried, all found guilty, and executed.

Their heads were placed upon the walls of Ghizny. His trial came last.

The day preceding he endeavoured to prepare himself for the fate from

which he concluded there could be no escape; but he could not brace

his spirit to that pitch of resolution which defies the terrors of

death, and renders the condemned man capable of going through the

awful details of a public execution, not only without dread, but with

perfect tranquillity of spirit. Every one of the robbers--for he had

been taken from his dungeon to witness their execution--had met death

with that sullen resolution peculiar to fatalists, for such were they;

but Eiz-ood-Deen, entertaining a different faith, felt that he was not

likely to meet it with equal resolution. The night which preceded his

trial was one of dreadful mental excitation. He had no rest; the fever

of anxiety was on his brow, and the phantoms of terror flitted round

him as he courted a transient oblivion of his woes.

The morning dawned upon his disturbed slumbers, and the dim light which

reached his dungeon through a narrow aperture in the wall roused him

from the damp earth upon which he had cast himself for the last time.

He arose feverish and unrefreshed. His hands were cold as the stones

by which he was surrounded, but his temples were painfully hot, and

throbbed almost audibly. He tried to summon resolution to appear before

the court with composure, but nature mastered all his energies, and he

gave way at length to a violent burst of emotion. The remarkable manner

of his escape from destruction during the storm and its accompanying

circumstances had endeared life to him, and he felt unconquerably loth

to relinquish it, although at one time he had really persuaded himself

that death would be a boon.

The summons at length came, and he prepared to follow the messenger

into the presence of a fallible judge, who, he was persuaded, would

pronounce upon him, though innocent, the dreaded penalty of the law.

He entered the court with a tottering step, a drooping eye, and a

bloodless cheek. The trial was summary, and the sentence speedily

passed. He was adjudged to have his head struck from his body and

placed upon the city walls, the trunk to be cast to the vultures. The

execution was ordered instantly to take place, and, as little sympathy

is shown for criminals in countries where despotism renders public

executions occurrences of mere daily routine, Eiz-ood-Deen was bound

without the slightest compassion being shown by those who had heard

his trial and condemnation. His turban was rudely stripped from his

head, and while the heartless official was binding it round his brow

to cover his eyes, in order that he might not witness the descending

stroke of death, he raised a piteous lamentation, calling upon the

Deity to attest that he was innocent, and accompanying his cries

with such strong appeals to the humanity of his judge, that even the

executioner was at length moved, and paused for a moment in his work of

preparation.

The prisoner was desired to state what he had to urge in his defence,

and say how it happened that he had been found associated with robbers

who had committed a murder upon one of the subjects of Sultan Ibrahim.

Eiz-ood-Deen commenced his defence by stating the principal events of

his life, which he did in a manner so simple and circumstantial, that

the magistrate, who had condemned him unheard, at length believing

him innocent, suspended his execution, and immediately petitioned the

sovereign in his favour.

On being brought before the Sultan, the merchant’s son acquitted

himself with such modesty and eloquence that he was pardoned, and taken

into the sovereign’s service. This was, in truth, an unexpected issue

to the dilemma in which he had so unwittingly fallen, and his prospects

thus suddenly brightening, he felt more than ever impressed with the

idea that he had been spared for a better destiny. He rose rapidly

in the royal favour, and was finally advanced to one of the highest

offices in the state.

One day as he was following the chase with several of the nobles, a

boar charged the horse of a prince of the royal house of Ghizny, and

having inflicted a frightful wound in its flank, the wounded beast

fell, and the foot of its rider being under its body, he could not

extricate himself. The enraged boar dashed towards him, and in a

few seconds more would have placed him in the same condition as his

horse, when Eiz-ood-Deen spurred forward, met the hog in its impetuous

career, received it upon his spear, which entered the heart of the

furious animal, and it fell dead beside its intended victim. The victor

immediately dismounted, and going to the prince’s rescue, released him

from his jeopardy. This little incident naturally produced an intimacy,

and Eiz-ood-Deen soon became a welcome visitor at the prince’s palace.

The latter had three daughters, one of whom was reputed to be a girl

of great beauty and accomplishments; nor did she belie the character

which report had given her. Her father was justly proud of her. She

was already betrothed to one of the wealthiest nobles in the Sultan

Ibrahim’s dominions. It had been an arrangement of interest, not of

affection, and one in which the princess had acquiesced rather in

obedience to the wishes of her father, whom she tenderly loved, than

to the suggestions of her own choice. When she met the preserver

of her parent’s life immediately after the event just related, the

natural impulses of her heart drew from her expressions of gratitude

so ardent and earnest, that Eiz-ood-Deen was deeply moved at the

eloquent declaration of her feelings. He listened to her with

breathless delight. There was no resisting the earnestness which was

so much enhanced by the corresponding influence of her beauty. But

she was betrothed, and therefore to admire her was dangerous--to love

her criminal; and yet to see her, under such a provocative both to

admiration and love, and not give way to those strong tendencies of our

nature roused into vigorous action, when that pure passion is awakened

by which alone the fruits of our earthly paradise are matured, was all

but morally impossible. The merchant’s son, now raised to the dignity

of a noble, and whose ambition therefore led him to think that he might

aspire to the highest alliance, could not behold the beauty of this

high-born maiden with insensibility. He soon felt that his heart had

received an impression which had completely effaced the scar left upon

it by the sad disappointment of a former love; yet he dared not avow it.

The two elder sisters were neither handsome nor agreeable, and had

passed that period of rich and vivid freshness which imparts to the

beauty of woman its best charm. They were rapidly advancing to the

staid season of existence when the buoyancy of youth begins to decline,

and you are continually reminded that its beautiful bright star has

culminated. It happened that they had been both struck with the fine

person of Eiz-ood-Deen, and manifested their partiality in a manner too

obvious to be longer equivocal. The object of their mutual affection

treated their advances with provoking disregard; but they, imagining

that he was withheld by their rank from declaring his passion, each

resolved in secret to take the earliest opportunity of letting him

know that he was beloved by a princess of the house of Ghizny.

Before, however, they could put their determination into practice,

Eiz-ood-Deen had declared his admiration for the younger sister, who

had answered his declaration by avowing a reciprocal attachment. This

almost immediately came to the ears of the two elder sisters, who were

outrageous at the discovery of his entertaining what they deemed so

degrading a preference.

This discovery, however, did not abate the passion of these two tender

maidens, and each resolved personally to declare her sentiments to the

object of her affections. One evening, Eiz-ood-Deen received a message,

through one of the attendants of the palace, from the youngest of the

three princesses, as was represented, to meet her in the palace gardens

an hour after sunset, as she had some special communication to make.

Delighted at the idea of encountering the object towards whom his heart

bounded with unceasing emotion, he repaired to the place appointed,

expecting to see one whose presence was rapture. He entered the gardens

and sprang towards a female already there awaiting his arrival, when

to his surprise and mortification he stood before the eldest daughter

of the prince whom he had rescued from death. The interview, however,

was short. She began by declaring her passion; but he soon silenced

her unwelcome avowal by telling her that his heart was fixed upon

her youngest sister. Having made this declaration, he quitted the

garden, and the princess sought her apartment, burning with rage and

disappointment.

Both the elder princesses meditated revenge; and in order to effect

this, they took an opportunity of rousing the jealousy of the Omrah

to whom their younger sister had been betrothed, by telling him that

his affianced bride had bestowed her affections upon Eiz-ood-Deen, at

the same time rousing his hostility by the vilest insinuations. The

fiercest passions of the noble were roused, and he determined to take

speedy and signal revenge. Shortly after this disclosure, while they

were enjoying the pleasures of the chase, the jealous lover resolved to

avail himself of the opportunity to destroy his rival, at a moment when

he was separated from the hunters. Eiz-ood-Deen had paused, to give his

steed breath after a severe run. On one side of him was a precipice,

and on the other the jungle from which the quarry had been roused. The

enraged noble, armed with a strong spear, urged his steed forward; but

the animal springing at the goad of its rider’s spur, suddenly turned

to the right, and bounded towards the precipice. There was no arresting

its career. It reached the brink--snorted, reared, and plunged into the

abyss. Both rider and horse were killed upon the spot.

The two elder daughters of the prince were grievously vexed at this

mischance; and their jealousy of the younger sister was carried at

length to such a height that Eiz-ood-Deen determined to declare himself

without further delay. The object of his attachment had received and

approved of his addresses; nothing therefore remained but to obtain

the father’s consent. The suit of the merchant’s son, who had been

raised by the Sultan to an appointment of high dignity in his court,

was backed by his royal master. Knowing that he was of the blood royal,

Ibrahim urged that the princess should be united to him. Eiz-ood-Deen

was consequently married to this beautiful scion of the house of

Ghizny, and shortly after put in possession of the principality of

Ghoor, over which his ancestors had reigned until the flight of his

father into India. By the princess of Ghizny Eiz-ood-Deen had seven

sons. These, when the father died, separated into two divisions. They

were, by way of distinction, called the seven stars. One of these

divisions gave its origin to the dynasty of kings at Bamyan, called

also Tokharistan and Mohatila; and the other to the Ghoory dynasty at

Ghizny. Of the latter race was Kootb-ood-Deen Mahomed, called King

of the Mountains. He married the daughter of Sultan Beiram, king

of Ghizny, and having founded the city of Feroozkooh, made it his

capital. In the vicinity of this place, having enclosed with a wall a

spot of ground about two parasangs[10] in circumference as a hunting

park, he assumed all the dignities of a sovereign. At length he was

induced to attack Ghizny. Sultan Beiram, obtaining intimation of

his intentions, contrived to get him into his power, and eventually

poisoned him. This was the origin of the feuds between the houses of

Ghoor and Ghizny.[11]

FOOTNOTES:

[10] The parasang varies from three to four miles.

[11] See Brigg’s Translation of Ferishta, vol. i. p. 167.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

Heg. 582 (A.D. 1186).--The empire of Ghizny having passed from its

native sovereign to the house of Ghoor, Gheias-ood-Deen became

sovereign of all the Mahomedan conquests in India. His brother,

Mahomed Ghoory, whom he had appointed general-in-chief of his armies,

having settled the provinces of Lahore, retired to Ghizny.

Heg. 587 (1191).--Mahomed Ghoory marched into Hindostan and took the

town of Bitunda, but was obliged to retreat to Ghizny, having been

defeated by the combined armies under the command of Pithow-Ray,

Rajah of Ajmeer and Chawund Ray, Rajah of Delhi. In a second battle,

however, Mahomed completely routed the combined armies. Proceeding

in person to Ajmeer, he took possession of it, put a thousand of the

inhabitants, who opposed him, to the sword, and reserved the rest for

slaves. Having returned to Ghizny, Mullik Kootb-ood-Deen Eibuk, took

the fort of Merut and the city of Delhi from the family of Chawund

Ray; and it is from this circumstance that the empire of Delhi has

been said to be founded by a slave.

Heg. 589 (1193).--The general-in-chief marched to Benares, broke

down the idols of above a thousand temples, which lie purified and

consecrated to the worship of the true God. He then returned to his

brothers dominions.

Heg. 592 (1195).--Mahomed Ghoory returned to Hindostan, took Byana;

and the strong fort of Gwalior fell into the hands of Buha-ood-Deen

Toghrul, after a long siege. The king of Ghizny dying, Mahomed Ghoory

succeeded to the throne without opposition. Having attempted the

conquest of Khwaruzm, he was surrounded by the enemy, who advanced

to the relief of its sovereign. Almost the whole of his army being

destroyed, Mahomed cut his way through the enemy and arrived in safety

at the fort of Andkhoo, a short distance from the field of battle.

Here he was besieged; but upon engaging to pay a large ransom and to

abandon the place, he was suffered to return to his own dominions. His

entrance into Ghizny was opposed by Yeldooz, a slave; this opposition

obliged him to continue his route to Mooltan, where he was opposed

by Zeeruk, a powerful chief, who had rebelled against him. Being

joined by many of his friends and some Indian allies, he quelled the

insurrection and returned to his capital. This year the Ghoorkas were

converted to the faith of Islam.

Heg. 602 (1206).--A band of twenty Ghoorkas conspired against the

king’s life. Mahomed Ghoory being encamped at a small village on the

banks of the Indus, the assassins entered his tent and he fell under

their hands pierced with twenty-two wounds. The treasure which this

prince left behind him was incredible; he is said to have possessed

in diamonds alone four hundred pounds’ weight. He was succeeded by his

general Kootb-ood-Deen Eibuk, who was crowned king of Ghizny.

Heg. 603 (1206).--After his accession, the new king abandoned

himself to all kinds of sensual pleasures; in consequence of which

the citizens of Ghizny rebelled against him, and he was obliged

to retire to Lahore. Becoming sensible of his folly he repented,

and thenceforward governed his kingdom with remarkable justice,

temperance, and morality.

Heg. 607 (1210).--Kootb-ood-Deen was killed by a fall from his horse,

in a match at Chowgan,[12] and was succeeded by his son Aram, who the

same year was deposed by Shums-ood-Deen Altmish, his brother-in-law.

Heg. 612 (1215).--Altmish defeated Taj-ood-Deen on the plains of

Narain.

Heg. 622 (1225).--Shums-ood-Deen united under his dominions the

provinces on the Indus, having routed the forces of Nasir-ood-Deen, by

whom they were possessed, and who was drowned in attempting to cross

the river.

Heg. 624 (1227).--Altmish reduced the fort of Runtunbhore.

Heg. 626 (1229).--The king’s eldest son, whom he had made prince of

Bengal, dying, the father conferred the title upon his younger son,

whom he invested with the government of that province.

Heg. 629 (1231).--Altmish reduced the strong fort of Gwalior, which

surrendered after a year’s siege. He also took the city of Oojein, in

which he destroyed a magnificent temple, dedicated to Mahakaly, formed

upon the same plan with that of Somnat. This temple is said to have

occupied three hundred years in building.

Heg. 633 (1236).--Shums-ood-Deen Altmish falling sick on the road to

Mooltan, was obliged to return to Delhi, where he died the same year

and was succeeded by his son Rookn-ood-Deen Feroze, who dissipated the

public money, and excited by his excesses the general disgust of his

subjects.

Heg. 634 (1236).--Ruzeea Begum, the king’s sister, advanced with an

army against Delhi, which she entered in triumph, deposed her brother,

who died in confinement, and ascended the throne.

Heg. 637 (1239).--The queen excited the indignation her nobles by

raising to the post of Ameer-ool-Omrah a favourite slave named Yakoot.

She married Mullik Altoonia of the Toorkey tribe of Chelgany, governor

of Bituhnda, in consequence of which her subjects revolted. Altoonia

raised an army and marched against them,--a battle ensued, in which

the queen and Altoonia were slain.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] The game of Chowgan, like our football, consists in two opposite

parties endeavouring to propel a ball beyond certain bounds. The

parties in this game, however, are on horseback, and the players use

bats, like our rackets, to strike the ball.--_See Briggs translation of

Ferishta_, vol. i. p. 199.

The Abyssinian Slave.

CHAPTER I.

In consequence of the licentiousness and cruelty of Rookn-ood-Deen

Feroze, King of Delhi, he was deposed, and his sister Ruzeea Begum

raised to the throne. On her elevation great rejoicings prevailed

throughout her dominions; and she gave splendid entertainments

and public shows for several days, in order to impress the people

with an idea of her munificence. She was a woman of masculine

understanding, great energy of character, and much was expected from

the administration of a sovereign, of whom her royal father had said,

not long before his death, when asked by his officers why he appointed

his daughter regent of the kingdom during his temporary absence, in

preference to his sons,--“My sons give themselves up to wine and every

other excess; I think, therefore, the government too weighty for their

shoulders; but my daughter Ruzeea Begum, though a woman, has a man’s

head and heart, and is better than twenty such sons.”

The last day of the public rejoicings on the Sultana’s accession to the

throne of Delhi was distinguished by wild-beast fights and gymnastic

sports, in which the most celebrated competitors in her dominions

exhibited their skill.

During the games, a wild buffalo, which had been kept without food

for two days, in order to render it more savage, was driven into the

arena, and a large leopard, suffering under similar abstinence, opposed

to it. The conflict was short but decisive. The leopard sprang upon

its adversary, which received it upon its horns, flung it into the

air with fatal force, and then finished the work of destruction by

goring it until it was dead, without receiving a wound beyond a few

superficial scratches. The animal, proud of its victory, pawed the

ground in triumph, and roared as if challenging another competitor.

It galloped round the enclosure, raising the sand with its hoofs,

scattering it in the air, and plunging with all the fury of frantic

excitement.

The Queen sat in the balcony of a building erected for the purpose of

enabling her to witness the sports without risk. She was surrounded by

her women, who appeared to take no common pleasure in the sanguinary

pastime. Among them was the daughter of an Omrah, an extremely pretty

girl, to whom her mistress was much attached, and who, by way of

distinction, sat at her feet on the present occasion. She waved her

handkerchief with all the energy of girlish delight as the victorious

buffalo was careering round the area, when a champion appeared before

the spectators, causing a hush of breathless suspense as he advanced

towards the enraged animal, and declared aloud his determination to

encounter it. He was a man singularly handsome, with the frame of a

Hercules cast in the perfect mould of graceful proportion. He was tall,

but robust; broad, but compactly formed; every muscle, for he was

naked from his waist upward and from the knees downward, swelling from

the surface of his body with an undulation of symmetry that appeared

the very perfection of manly beauty. The calm but intense gleam of

his eye, which did not for a moment relax, was a legible record, not

to be misinterpreted, of his steady drift of purpose and indomitable

resolution. His lips were gently compressed, his head was slightly

inclined upon the right shoulder, his step was deliberate but firm, and

his whole bearing such as could not be mistaken for anything but that

of a man of the highest physical endowments. He was armed with a short

broad sabre, which he grasped in his right hand, and a heavy-bladed

dagger was stuck in his belt.

The buffalo roared as its adversary advanced, pawed the ground, bent

its head, and rushed furiously towards the stranger, who leaping on one

side with great agility, the infuriated beast continued its career

for several yards. It however soon returned to the charge, and with

a celerity which required all the wary caution and cool activity, so

eminently possessed by the champion, to avoid. It was again foiled, but

it became only the more enraged, and pursued its enemy with such vigour

that he had great difficulty to evade the intended mischief. At length,

seeing that the danger was heightening as the animal was in full career

towards him, he sprang out of its path, and striking forward with his

sword, broke off one of its horns close to the head. The wounded beast

bellowed with agony, and turned suddenly round upon its adversary,

who, evading a contact with the same dexterity as before, struck his

dumb antagonist so powerful a blow upon the neck as nearly severed the

head, and the buffalo rolled at his feet in the pangs of death. He then

coolly bowed to the Sultana, and retired.

“Who is that?” she inquired of an officer who had the direction of the

sports.

“An Abyssinian slave, most potent Queen, celebrated alike for the

beauty of his person and his prodigious strength of body.”

“His name?”

“Yakoot.”

“To whom does he belong?”

“To the mighty Sultana, whose empire is as extensive as the spiritual

dominion of the Prophet.”

“Let him be summoned before me at the conclusion of the sports.”

“What a charming man!” said Bameea, the Queen’s favourite, one of the

ladies of her mistress’s court; “and a slave too! Those limbs of his

were never formed for manacles, nor that back for a scourge: what think

you?”

“That fine limbs and a handsome frame are only outward tokens of

beauty, and may conceal more deformity than the greatest monster

exhibits to a mere superficial scrutiny. Fruits of the richest colour

contain the deadliest poison; and they tell us of some, exquisite to

the eye, that yield only ashes.”

“Ah! you are one of those cautious beauties, Zophra, that will take

nothing upon trust. You would look into a diamond to see what it is

made of; but I am content with its brilliancy, and seek not to know

whether it is a mineral or vegetable, or a houri’s tear. Look at that

man again, and say if he is not beautiful in his bondage--if he is a

fit object for slavery.”

The Abyssinian had again come forward to exhibit his strength and skill

in another encounter of quite a different character from the first.

He was now about to wrestle with a gigantic man, dull in aspect and

ungainly in his motions, though of colossal dimensions and prodigious

muscularity of limb. They stood before each other, and immediately

commenced the struggle. The larger competitor seized his adversary

by the shoulder with such a vigorous grasp as left the impression of

every finger. The Abyssinian soon, however, disengaged himself, and

laying hold of his opponent by the waistband of his trousers, threw

him forward with astounding force upon his face. The fallen champion

rose actively to his feet, and with a flushed countenance again placed

his hand upon the shoulder of his opponent, and, striking him at the

same moment just below the knee, cast him to the earth; but as he fell

upon his side the victory was not obtained, it being necessary that the

vanquished man should be thrown upon his back.

The slave rose deliberately, with a faint smile upon his lip, but a

defiant expression in his eye, that told, more intelligibly than words

could utter, a resolution to show what he could do under the apparent

disadvantages of superior strength and stature. He advanced slowly

towards his huge competitor, stood before him in an erect position, his

left arm extended and his right close to his breast, watching with the

eye of a lynx an opportunity for making his favourite movement. The

colossal champion walked round him, every now and then striking his

hands upon his own body, producing a sharp, loud smack, and adopting

various evolutions to distract the attention of him to whom he was

opposed. At length, with the swiftness of thought, the Abyssinian

darted upon his adversary and hit him with his open hand upon the

throat, at the same instant striking his feet from under him with a

force which nothing could resist. The man fell upon his back with so

terrific a shock, that he was borne senseless from the enclosure. The

victor, with modest gravity, again made his obeisance to the Sultana

and retired.

The lovely Bameea was perfectly delighted with the slave Yakoot, and

began to feel more than a woman’s curiosity to know something of his

history. She was anxious to persuade herself that he could not be an

ordinary person; and although Abyssinians were at the best little

better than barbarians, yet was it certain that there were always

exceptions to every general rule, and Bameea felt quite satisfied

that Yakoot was one of those exceptions. Besides, she had remarked

the countenance of her royal mistress as the latter regarded the

two last encounters, and she observed an expression of satisfaction

which confirmed her in the conclusion she had come to in the slave’s

favour; for she could not a moment entertain the thought that Sultana

Ruzeea Begum would condescend, even by the faintest expression of her

illustrious features, to indicate a favourable impression of any man

who was not worthy to be admired by all the ladies of her court.

The concluding feat of the day was a conflict with wooden swords

between the Abyssinian slave and an Indian, a Catti Rajpoot, who had

been taken prisoner in a late invasion of some of the provinces of

Hindostan. The Catti, as all his race are, was considered pre-eminently

skilled in the use of the sword. The wooden weapons with which the

combatants stood armed were made of a heavy wood and were long and

broad.

The onset was commenced by the Catti, who displayed a skill and

activity which at first somewhat confounded the slave, the latter

doing as much as he could in parrying the strokes of his adversary

without attempting to make a return. The vigour, however, of the Catti,

gradually abated; and finding that his blows were so successfully

parried, and that he was wasting his energies to no purpose, he began

to be more wary. The Abyssinian now occasionally became the assaulter,

but his efforts to hit the Rajpoot were foiled with equal skill.

Each of the champions had received slight blows, and appeared to be

so equally matched, that it was difficult to decide which had the

advantage. The Catti at length grew impatient and lost his caution.

His attack was more impetuous and reckless. In proportion as he became

heated the slave was cool; and taking advantage of his opponent’s

precipitation, just as the latter had raised his arm to strike, Yakoot

hit him suddenly above the elbow with such force that the bone of his

arm instantly snapped, the fractured member dropped powerless by his

side, and the wooden sword fell from his relaxed grasp.

This concluded the sports. The Rajpoot walked from the arena in

sullen disappointment, whilst the victor was borne in triumph upon

the shoulders of four men in a car, decorated with flowers. The Queen

quitted the balcony, and the gentle Bameea thought more ardently than

ever that the slave was in every respect a marvellous man.

CHAPTER II.

Early the next morning Yakoot was at work in the palace garden, which

was watered by a thousand fountains, and seemed to be the abode of all

the beautiful genii which preside over the operations of vegetation.

Flowers of all hues and fragrance decked the slopes and parterres;

shrubs of every description to which horticulturists have attached

value for their beauties or rare qualities, were here displayed in

lavish profusion; trees of every kind, celebrated for their fruits or

for some singular intrinsical production, were bountifully scattered

over this earthly paradise. Fish sported in the marble fountains which

terminated the walks; birds of various feather and accomplishment

warbled their gentle notes of love from the embowering foliage; doves

cooed from the arbours, and rabbits grazed upon small enclosed plats

especially dedicated to their enjoyments, but beyond which they could

not trespass, in consequence of a wire wall which debarred them from

passing the circles appropriated to them.

Amidst this scene of earthly beauty Yakoot was sad. He remembered with

emotions of stern regret the savannas and forests of his native home,

where the wild beast prowled and the hand of man was frequently lifted

against his fellow with the deadliest purpose. He eyed with solemn

composure the gorgeous blending of nature and art, by which he was at

this moment surrounded; but it conveyed no gratification to his heart.

His predilections were of a different temperament. He sought delight in

the rugged and the severe, and therefore laboured with a smile of cold

contempt amid the luxuries brought from almost every quarter of the

world by the munificence of eastern regality. He had heard the applause

of men, won by his prowess in the sports of the preceding day, but they

moved him not. The approbation of the Sultana, which had been conveyed

to him with a mandate that he was to appear before her on the following

morrow, administered no joy; but amid the gloom of his condition, a

light broke in upon his soul when he remembered the smile dancing upon

the full pulpy lip of the beautiful Bameea as she applauded his feats

of prowess in the arena. He had gazed upon her with an earnestness

which called the blood into her cheek; and for the first moment during

his captivity, which had only been one of a few short weeks, he felt

his bosom glow towards an object with that mysterious sympathy which

binds the heart, although in a silken fetter, yet with a security more

lasting than links of iron. There was no accounting for the sudden

impulse that almost instantly seemed to overmaster the rugged severity

of his nature, and draw his kindly affections forth in bland and

assauging emotions. But who was he that entertained thoughts of so pure

and holy an intercourse as that which Heaven sanctions, when hearts are

united and wishes harmonize? Was he not a slave? Could the high-born

and refined look upon a bondman but with feelings of repugnance? And

yet, while his lips muttered these querulous doubts, there was an

antagonist presentiment within which repudiated them.

He was at one end of the garden, his eye wandering over the fairy scene

around him, when it caught the shadow of a female figure advancing

along one of the walks. His breast throbbed: the shadow so truly

represented the outline of a form which of all others he desired to

behold, that he could not be mistaken. He kept his eyes fixed upon the

spot that was in a moment to reveal an object upon which it would be

rapture to gaze; and, ere he could finish the expiration which mingled

surprise and delight had suspended, the interesting Bameea stood before

him. He bent his head as she approached, and touching the ground with

his fingers, placed them upon his brows.

“Ha! Yakoot,” said the timid girl, returning his salutation, “I bring

you joyful intelligence. You will not long have to toil in these

gardens under the scorching sun to rear flowers and trim shrubs. The

prowess which you exhibited yesterday has won the admiration of your

royal mistress, and she has declared her intention of having you

numbered among her household.”

“I desire not, lady, so near a contact with sovereigns. Slaves are

foils to those poor worms of might, and I seek not to illustrate one of

the extremes of high and low.”

“But you will find her an indulgent mistress, if you do your duty.”

“That is, if I do not thwart her royal will. The tawny lion will purr

under your touch if you cram his ravenous maw, and leave him the fierce

liberty of his instincts. Sovereigns are never kind, lady, either from

humanity or compassion, but merely to gratify their own selfishness; I

therefore despise royal favours, and would rather labour in this garden

under the fierce glow of a meridian sun, with such an object near me,

to inspirit the dull hours of toil, as my eyes are now permitted to

gaze upon, than be the fantastic puppet of a queen’s bounty.”

“Well, but you will be summoned shortly before the presence,” said

Bameea, reddening; “and--and--I trust you will throw no impediments in

the way of being near the Sultana, because----”

“Why that pause?”

“Oh! because----”

“Nay, my decision will depend upon your answer, lady.”

“Because, I think you would be pleasant company sometimes, when our

royal mistress lacks amusement, and our wits are dull, and cannot

furnish it. Believe me, you’ll find agreeable companions.” Saying

this, she tripped lightly off, as if she feared something from his

reply that she would rather avoid hearing. The Abyssinian watched her

receding figure as she glided down the path, until she was lost amidst

its sinuosities, the walk being bounded on either side by tall shrubs.

Yakoot mused upon the past event. Bameea had not been sent to summon

him. Why then did she come to apprise him of the Sultana’s intention.

No such intimation was necessary. It was evidently given at the

suggestion of her own wishes. The slave was a man of ready penetration,

and with instinctive sagacity peculiar to eastern nations in all

matters concerning a reciprocation of the senses, he began to think

that he was not an object of indifference to the interesting girl who

had just quitted him. This was a sunlight to the darkness that had

lately clouded his soul, and the fountain of life seemed again to gush

fresh and sparkling within him, as if animated with new energy. Slavery

might be a boon instead of a bane, and his soul was comforted.

Not long after Bameea’s departure, Yakoot was summoned to attend the

Sultana. He instantly followed the messengers, and passed into the

royal presence. Ruzeea Begum was seated upon a fine cashmere shawl

spread over a thick rug woven from the same wool, and worked in the

richest devices. Behind her stood Bameea, waving over her mistress’s

head a beautiful bird of Paradise. Beside the latter was a gold

ewer containing perfumes which produced around her an atmosphere of

delicious fragrance. Her hookha, sparkling with gems, stood on her

left hand, the highly decorated tube resting on a brocaded cushion.

Her slippers, formed of the finest Bagdat tissue, worked in gold and

embroidered with pearls, were placed beyond the rug upon a costly

japan tray. A small circular mirror of burnished steel in a silver

frame, and having a handle of the same metal, lay upon her lap. This

she occasionally raised in order that she might ascertain if the henna

had been properly applied to her eyelids, or if the various cosmetics

employed in her toilet had produced their proper effects.

The Sultana’s dress consisted of fine white muslin worked in gold,

disposed round her body in loose flowing drapery, and covering

trousers of the palest sky-blue silk, fastened at the ankles by bands

of woven gold. On her head she wore a plain turban, loosely twisted

round her high broad forehead, and composed of white cashmere. When the

Abyssinian entered, she beckoned him to approach, without raising her

eyes from the mirror upon which she had at that moment fixed them. He

advanced with manly reverence, but not in the smallest degree awed by

the presence of the sovereign, whose voice was a fiat, and her will an

ordinance.

Ruzeea Begum was a woman of commanding person, handsome but repelling,

and exhibiting in her countenance the somewhat stern and decisive tone

of her mind.

“Slave,” said the sovereign, still keeping her eye upon the mirror,

“you have won the approbation of your royal mistress, who intends to

advance you to the dignity of an appointment in her household.”

The slave was silent.

“Do you prefer the drudgery of bondage to the lighter labours of

attendance upon your Queen?”

“I am a bondsman, at the will of a mistress which must be to me a law;

I have therefore no choice; wherever I may be placed I shall know how

to do my duty.”

“Does the approbation of your sovereign give you no satisfaction?”

“Much, because it assures me that I deserve it, for the approbation of

sovereigns is seldom bestowed unless it be fairly won.”

“To show you that mine has been won, from this moment you are free; and

may your future conduct show that I have not disgraced my confidence!”

“My conduct will never be influenced by obligations, however nobly

conferred. I have a conscience upon which is recorded, in characters

stamped by the hand of Heaven, my rule of life--that I shall obey.”

Bameea hung down her head. She feared that this bold bearing might

rouse the excitable temper of the haughty Queen; but Ruzeea Begum did

not appear in the slightest degree disturbed, and answered with unusual

mildness:

“I shall calculate upon an honest servant; for surely he upon whom a

queen has conferred her favour cannot fail to be faithful. Your feats

of yesterday satisfied me that you are one among the few upon whom

princes may lean for security in the hour of peril. Such men are rare,

and should be cherished when they come before us. I have no more to

say. You are free, and will shortly receive your appointment from the

minister. See that you do not belie my judgment.”

Yakoot retired; apartments were prepared for him in the palace; and for

some days he continued about the sovereign’s person, receiving from her

very distinguished marks of favour.

Rumours soon began to spread of the Sultana’s criminal partiality for

the Abyssinian slave. Some of the nobles expressed their disgust, and

others retired from court. Within a month after he had obtained his

freedom, Yakoot was advanced to the dignity of master of the horse.

In consequence of this exaltation several of the nobles rebelled; the

favourite was sent against them with a well-appointed army, and soon

reduced them to obedience. The Queen’s partialities were now becoming

offensive to the Abyssinian. There was no mistaking her wishes;

nevertheless, he treated his royal mistress with a frigid respect,

which, though it mortified her deeply, only increased her determination

to render him the slave of her passion; but his heart had a different

bias. He had already declared his love to Bameea, who returned his

affection, and they exchanged vows of mutual fidelity. Of this the

Sultana knew nothing; but, resolved to win the heart of the Abyssinian,

she raised him to the dignity of Ameer-ool-Omrah, the highest station

in the state next to princes of the blood royal.

CHAPTER III.

The Sultana was not long in discovering the mutual attachment which

subsisted between the Ameer-ool-Omrah and Bameea.

Her anger knew no bounds. She summoned the Abyssinian. He appeared

before the presence of his sovereign, not without some suspicion of

what was about to take place. Bameea stood behind the Queen. She saw

by the scowl upon the royal brow that no good was intended towards

the object of her love. The eye of Ruzeea Begum was restless, and

her fingers trembled as she dipped them into the ewer of perfume

that stood beside her. Her full expressive mouth was closed with a

compression that indicated suppressed emotion, and the full undulating

lip occasionally quivered. Her head was raised haughtily as the

Ameer-ool-Omrah entered, and she fixed upon him her large penetrating

eye with so searching a scrutiny that it seemed as if it would

have reached the very core of his heart. He met her gaze with calm

reverence; and having made his obeisance, stood before her with the

unbending dignity of a man who has secured the approbation of his own

conscience. For several moments the Sultana did not speak, and in

her presence no one of course ventured to break the silence. Bameea

trembled as she perceived the rising agitation of her sovereign, which

was evidently increased by the unperturbed demeanour of the person whom

she had summoned. Ruzeea Begum at length finding the ebullition rising

to her throat, by a sudden effort suppressed it, and passing her hand

gently across her brow, as if to dispel the cloud which for a moment

overshadowed it, she said, in a tolerably calm tone,

“Yakoot”--but her voice slightly trembled, and she eagerly swallowed a

copious draught of sherbet.

“Yakoot,”--she had now regained her self-possession--“say, what does

that man deserve who, having been raised by his sovereign from the

lowest to the highest station, slights that sovereign’s favour?”

“Death, if he slight a favour which it becomes his sovereign to grant

and him to receive; the praise of all good men, if he slight a favour

that would degrade his sovereign, and dishonour him.”

“You have treated your Queen with the basest ingratitude.”

“I have done my duty, and if that is not consistent with the station to

which a criminal partiality has advanced me, I am ready again to become

the slave of the Sultana, instead of her Ameer-ool-Omrah. I courted not

the distinction, and will never maintain it at the price of my virtue.”

The eye of Ruzeea Begum flashed fire.

“Slave!” she cried, “thy virtue is but the mask of hypocrisy. There

is the cause of all thy disloyalty;” and she pointed with a quivering

lip towards Bameea,--“there is the rebel who has seduced thee from

thy allegiance; but there shall come a day of retribution--a day of

vengeance--and remember that the revenge of monarchs is not the sudden

irruption of the whirlwind, but the wide-spreading devastation of the

hurricane.”

Bameea shrieked as she heard this fearful denouncement, and buried her

brows in her small delicate hands.

“Bear her from my sight,” said the angry Queen: “henceforward I

dispense with her services. But you,” turning to the Abyssinian,

who stood before her in the same attitude of unruffled

self-possession--“you may look for punishment when you least expect

it. You have many enemies, and yet fancy yourself secure in the

supremacy of your own valour; nevertheless, though you possessed the

bravery of our holy prophet, and were endowed with a supernatural power

of locomotion, there is no spot upon earth or in heaven where the

vengeance of an insulted queen would not reach you.”

“Hear me, before I quit your presence for the last time,” said Yakoot,

solemnly. “I am threatened with your vengeance; it is right I should

tell you that I shall do my best to anticipate and to repel it,

whenever and wherever it may appear. From this moment I revoke my vows

of fealty to the daughter of Shums-ood-Deen. When monarchs become

tyrants, from that instant they cease to be accredited sovereigns,

and lose all right to the allegiance of good men. Had I forfeited my

claim to your respect by an act dishonourable to my name or title, I

were content to suffer the heaviest penalty which human laws award to

human offences; but, as my integrity has remained untarnished in your

service, I feel that you have now heaped upon me a wrong of which I am

not deserving, and from this moment I quit your presence as a foe.”

The Sultana was silent; she dared not speak lest the current of her

rage should burst forth into a torrent, and the Abyssinian retired from

her presence with an unruffled brow.

That night he was passing towards his home, without a guard and

unarmed. The street was dark and narrow. Towards the end there was a

ruin used for the purposes of stalling cattle, where all the homeless

and vagrant of the city congregated. He passed the ruin, but saw not a

human soul, nor heard a sound. Musing upon the unpleasant occurrences

of the morning, he walked leisurely onward. His heart was stirred to a

quicker pulsation as he reflected upon what his beloved Bameea might

undergo from the criminal jealousy of her royal mistress. On passing

a house supported by a projecting buttress, the drapery of his loose

dress caught in a fractured stone, and his progress was thus for the

instant impeded. As he stopped, he fancied he heard the stealthy sound

of footsteps, and, turning round, soon perceived three figures at

a short distance cautiously approaching. They paused when they saw

that he no longer advanced. The recollection of the Sultana’s threat

immediately struck upon his memory like a flash of light. There was

something so sinister in the movements of the three men that determined

him to be upon his guard. He placed his back against the wall, having

his left side protected by the projecting buttress. The men advanced,

and upon reaching the place where the Ameer-ool-Omrah was stationed,

sprang upon him simultaneously, and attempted to pierce him with their

daggers. With a sweep of his muscular arm he levelled two of them to

the earth, and raising his foot, impelled it with such quickness and

force against the body of the third that he fell senseless. One of the

assailants who had been struck down was almost instantly on his legs,

and rushed forward with his dagger raised to strike; but, stumbling

over his prostrate companion, the Abyssinian caught him in his arms,

lifted him like a cushion in the air, and dashing him on the ground,

left him there stunned. Releasing the weapon from the grasp of his

fallen foe, he approached the other man who had been first prostrated

by the sweep of his arm; buried in his heart the instrument with which

he had just armed himself; and taking their turbans from the heads

of the other two assassins, bound their hands and feet together, and

in this painful situation left them to the charities of the casual

passenger.

Next morning, the report of a man having been murdered spread through

the city, and the two individuals, who were found tied by the wrists

and ankles, having been examined, feared to fix the charge upon their

intended victim, lest it should lead to a discovery of their criminal

assault; but, whilst they were under examination, to their astonishment

the Abyssinian appeared before their judge, and detailed all the

circumstances of the attack made upon him by the prisoners, and how he

baffled them in their murderous design. They were immediately led forth

to execution, lest they should betray who had employed them. Suspicion

fixed upon the Sultana; but, as she did not interpose her authority

to rescue the assassins from death, the suspicions of the many were

silenced, though they were still harboured by the few, as it is too

common a practice for tyrants to abandon their instruments when failure

has laid them open to the chance of discovery.

The Queen affected great concern at what had occurred, and sent a

messenger to Yakoot to congratulate him upon his escape from the

murderous assault of his foes. He received her deputy with cold

formality, but did not even return a message. She was outrageous at

her condescension, being so openly slighted by a slave, as she still

called the man whom her own voice had declared free, and whom she had

raised to the dignity of Ameer-ool-Omrah. The smothered flame did not

immediately burst forth, but, while it smouldered, gathered strength

for a fiercer conflagration.

Yakoot, however, took no measures of precaution, although it was

evident that the elements of mischief were at work and rising into

active combination. He resolved to counteract the perfidious designs

of the Queen. The spirit of disaffection against her government had

already begun to show itself. Her brother Beiram had won the affections

of the troops, indignant at being under the dominion of a woman, and

disgusted at the impure life which the sovereign was reputed to lead.

Many of the nobles, too, were strongly disaffected against her; at the

head of these was Mullik Altoonia, of the Toorky tribe of Chelgany,

governor of Bituhnda, and tributary to the Queen. Yakoot, disgusted at

Ruzeea Begum’s rancour towards him, fomented the disaffection of that

powerful noble by pointing out the flagrant enormities of the Sultana’s

government; and, as a measure of precaution, secretly joined the

councils of the rebels. The hostility of Ruzeea Begum knew no bounds,

and she determined that he should expiate with his life the crime of

having slighted her favour.

A few days after the late attack upon the Ameer-ool-Omrah, he was

hunting the wild boar in a forest not far from the city. Many nobles

of the Queen’s court were likewise enjoying this animating sport. A

vast concourse of people had assembled, as in Eastern countries they

always do upon similar occasions. Carried by the ardour of the chase

beyond his companions, Yakoot passed a cover, from which a huge boar

darted, directing its course across the plain. The Abyssinian instantly

dashed his heels into the flanks of his steed, and it bounded off after

the game; but scarcely had it cleared the thicket, when an arrow,

discharged by an unseen hand, struck its rider in the fleshy part of

the upper arm, and remained crossed in the wound. Snapping the shaft,

and drawing out the reed, he continued his career, and, in spite of his

wound, succeeded in slaying the boar.

It was too evident now that his life was aimed at by secret enemies;

and, without expressing his suspicions, but affecting to look upon

the murderous attempt of the morning as a mere accident, he resolved

immediately to quit the city and retire to Bituhnda. The Sultana’s

government was becoming more and more odious every day, and it was

clear to him that she had employed assassins in two several instances

to take away secretly the life which she dared not openly attack. On

that night he quitted the capital, and joined Mullik Altoonia, with

several of the disaffected nobles. The moment Ruzeea Begum heard of

their flight, she placed herself at the head of a considerable army,

and, meeting the rebels half-way between Delhi and Bituhnda, a battle

ensued, in which the royal forces were defeated by the conduct of

Yakoot, who commanded the disaffected, and the Queen was made prisoner.

She was sent to the fort of Bituhnda to Mullik Altoonia, who, being

seduced by her beauty and affected distress, shortly after married her.

Upon this, the Abyssinian retired in disgust to Delhi, and engaged in

the service of Prince Beiram, who had been elevated to the throne.

CHAPTER IV.

In consequence of the marriage of Ruzeea Begum with Mullik Altoonia,

her brother Beiram, who had been elevated to the empire of Delhi, was

securely seated upon the musnud. The disgust excited by the conduct of

their queen had weaned from her the hearts of those among her subjects

who had hitherto maintained her cause, and she had become an object of

universal odium. Bold and enterprising, however, she determined not to

submit patiently to the loss of a throne, and assembling an army under

the command of her husband, prepared to vindicate her rights. Beiram,

meanwhile, collected forces to oppose the threatened invasion, and

placed them under the command of the quondam Abyssinian slave, whose

injuries were likely to urge him to employ his best energies to foil

the efforts of a resolute and accomplished foe.

The recollection of the fierce determination with which Ruzeea Begum

had sought his life, was incentive sufficiently strong to urge the

general to devote his talents and energies to a cause which impelled

him by a double motive-retribution, and a desire to rid the people

among whom he had been naturalized from the dominion of a tyrant. A

still stronger motive remained behind. Upon his return to the capital,

Yakoot discovered that the late favourite had been removed from

the palace, and knowing the Sultana’s implacable passions, he had

everything to fear for Bameea’s safety. He had been able to ascertain

nothing satisfactory respecting her, and his apprehensions were roused

in proportion to the suspense which he was forced to endure. It was a

sad thing to be divided from the object of his affections through the

criminal passions of a woman whose power enabled her to be cruel, and

whose malice urged her to exercise that power.

Although the Sultana was at a distance from Delhi, it soon became

evident that neither had her vengeance slumbered, nor was she without

tools to execute her will. The secret assassin once more attempted the

life of the detested Abyssinian, who again frustrated the sanguinary

intention. Finding that she was still so active in putting measures

into operation for his destruction, he determined to march without a

moment’s delay, and by a decisive battle settle the question of her

enmity for ever.

The evening before he marched, Yakoot retired to rest at an early

hour. He had not been long upon his couch, when placing his hand

beside his head, it came in contact with something cold and slippery.

Starting from the bed, he saw a large venomous snake which had raised

itself and spread out its hood, and was in act to strike when he

retreated beyond the reach of mischief. Upon examining the apartment,

he discovered two of these monsters concealed under the palampore.

Taking them by the tails, he summoned his attendants, who were all

ignorant how the reptiles could have invaded the sanctuary of their

master’s apartment. It was however recollected that a snake-charmer had

been employed to get rid of those noxious reptiles on the preceding

day. He was immediately summoned, but denied all knowledge of the

intruders; however, upon the torture being applied, the confession

was extorted from him, and he was immediately punished by being flung

over the battlements of the city; after which the forces under the

Ameer-ool-Omrah marched from the capital.

When Ruzeea Begum quitted Delhi on her journey towards Bituhnda, she

took with her the unhappy Bameea, whom she treated with extreme

rigour upon discovering the attachment which existed between her and

the Abyssinian. She had confined her a prisoner in an apartment of

the palace, and allowed her only the most homely food, debarring her

even from the indulgence of an attendant, and exposing her to every

mortification which her inveterate malice could suggest.

On the day after Yakoot’s last audience with the Sultana, Bameea was

summoned to the royal presence; and all the attendants being commanded

to withdraw, the former said, “Woman, when menials interpose between

sovereigns and their pleasures, it is the habit of princes to prevent

them from countervailing their wishes either by imprisonment or death.

Thou art too poor a thing to die; but nevertheless, when we forbear to

tread upon the worm, we take care to remove it from our path. How didst

thou become acquainted with the Abyssinian slave?”

“We met in the garden of the palace. The same brilliant achievement in

the arena which won the Queen’s admiration, won also mine. We met, our

vows were interchanged, and he has remained faithful to his love.”

“And despised his sovereign for a toy which she could crush with the

blast of her nostrils. Now, hear me--I love that foreigner. Never would

he have been raised from the debasing condition of a slave to the

dignity of Ameer-ool-Omrah, if he had not made a deep impression upon

his mistress’s heart. Monarchs do not advance menials to the highest

office in the state, unless they entertain towards them more than a

common feeling of approbation. His queen was entitled to his gratitude

when she stripped from him the badge of slavery and raised him to a

level with the nobles of her court. His ingratitude has been as signal

as her favours: but he shall live to experience that a sovereign’s

hatred can debase him as greatly as her love has raised him. You,

who have been the cause of the mortification of your royal mistress,

can expect no further favour at her hands, and you may congratulate

yourself with the loss of liberty, when your offence might have been

visited with the loss of life. We shall meet again. Go!”

The Sultana struck her hands together, and several attendants entered,

who were ordered to conduct the trembling Bameea to prison. She entered

it with a painful apprehension of what the jealousy of the Begum might

prompt her to put in operation against the Abyssinian, towards whom it

was evident that the gall of her malice was overflowing.

When Ruzeea Begum quitted Delhi, she took with her the unhappy Bameea,

who, on their arrival at Bituhnda, was subjected to a still more rigid

captivity than before. The poor girl’s situation was deplorable. She

was now apprehensive of never again beholding the object of her heart’s

affection, and began to yield to the saddest apprehensions. The hatred

of her royal mistress was of too fierce a nature ever to give way to

compunction, and she saw nothing but misery before her. Her days were

long intervals of bitterness, and her nights seasons of disturbed and

unrefreshing sleep. She grew thin, and wasted to a shadow;--hope was

banished from her bosom;--she looked forward to death as a release

from miseries which now seemed to crush her with the weight of a

mountain;--she felt that death would be a relief, but this was a mercy

which suited not the purpose of her tyrant, who took delight in seeing

her victim suffer.

Bameea thought of escape, but this appeared impracticable. As an almost

forlorn hope, she tried the integrity of an occasional attendant,

who was admitted to clean her apartment. The woman seemed to listen

willingly to the tempting promises of reward made by the captive, if

she would facilitate her flight. A bribe was placed upon her “itching

palm.” She clutched the gold with a miser’s eagerness; the doors of

Bameea’s prison were opened, but she was discovered before she had

quitted the palace, and borne back again to her captivity. She had been

betrayed. The bribe had been received, and the prisoner denounced. Her

confinement was now more than ever rigid. She was removed to a small

apartment in which there was no outlet save the door, and this was so

massive as to stifle all expectations of escape.

The poor girl now abandoned herself to the strong impulse of despair.

To her surprise she was visited by the Begum, who upbraided her with

having attempted to corrupt the woman admitted to her apartment. “There

is no guilt,” said Bameea, with earnestness, “in using any means to

escape the inflictions of tyranny. All things are lawful to evade

the oppression of those who make their passions the medium of their

actions. Your cruelty has rendered my life a bane, and I am prepared to

relinquish it whenever your malice shall suggest the sacrifice.”

The Sultana smiled bitterly. “I would not take your life; that would

not satisfy my vengeance. If you were dead, you could no longer suffer

the punishment which my ill-requited affections--and of these you are

the cause--demand as a just expiation. I intend to punish the wretch

who has injured me through you, and he shall yet live to curse the day

that he treated with indifference the affections of Ruzeea Begum.”

“But why should you longer feel his disregard when you have now one to

whom those affections are sacred, and to whom you have relinquished the

sole right to possess them?”

“Political alliances have little to do with the warm emotions of the

heart. It is enough that I loved the slave who has despised me, and

he shall feel my vengeance. But you may obtain your liberty upon one

condition. Relinquish the affections of the Abyssinian by entering into

a conjugal alliance with a noble whom I have selected for you, and who

entertains towards you a warm attachment. Consent to become his wife,

and the doors of your prison shall be instantly unbarred.”

“Never!” cried the agitated girl with energy. “You may keep me

lingering through a life of wretchedness within a dungeon, but you

cannot rob me of my soul’s freedom. My love will only expire with

my death, and I will never purchase my liberty at the sacrifice you

demand.”

The Sultana’s eyes flashed fire, and she quitted her victim without

uttering a word; but there was a volume in her glance. That very

evening Bameea’s food was changed. A curry was placed before her which

had been prepared, as it appeared, with more than usual care. She eyed

it apprehensively. Suspicions of the darkest description instantly

took possession of her mind. She could not forget the Begum’s glance

of fury as she quitted her prison: the curry, therefore, remained

untouched; for though death would have been a welcome visitant, yet

she resolved to avoid any but that which nature brings, so long as the

choice was left her. A small quantity of the homely food upon which she

had been accustomed to feed since her captivity remained, and upon this

she relieved the demands of nature.

That night was passed in sleepless agony. She looked forward to the

dawn with a presentiment of terror. Phantoms passed before her mind

which almost convulsed her frame to madness. She arose and looked at

the refection which she suspected to be poisoned: she laid her hands

upon the dish, and had all but resolved to brave the penalty of tasting

it, when her better feelings prevailed, her excitement subsided, and

she sank into a state of transient insensibility. It was short. She

was roused by a stranger. He brought her tidings of great joy. On the

afternoon of the preceding day, a battle had been fought betwixt the

forces of Mullik Altoonia, headed by himself and his consort, and those

of the Sultan Beiram, commanded by Yakoot. The former had been routed,

and the Sultana and her husband slain. The shouts of victory soon

reached the ears of Bameea, and these were shortly followed by a sight

of her lover.

The happy pair were immediately after united; the Abyssinian was

confirmed by Beiram in his office of Ameer-ool-Omrah--the nation

prospered under his sage councils, and the loves of Yakoot and Bameea

became the subject of many an Eastern legend.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

Heg. 637 (A.D. 1240).--Moiz-ood-Deen Beiram ascended the throne of

Delhi, but was deposed by his vizier and cast into prison, where he

almost immediately suffered death, after a reign of two years, one

month, and fifteen days.

Heg. 639 (1241).--Alla-ood-Deen Musaood, son of Rookn-ood-Deen Feroze,

was raised to the musnud, which, after a reign of four years, one

month, and a day, he was obliged to relinquish. His excesses and

cruelties having disgusted his ministers and friends, he was cast into

prison, where he passed the rest of his life.

Heg. 644 (1247).--Nasir-ood-Deen Mahmood, the youngest son of

Shums-ood-Deen Altmish, succeeded the late king, who had been deposed

by his nobles. This was a prosperous reign of twenty years and

upwards, the king dying a natural death. He was succeeded by his

brother-in-law and vizier, Gheias-ood-Deen Bulbun.

Heg. 685 (1286).--The king’s son Mahomed, a prince of great promise,

was sent against the Moguls who had invaded Moultan. Having defeated

them in a pitched battle, and being too eager in the pursuit of them,

as they fled before his victorious arms, he was beset by a party which

lay in ambush, and slain. The old king, now in his eightieth year,

never recovered this shock, which threw him into a melancholy, and

he died shortly after in the twenty-second year of his reign. His

grandson Keikobad, immediately ascended the throne without opposition.

Heg. 687 (1288).--The king, having excited the disgust of his

subjects, was cut off by assassins as he lay sick at Kelookery. The

ruffians found him lying on his bed in a dying state, deserted by his

attendants. Having beat out his brains with bludgeons, they rolled him

up in the bedclothes, and flung him out of the window into the river.

Julal-ood-Deen Feroze Khiljy, one of his ministers, who had been the

cause of the late king’s assassination, ascended the musnud, and was

cut off by the treachery of his own nephew, Alla-ood-Deen, after a

reign of seven years and some months.

Heg. 696 (1297).--Alla-ood-Deen Khiljy was raised to the musnud after

some opposition. His first care was to secure the favour of the

troops; and after having defeated the queen-dowager, and the Prince

Kudder Chan, he ascended the throne in the ruby palace.

Heg. 697 (1297).--Kowla Devy, wife of the Prince of Guzerat, fell

into the hands of the king’s brother. She was a woman of remarkable

wit, beauty, and accomplishments, by which Alla-ood-Deen was so much

captivated, that he took her into his harem. This year was rendered

memorable by the death of Zuffur Chan, the greatest general of his

time. His bravery became so proverbial among the Moguls, who had so

frequently felt the force of his arm, that when their horses started

it was usual among them to ask if they saw the ghost of Zuffur Chan.

His death was a severe loss to Alla-ood-Deen, who, however, feared

him, and therefore expressed no regret at his death.

Heg. 699 (1299).--Rookn Khan, Alla-ood-Deen’s nephew and

brother-in-law, having aspired to the throne, attempted to assassinate

the king while he was enjoying the pleasures of the chase.

Alla-ood-Deen was pierced by two arrows, and he lay on the ground

insensible. The Prince Rookn Chan drew his sword, and ran to cut off

the king’s head; but being told that he was quite dead, he deemed it

unnecessary to sever the head from the body. Proceeding immediately to

the camp, he was proclaimed king; but Alla-ood-Deen, recovering his

senses, appeared in his capital, was welcomed by the citizens, and the

usurper immediately deposed and executed.

Heg. 703 (1303).--After a siege of six months, Chittore was reduced,

and the rajah made prisoner. The government was conferred upon the

king’s eldest son, the Prince Khizr Chan, after whom it was called

Khizrabad. At the same time Alla-ood-Deen bestowed regal dignities

upon the prince, who was publicly proclaimed successor to the throne.

Heg. 704 (1304).--Ray Ruttun Sein, Rajah of Chittore, escaped from

Delhi. Alla-ood-Deen, having received an extravagant account of one of

the rajah’s daughters, agreed to grant the father his release, upon

condition of his giving up this daughter for the king’s harem. The

rajah, tired of a very rigorous captivity, reluctantly consented to

this odious proposal; but when his family heard of it they concerted

measures for poisoning the princess, in order to save the reputation

of their house. But the rajah’s daughter adopted a stratagen, by which

she obtained her father’s release, and preserved her own honour.

Having selected a number of faithful adherents, she concealed them

in litters, used by women only when they travel in the East, and

proceeded to Delhi with her ordinary retinue. Arriving at night, by

the king’s especial permission the litters were allowed to be carried

into the prison, supposing they contained the female attendants of

the princess. No sooner, however, were they within the walls, than

the armed men, leaping from the litters, put the king’s guard to the

sword, and carried off the rajah.

Heg. 706 (1306).--Dewul Devy, daughter of the beautiful Kowla Devy,

fell into the hands of one of the king’s generals, and was brought

to Delhi. In a few days after her arrival, the beauty of Dewul

Devy inflamed the heart of the Prince Khizr Chan, to whom she was

eventually given in marriage.

Heg. 709 (1309).--Mullik Kafoor defeated the allied rajahs, who had

combined to make him raise the siege of Wurungole, which he carried

by assault after a vigorous siege of several months, and returned with

his army and immense treasure to Delhi. On his approach to the city,

the king himself came out to receive him near the Budaoon gate, where

the conqueror laid all the spoils at his royal master’s feet.

Heg. 710 (1310).--Mullik Kafoor defeated and took prisoner Bilal Dew,

Rajah of the Carnatic.

Heg. 711 (1311).--This year was rendered memorable by the massacre of

the newly-converted Mahomedan Moguls. Fifteen thousand lay dead in the

streets of Delhi in one day, and all their wives and children were

enslaved.

Heg. 712 (1312).--The Rajah of Dewgur was inhumanly put to death by

Mullik Kafoor, with the consent of Alla-ood-Deen.

Heg. 716 (1316).--Alla-ood-Deen died, after a reign of twenty years

and some months, not without suspicion of having been poisoned by

Mullik Kafoor, who aimed at getting the reins of government into his

own hands.

The Rajpoot Marriage.

CHAPTER I.

The beautiful Jaya was on her way to join the relatives of her father,

who had lately been made prisoner by the sovereign of Delhi. She was

in a close hackery, accompanied by a numerous guard and several female

attendants, being the daughter of Ray Ruttun Sein, Rajah of Chittore.

The captivity of her father rendered her silent and thoughtful. The

tear stood in her eye, and filled the cavity in which it had gathered,

but fell not over the fringed boundary that confined it. She was a

Rajpoot, and would not for the world have allowed the gush of sorrow

to stream over her cheek in the sight of her women. It was repelled

therefore at the source, but her heart was big with grief, and struck

with a dull heavy throb against the walls of its beautiful prison.

Jaya was a young Rajpootni now only in her fifteenth year; but, though

so young, she had attained the perfect maturity of womanhood. Her form

was slight, her every muscle had its due and exquisite proportion,

and the whole compact was harmonized to the perfect roundness and

undulations of beauty. Her limbs were small, but exquisitely moulded;

and whenever she spoke, every member appeared to exhibit a sympathetic

energy, which made the gazer admire with how many modes of expression,

both silent and vocal, nature had gifted this rare Hindoo. Her eyes

were of the deepest black, but so soft amid their radiance, that it

seemed as if they had looked upon the things of paradise, and borrowed

the celestial blandness which everywhere reigns in that region of

supernal repose. Her skin had the rich blooming brown of the ripe

hazel-nut, and under it the sanguine streams circulated with a healthy

freedom, that carried life in its free young impulses through ten

thousand channels, over every part of her exquisite frame. The mouth

appeared as if it had been kissed by the lips of a cherub, and had

stolen its gentle delicate bloom, over which her breath came like

an exhalation. She was beautiful and tender as the mother dove, yet

inheriting all the firmness of her race, which could both endure and

act when the energies requisite for endurance and action were demanded.

All with whom she came in contact loved her for her gentleness as

much as they admired her for her beauty, and she was the idol of her

father’s heart. Her mother died in giving her birth, and he reared

her with a care proportioned to the fondness which she inspired. She

had been for some time affianced to a youth of her own tribe, son of

the Rajah of Moultan; between him and Jaya there existed a strong and

abiding affection. Her prospects had been all blighted, for the moment

at least, by the captivity of her father, who had been removed by

the conqueror to Delhi. Under the impressions which her reflections

upon these unhappy events caused, she was silent and absorbed. Two

of her women rode in the hackery with her, but they did not presume

to interrupt the sacred silence of her sorrow, which she could not

conceal, though she forebore to express it. It was deep and bitter.

As the cavalcade proceeded, a violent storm came on, and there was

no village or hamlet near. The covering of the hackery was very

slight, and therefore afforded but an imperfect protection against

such a mischance. The rain began to fall heavily, and the distant

lightning to gleam, followed by the low muttering thunder which rapidly

approached. A ponderous mass of vapour, of a dull slate colour, rolled

heavily onward, and very soon excluded the sun, producing a gloom

as deep as twilight, and investing every object with the same dusky

tint. The rain at length fell in torrents, and the cloud above poured

from its dark womb a stream of fire, which burst through the shower,

and was reflected by the large falling drops in ten thousand vivid

scintillations. At every flash the whole region round was flooded with

a blaze of ghastly light.

By this time the tremendous crashings of the thunder were awful in the

extreme; and these blending with the loud hissing of the rain, produced

a din which, though it was the music of the spheres, proved anything

but “a concord of sweet sounds” to the ears of our travellers.

The beautiful Jaya heeded not the storm; but her women crowded more

closely towards their mistress, hid their heads in their hands, and

gave expression to fearful lamentations. The tempest heeded not their

terrors, but raged with redoubled fury. The frail covering of the

vehicle in which they rode was soon soaked through, and the rain was

beginning to drip upon the heads of those within. Palampores were

spread over it, which seemed for a time to keep out the intruding

water; but they soon became saturated, and the rain at length forced

its way so copiously into the hackery, that it was found expedient to

stop and seek shelter somewhere from its pitiless fury.

It fortunately happened that not far from the spot, at the foot of

a small hill, there was a cavern known to one of the escort, who

conducted the party thither with some reluctance, as the place was

reported to be infested by noxious reptiles of all kinds, and the

resort of wild beasts and desperate bands of robbers. The party however

taking courage from their numbers, proceeded to the cavern, thinking

that any change of situation must be for the better, as the conflict of

elements was still maintained with unabated fury.

The entrance to the cave was lofty and rugged, the sides having been

broken away, and the angles splintered, as if great manual violence had

been employed to disfigure what the severe labour of man had originally

executed with no little attention to nicety of proportion and

simplicity of effect. Dilapidated as it was, the portal was not devoid

of beauty; but without staying to enjoy the pleasure of admiration, the

whole party passed anxiously into the cavern. Fires were immediately

kindled, and many noxious reptiles and large bats ejected, before the

place was considered safe, even as a temporary refuge from the storm,

which continued to rage with undiminished violence.

Towards evening the rain ceased, but it was then considered by the

travellers too late to renew their journey, and Jaya was content to

pass the night within the gloomy cave where she and her attendants had

found sanctuary. The hackery was wheeled in, the bullocks unyoked, and

the lovely Rajpootni entered the vehicle, round which the drapery was

closely drawn, where she resigned herself to repose, her attendants

lying upon rugs round a large fire which had been kindled in the centre

of the cavern. The apartment was of considerable magnitude, hollowed

out of the mountain, exhibiting a square area of about sixty feet on

all sides, and five yards high. No light was admitted but through

the door. The original purpose of the excavation was mere matter of

conjecture, but it had evidently not been lately the resort of human

beings. The ceiling was crowded with large bats, measuring nearly four

feet from the extremities of the wings, having heads like small foxes,

and bodies larger than rats. They clung to the roof of the chamber;

but, scared by the flames which had been kindled underneath, frequently

dropped into them, scattering the fire in every direction in their

fierce struggles to escape, to the great peril of the travellers. When

seized, they bit the venturous hand to the bone, and thus greatly

disturbed the repose of the Rajpootni’s followers. These creatures,

however, were not the most formidable disturbers of their rest.

Before they had composed themselves to sleep, a stranger entered the

cave, and looking round him for a moment, suddenly made his retreat.

He was a Mahomedan. His appearance gave considerable uneasiness to the

Hindoos. They began to fear the proximity of a foe, and were neither in

sufficient force nor properly armed to repel aggression from a superior

or even from an equal number. Jaya was not aware of what had passed,

but it was remarked that the stranger’s attention had been particularly

directed towards the hackery. The King of Delhi’s troops were known to

be in the neighbouring province, which he had lately subdued, and a

surprise was seriously apprehended.

A man was sent forth as a scout, to bring word if strangers were

approaching the cavern, in order that the Hindoo travellers might have

timely notice, and thus secure their retreat. The man had not been

absent above a few minutes when he ran breathlessly back with the

alarming intelligence that a detachment of Mahomedan troops was within

a hundred yards of the cave. The information was instantly given to

the unhappy Rajpootni, who calmly ordered the oxen to be yoked to the

vehicle into which she had retired for the night, and declared her

intention of immediately resuming her journey. “Mahomedans are men,”

she said, “and will not molest a woman. Let us proceed; they no doubt

seek a place of refuge after the storm. We will resign this chamber to

their convenience, since the Hindoos and the despisers of their gods

cannot lie down together on the same floor.”

“But they are troops of the enemy, lady,” said the leader of the

escort, “and will probably force us to make our beds beneath the same

shelter with the profaners of our altars.”

“We are under the protection of One,” said Jaya solemnly, “to whom

mortal might is as the spider’s web against the fierce rush of the

tempest. If they use violence, let us trust to Pollear, the Hindoo

traveller’s god, who will interpose on our behalf, and baffle their

wicked designs towards those who seek his protection and pay him

homage.”

The lovely Hindoo had yet to learn that there was just as much divinity

in her venerated Pollear, as there was truth in the factitious oracles

of the prophet of Mecca, venerated by her enemies: but with a calm

affiance in the protection of a very unsightly stone image, daubed with

red ochre, and often stuck up by the road-side to court the homage of

half-crazy devotees, she awaited the entrance of the expected enemy.

She was not kept long in suspense; for scarcely had she closed her lips

after expressing her confidence in the protection of one of the ugliest

gods of her tribe, than a numerous detachment of Alla-ood-Deen’s troops

entered the cavern.

The officer who commanded ordered them to halt just within the

entrance, seeing that the place was occupied. The fire had been

nearly extinguished the moment the approach of an enemy was announced,

so that there was only a very imperfect light emitted by the rapidly

expiring embers of the fire which had been kindled in the centre of

the cave. The officer stepped forward, and raking the still glowing

ashes together, excited them into a gentle flame with his breath, lit a

torch, and looking inquisitively round the gloomy chamber, said to the

chief of Jaya’s escort, “Whom have we here?” pointing to the hackery in

which the lovely Hindoo still sat, secluded from the profane gaze of

her Mahomedan foe.

The Hindoo was silent.

“Tell me,” said the Mussulman, “whom you have here, or I shall tear

down these trappings and take the liberty of looking. Are you willing

to say what is your companion?”

“A woman.”

“I guessed as much, for men don’t go cooped up behind cotton or silk

walls. You are so communicative that I shall trouble you with no more

questions, but judge for myself.”

Saying this, he laid his hands rudely upon the curtains of the hackery,

and attempted to draw them aside, when the Hindoo, angry at this

violation of a woman’s sanctuary, seized him by the arm, and attempted

to drag him from the spot. The enraged Mussulman instantly drew a short

sword and cut him down. Jaya, hearing the stroke and the groan which

succeeded it, sprang from her place of refuge, and stood before her

enemy in the peerless eminence of her beauty.

“I am Jaya,” she cried, “the daughter of Ray Ruttun Sein, Rajah of

Chittore, whom your sovereign holds in bondage.” The astonished

Mahomedan dropped his sword.

CHAPTER II.

The Mahomedan officer had been quite struck with amazement at the

sight of the beautiful Rajpootni, and he bent the knee with gallant

homage. He was, however, delighted to find that the very object whom

his sovereign was desirous of obtaining had fallen into his hands. The

charms of Jaya had been heard of at Delhi, and the king was anxious to

behold the celebrated daughter of his prisoner, but she had hitherto

eluded his emissaries. Her having now so opportunely crossed the

path of one of his officers, was a subject of congratulation to the

latter, as he had reason to expect that he should not only receive

his sovereign’s approbation, but be advanced to some more lucrative

post than that which he now enjoyed. These reflections passed rapidly

through his mind, as he gazed upon the transcendent beauty of his

captive.

“Lady,” he said, “this is a fortunate meeting. We have been looking for

you daily. Your presence at Delhi will be welcome to the king, and no

doubt to your father, who will be restored to liberty so soon as you

are placed in the harem of our munificent sovereign.”

“I am affianced,” said Jaya, with mild dignity, “to one of my own

tribe, and if your monarch have the befitting attributes of a king,

he will never violate the generous feelings of the man. I have been

taught to look with horror on the creed which you profess, and confess

to you that I never could ally myself, by a sacred union of the heart,

with one who is an enemy, not only to my country, but to that country’s

gods. Why then should Alla-ood-Deen seek an alliance with one who

cannot respect him? Be you generous, and permit me to proceed on my

way.”

“A man’s duty is paramount over his inclinations. I have no discretion,

lady. If I were to permit you to depart, I should be a traitor to my

king, an enemy to you, and unjust to myself. These are weighty motives

why I should not listen to your request.”

“A man’s first duty, is justice. You can have no right to deprive a

free woman of her liberty. The laws of tyrants are not binding upon

honest natures, and where it is a sin to obey, it must be a virtue to

refuse obedience.”

“We will discuss this question further on the morrow,” said the

Mussulman, with sinister courtesy. “Meanwhile you must make up your

mind to pass the night in good, if disagreeable company.”

“Then I am to consider myself your prisoner?”

“As you will, lady.”

The Rajpootni entered her hackery without farther urging her departure;

and the Mahomedan having ordered his men to kindle a fire, and take up

their station for the night apart from the Hindoos, prepared for his

repose, taking the previous precaution of placing four sentinels at the

door-way of the cavern. The Hindoo whom he had cut down, was tended by

his countrymen, who bound up his wound, which, though severe, was not

mortal; and the two parties, contrary to their respective prejudices,

lay down upon the same floor in undisturbed slumber together.

The unhappy Jaya was the only one among them whose eyelids sleep did

not visit. She had now a melancholy prospect before her. She should

probably see her father indeed, but under what circumstances?--he in

captivity, and she in the harem of a Mahomedan prince! The thought was

agony. Not only the prejudices in which she had been reared taught her

gentle soul to revolt from an alliance with a man by whom the idols

which she had been instructed to adore were considered mere senseless

wood and stone; but she had a tenderer motive for shrinking from a

union which would render her life a burden, and her thoughts a torture.

She could not bear to think that fine link of association should be

snapped which had combined two hearts in the willing fetters of a most

holy love, and the dews of terror moistened her clear brow as she

thought upon the probable issue of this melancholy day. She could not

rest. The night stole on sullenly and slow, and when the first grey

tint of morning pierced through the darkness in which the cavern was

wrapped, Jaya was still awake. She looked under the curtains of her

prison-house, and saw all around her sunk into profound repose, save

the stern sentinels at the portal who kept reluctant watch and stalked

to and fro like the ghosts of departed warriors.

The light now advanced rapidly, and before the apartment was filled

with the bright dewy hues of day, the soldiers of the enemy were awake,

and seated upon the floor, passing the luxurious tube to each other,

and inhaling the narcotic fumes of that weed which has now become

an enjoyment in every country in the world. Having kindled a fire,

they began to prepare their morning repast, which consisted chiefly

of curries; while that of the Hindoos, who were by this time busy

with their early meal, was composed simply of boiled rice, mixed with

a few split peas, the whole saturated with ghee, which is a butter,

called clarified, but commonly so rancid as to smell almost as bad as

train-oil. The Hindoos ate their rice in silence, looking on with the

utmost apathy at what was passing around them, and seeming not to feel

the slightest interest in the fate of their companion who had been cut

down the preceding evening, and lay among them, suffering grievously

from the torment of his wound. This apathy was the subject of jest

among the Mahomedans, who devoured their messes with a greediness

worthy of the old Roman gluttons, and chatted upon the subject of their

last night’s adventure with merry and facetious vivacity.

The Hindoos heard their jokes without the movement of a single muscle;

but no doubt the thought passed in their minds, that, should the

harvest of revenge come, they would not fail to reap it with a delight

as characteristic as their apathy.

While these necessary preliminaries to their journey were in progress,

Jaya was not disturbed. She refused to taste of the rice and kabobs

which had been prepared for her, but merely took a few inspirations

through the richly-studded mouth-piece of her hookha, and awaited in

silent resignation the will of her captor. She had made up her mind,

with that high spirit of resolve peculiar to her tribe, to perish

rather than become the wife of a man of an opposite creed to her own.

Death, however, was a final resource, and she determined to see the

issue of events, hoping that some auspicious diversion of their current

might restore her to her friends and to happiness.

The order was given to march. The bullocks were immediately harnessed

to the hackery, and the party quitted the cavern. The Hindoos marched

in couples, having been previously disarmed, a Mahomedan being

placed on either side of every couple as a guard. The Rajpootni’s

vehicle was so strongly guarded as to remove all chance of escape.

Before it marched a detachment of six men armed, and behind it a

similar number. The bullocks, uneasy at the clattering of arms and

the unusual restraint imposed upon them,--for the Hindoo driver had

been replaced by a Mussulman, who applied the lash with considerable

severity,--became restive, and at length refused altogether to proceed.

The more they were urged by the application of the whip, the more they

kicked and plunged, and they were at length obliged to be unyoked and

led forward. In this dilemma the leader of the Mahomedans approached

the hackery, and without removing the curtains addressed himself to his

beautiful captive and said--

“Lady, there remains no alternative but walking until the oxen have

recovered their good humour, and will consent to bear the loveliest

burthen in Hindoostan. They will be of better courtesy, no doubt,

by-and-by, when you can resume the conveniency of the carriage. Rough

roads, I know, are not very congenial to delicate feet; but war,

lady, is a sad leveller of distinctions, and there is such a thing as

necessity for the Brahmin as well as for the Pariah. You must dismount

for awhile.”

“Perhaps,” said Jaya composedly, “you are not aware that we Rajpoots

never hesitate at dying when urged to do that against which our hearts

recoil and our principles revolt. I am willing to bear the shocks of

destiny so long as they do not urge me beyond the boundary line of my

own conscience; but no earthly power shall force me to an act which

that conscience forbids. I am a woman, it is true, and a weak one;

but know that the weakest Rajpoot that ever breathed would not shrink

from death to escape degradation. I tell you now solemnly, in the

ears of Him who knows all secrets, that should you force me from the

vehicle, you shall not bear me alive from this spot. I have the means

of destruction which you know not of,[13] and will employ them the

instant you attempt to force me to an act that, to me, would be an act

of pollution.”

The Mussulman was too well aware of the fierce determination of her

race, when urged to desperation, not to fear that she would do as

she had threatened if compulsion were used to enforce obedience; he

therefore replied with mild civility,

“But, lady, we have no alternative, save of tarrying here, or of

walking forward for a short distance, until the bullocks shall have

been rendered tractable.”

“Then I embrace the first alternative; here shall I remain until you

are in a condition to proceed. Do as you will, my resolution is taken,

and you may as well attempt to give rotation to those stars which

are fixed in the everlasting firmament, as strive to divert me from

my unalterable purpose. You have heard my resolve, and I now claim

from your courtesy no further parley. I would be left to the best

consolations I can derive from my own thoughts.”

The Mahomedan, seeing that it would not be a wise stroke of policy to

push matters to extremity, gave orders that the bullocks should be

again yoked to the hackery, hoping, as they had been released from

the harness for some time, that they would proceed quietly. He was,

however, disappointed. The moment the refractory animals were urged

forward, they showed their determination not to proceed, and commenced

snorting and kicking with great fury. No coaxing could induce them to

advance, and the application of the whip only seemed to exasperate

their obstinacy. They were sleek and well fed, having been accustomed

to gentle treatment; the rough driving, therefore, of the stranger by

no means suited their wayward tempers. The man, becoming angry at this

determined opposition of the rebellious cattle, began to whip them

with great severity, under the notion of illustrating practically the

dominancy of man over the brute; but in this instance his illustration

was the reverse of beneficial, for it recoiled upon himself, to his

extreme annoyance and mortification. The more ardently he applied the

whip, the more vehemently the oxen plunged; and their violence at

length became so great that they overturned the hackery, from which the

mortified Jaya and her two women were precipitated with considerable

force. The calm but indignant Rajpootni instantly rose, dropped a

veil over her mantling face, and, reproaching the officer with having

purposely ejected her from the vehicle, expressed her determination not

to advance another step with the Mahomedans.

“If I proceed it shall be with my own followers only; and if you use

compulsion, I will defy your power by instantly releasing myself from

your tyranny.”

“Nay, this is making a mock at contingencies with a vengeance. If I

could control yonder refractory cattle, I should have the greatest

satisfaction in doing so; but since they choose to have their own way,

you must blame them that you will be obliged to walk--not me. We must

proceed, lady; we have already delayed too long.”

Anticipating the Rajpootni’s purpose, who was in the act of raising her

hand to her mouth, the Mahomedan officer suddenly grasped her by the

wrists, and, having secured her arms, said somewhat sternly--

“You force me to this. I have one immediate purpose to fulfil, which

is to bear you safely to Delhi, and that I must do in spite of your

opposition. You have despised my courtesy; you must now, therefore,

consent to march in bonds. When the oxen cease to be refractory, you

shall again be restored to the comforts of your hackery; in the mean

time you must walk.”

The indignant girl did not utter a word. Her dark eye gleamed with

a brightness that expressed unusual excitement, but she did not

condescend to expostulate. She marched hurriedly forward, guarded on

either side by a soldier, her women following guarded in a similar

manner.

FOOTNOTES:

[13] Poison, of so subtle a nature as to produce almost instant death,

has been frequently concealed in rings, or other trinkets, in order

that it might be resorted to upon any sudden emergency.

CHAPTER III.

Just as the party with their lovely captive had turned from a narrow

path into an extensive plain, they perceived a large body of horsemen

in full career towards them. The Mahomedan instantly halted his men,

and forming a hollow square, in the centre of which he placed his

prisoners, calmly waited the onset. It soon became evident that

the strangers were a squadron of Rajpoot cavalry. They swept across

the plain like a tempest, headed by a youthful warrior, who rode a

beautiful white Arab, every vein of which might be traced through its

skin as it pawed the ground, when its rider halted to array his troop

for the onset of death. When his order of battle was made, he sent a

trooper to summon the Mahomedans to surrender themselves prisoners

or abide the issue of an encounter in which they must look for

extermination at the point of the sword. This summons was received by

the adverse party with shouts of defiance, and the onslaught commenced

with terrible energy on the part of the assailants, who were received

with great firmness by their foes.

The Rajpoots were more numerous than the Mahomedans, and by their

headlong valour and the desperate impetuosity of their charge, they

broke through the enemy’s line, reached the centre of the square, and

scattered instant confusion through their ranks. The conflict was short

but decisive. The Mahomedan commander was slain by the Rajpoot leader

in a struggle hand to hand, the latter being mounted. This produced

instant consternation among the enemy. The moment they saw that their

chief had fallen they wavered, and the rout became general.

Brief as the conflict was, it had been extremely sanguinary; for the

Rajpoots being mounted, soon overtook those who fled and instantly slew

them. The Mussulman detachment was cut to pieces, and thus a signal

vengeance was taken by the Hindoos upon the scoffers of their gods.

Jaya had stood in the midst of the carnage gazing with an anxious eye

upon the scene of death; and although in the leader of her rescuers

she traced the well-known features of one who was as dear to her as

the first-born to its yearning mother, she uttered not a cry, but

calculated the probable issue of the contest with a throbbing heart,

whilst her outward demeanour appeared perfectly undisturbed by any

inward emotion. Jeipal leaped from his horse, which he left to its own

freedom, and sprang towards his beloved.

“My sita,” he cried, “you are recovered. What anxious moments have I

endured since I heard of your sudden departure! I instantly followed

with these soldiers to protect your flight. This morning I heard that a

party of the enemy were close upon your track: but you are restored, my

sita; and I shall now, with these brave companions, bear you company to

Jesselmere.”

“Jeipal,” cried the delighted Jaya, “your presence has been my

salvation. I may now bless the insolence of yonder chief, who has

gone to undergo the everlasting doom of the wicked;--it has saved me

from an awful separation. I attempted my own life to save myself from

dishonour, but his violence frustrated the one, and your presence has

prevented the other.”

The Hindoo prisoners being now set at liberty repaired to a grove of

trees, under which they squatted themselves, chewed their betel-nut

and chunam, smoked, and flung little balls of rice down their throats

until filled almost to the uvula; then rising with the greatest

apathy, as if nothing had happened to interrupt their composure,

snapped their joints, adjusted their turbans, and declared themselves

ready to proceed. The bullocks were once more yoked to the hackery,

and, being driven by one with whose voice they were familiar and

accustomed to obey, they went leisurely forward without the slightest

reluctance. Jeipal rode beside the vehicle, the curtains of which, in

accordance with Eastern usage, were still kept down; but the lovers

found no difficulty in carrying on their conversation through them. The

Rajpootni had now less time to think of the sorrows arising from her

father’s captivity, her mind being occupied by one to whom she ever

lent a willing ear; her countenance therefore recovered its brightness

and her voice its vivacity.

There were no more interruptions to their journey, and they reached

Jesselmere without any further adventures. Jeipal having delivered

his affianced bride to the charge of her relations, to her surprise,

declared his determination to proceed to Delhi.

“To Delhi!” said Jaya, her countenance rather expressing alarm than

pleasure: “why should you repair to the enemy’s capital?”

“Is not your father a prisoner there, and do you not desire his

release?”

“Yes, truly; but how can your single arm avail to break through the

bars of his prison, surrounded as he is by guards, who are as vigilant

as they are cruel?”

“Circumstances may arise which we cannot foresee, to render my single

power available in effecting an object interesting to me, in proportion

as its accomplishment is desired by you. Think that I am upon a mission

of love, and be happy. You will at least hear of something before the

horns of the young moon unite into a circle.”

“You go on an enterprise of danger.”

“And are not such enterprises dear to the soul of a Rajpoot? I should

be unworthy of your love, if I hesitated to venture my life to secure

your parent’s liberty.”

“There are perils which the brave may shun, because it is prudent to

avoid them.”

“But when a man listens to the suggestions of prudence before the

appeals of duty, his bravery is as questionable as his virtue.”

“Go, Jeipal, I would not withhold thee from such deeds as constitute

man’s nobility. Bear my love with thee.”

“That will be a talisman which shall protect me in the hour of peril.

Love is the root of all virtue; the love of good alone makes man happy.

When this principle is dead within his bosom, he at once becomes a

monster.” After the lapse of a few days Jeipal quitted Jesselmere for

Delhi.

When Alla-ood-Deen was informed of the Rajpootni’s rescue from the

detachment of his troops which had made her captive, his rage knew

no bounds, and he resolved to carry a war of extermination into the

fertile provinces of Rajpootana. His anger, however, at length cooled,

when he considered that, having the father a prisoner in Delhi, he

might still get the daughter into his power. He had heard so much of

her beauty, that he determined to possess her, at whatever cost; and

this determination had induced him greatly to abate the rigours of her

parent’s imprisonment. He was treated with considerable lenity, and

permitted such indulgences as were seldom known to be granted to the

prisoners of despotic princes.

Shortly after the rescue of the Chittore Rajah’s daughter, as already

detailed, the king ordered Ray Ruttun Sein, who had now been some

weeks in confinement, to be brought before him. The Rajpoot entered

the imperial presence with a lofty deportment, and stood before the

Mahomedan sovereign, awaiting the royal communication.

“Rajah,” said Alla-ood-Deen, mildly, “you would no doubt desire to

obtain your liberty?”

“Every man,” replied the Rajah, “being born free, looks upon captivity

as the withholding of nature’s highest immunity. The fortune of war has

made me your prisoner, but generosity is the brightest jewel in the

king’s sceptre.”

“The generosity of princes is only bestowed when merited. It is no

longer a virtue when unworthily dispensed: generosity therefore without

discretion is an evil.”

“Sophistry, prince, is at all times a lame argument. Virtues never can

become vices, employ them how we may. The mask is not the face, neither

is the pretence to virtue anything more than just what the mask is to

the countenance. I am too hackneyed in the world’s juggles to become

the ready dupe of fair words which only cover evil thoughts.”

“Rajah, this is all beside the purpose for which you were summoned

before the sovereign of Delhi. Are you willing to obtain your freedom?”

“I am.”

“At what price?”

“At any that will not commit the honour of a Rajpoot.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Well!”

“I would make her the partner of my throne.”

“Proceed.”

“Summon her to this city, and you shall be no longer a prisoner.”

“If this is the generosity of princes, such can be no longer a virtue;

it must therefore be a virtue to despise it. To be the pander of kings

is no honour; but for a father to bring pollution upon his child is the

most flagrant enormity.”

“Then you refuse the offer of liberty?”

“Upon any other terms than those which a clean conscience may accept.”

“Enough! Guards, bear him back to his prison. A less luxurious regimen

than has been allowed him may give different colourings to vice and

virtue, when surveyed through the medium of his future reflections.

Away with him!”

The Rajah was conducted back to the strong apartment in which he had

been confined since his captivity, but on the following day he was

removed to one of the dungeons of the state prison.

His confinement now became extremely distressing. Every indulgence

hitherto accorded to him was withdrawn, and he was subjected to the

extremest rigours of privation. The soul of a Rajpoot generally scorns

to shrink from endurance, however severe. With him a contempt of death,

of danger, and of suffering, is the noblest exercise of human virtue;

but Rajah Ray Ruttun Sein possessed not these characteristics of his

race in an eminent degree. He was fond to excess of those luxuries

which his condition in life gave him the privilege and imparted to

him the means of enjoying. He was an Eastern epicurean, and therefore

the privations which he was now doomed to endure were to him a source

of extreme distress. Everything that was not subsidiary to his love

of indulgence had no firm resting-place in his heart. He had a high

veneration for honour in the abstract, but he had a still higher for

those animal enjoyments in which he especially delighted to indulge.

He loved his own daughter well, but he loved his own pleasures better.

He possessed the haughty independent spirit of his caste, but lacked

their qualities of determined endurance and rigid self-restriction. He

was brave when the impulse of the moment roused his energies; but as

soon as the impulse subsided, the strength of his passions overcame

him, and he sank into the imbecility of the mere sensualist. His

bearing had been bold and determined before the king, whose prisoner

he had become; but no sooner was he cast amid the dungeon’s gloom,

than the strong bias of his nature prevailed, and he became irresolute,

querulous, and despairing.

Every day he felt the rigours of confinement more and more irksome, and

at length thought that he had been imprudent in so resolutely opposing

the king’s will. He began to persuade himself that a dutiful daughter

should make any sacrifice for the advantage of her parent, and under

this impression proceeded to argue that she ought, if called upon,

to sacrifice her honour to his comfort. Besides, to be the object of

a sovereign’s affection was not a thing to be regarded lightly. The

political influence of Alla-ood-Deen might, by such an alliance with

him as that monarch proposed, place the petty Rajah of Chittore at

the head of the princes of his country. Such an alliance might be the

stepping-stone to distinctions that should raise his family to the

highest elevation of temporal distinction. After indulging in similar

reasonings at different times, he finally made up his mind that he

had been too rash in so peremptorily rejecting the proposal of the

Mahomedan sovereign, and determined to let him know, at the earliest

opportunity, the change which had passed over his thoughts like a

pestilential exhalation, and that he was disposed to concur in the

king’s wishes. Having come to this determination, he lay down upon his

rug and slept.

CHAPTER IV.

Jeipal reached Delhi not long after Alla-ood-Deen’s proposal to the

father of the beautiful Jaya, and his first object was to see the

captive Rajah; but this was a matter of no little difficulty, as

Jeipal was obliged to assume the disguise of a Jew, in order to disarm

suspicion. He soon ascertained that Ray Ruttun Sein had been removed to

a less commodious prison, in consequence of having given offence to the

sovereign; but what that offence was did not appear to be known.

Having formed his plans, he obtained an interview with the keeper of

the Rajah’s prison, and represented to him that he was anxious to be

introduced to Ray Ruttun Sein, who had some jewels which he was anxious

to dispose of, and which the fictitious Jew declared himself ready to

purchase. In order to induce the keeper of the prison to accede to his

proposal, the counterfeit Israelite offered to give him ten per cent,

upon the value of the purchase, which he said would probably exceed a

lac of rupees. The rapacious functionary agreed to admit the pretended

dealer to the Rajah’s prison, provided the door were not closed during

the transaction. This was finally acceded to; it was therefore arranged

between the prison official and Jeipal, that the former should remain

in sight, though not within hearing, while the latter agreed upon the

terms of sale with the captive prince.

Early the following morning after this arrangement had been made,

Jeipal was admitted into Ray Ruttun Sein’s cell. It was a small square

apartment, extremely low and ill-ventilated, having no aperture but

the doorway, which was secured by strong bars crossing the entrance

on either side of the wall, about four inches apart. These bars were

inserted into iron sockets, so constructed that the bolts could only be

removed from the outside when entrance or egress was to be obtained.

As Jeipal reached the Rajah, the latter cried suddenly, “Are you from

the King?”

“Gently! Jeipal stands before you.”

“Jeipal! how came you hither?”

“We have but a short time for parley. I have obtained admission in

the disguise of a Jew, and under pretence of purchasing your jewels.

My object in coming hither is to apprise you of my being near, and to

ascertain the cause of the king’s severity.”

“He made me an offer of liberty if I would give him my daughter to

grace his harem, but I rejected his proposal, perhaps too haughtily,

and you behold the issue.”

“We must be revenged”

“How?”

“I came not here to be an idle spectator of the Mahomedan’s tyranny.

You may yet be free. His death would put an end to your captivity.”

“But how can your single arm accomplish this, when he is surrounded by

guards, and you are alone and unbefriended in this great city?”

“An arrow may reach a man’s heart, although surrounded by ten thousand

guards.”

“Well I care not what you do, so long as you obtain my freedom. To me

the means are indifferent. If all other means fail, the tyrant must

have my daughter.”

“Never!”

At this moment the keeper of the prison perceiving Jeipal’s energy,

and suspecting that something more than mere bargaining was passing

between the captive and his visitor, came forward and reminded the

latter that it was time to close their conference. Jeipal retired, but

his soul was stung at what he had heard. The thought of his beloved

Jaya being delivered up to a Mahomedan prince in order to become an

inmate of his harem, almost maddened him. He rushed from the prison to

the astonishment of the bewildered keeper, who now began, too late, to

think that he had been imposed upon. Finding however that his prisoner

was secure, he resolved to be more vigilant in future, and thus the

chances of the Rajah’s escape were considerably diminished. The Jew

never again appeared before his dupe.

Jeipal saw that it was high time to adopt some measures to frustrate

the king’s determination of obtaining possession of Ray Ruttun Sein’s

daughter. It was evident that her father, already disgusted with

his confinement, was prepared to yield to the sovereign’s commands,

and this the lover was resolved if possible to frustrate. He would

willingly have sacrificed his own life to save her from pollution; for

he considered that even by becoming the wife of a Mahomedan sovereign,

he would receive a moral stain which nothing but the death of the

polluted and the polluter could wash out.

The young Rajpoot lived apart from the bustle of the town, looking

silently but vigilantly at passing events, and watching any

opportunity that seemed to promise success to the purpose which now

engrossed his thoughts. The loss of Jaya would be worse than death;

and he resolved, at all hazards, to make an effort to prevent the

accruing of so melancholy an event. He had left her with the relatives

of her father at Jesselmere, and promised, when he quitted her, that

he would shortly return and make her the beloved partner of his future

life. The idea that the fulfilment of his promise might be frustrated

by the pusillanimous impatience of her father under the privations of

captivity, was wormwood to the young Rajpoot’s haughty spirit; and the

thought of securing the lovely girl from the passions of Alla-ood-Deen,

was never a moment from his mind. Even in his slumber, images to which

this painful thought gave an impalpable but veritable form crowded upon

his excited brain, and he had not a moment’s repose. The opportunity

which he had been so long seeking, at length came.

It was announced that the King, accompanied by all the nobles of his

court, would on the following week, proceed on a hunting excursion to

a forest within about eleven coss, or twenty-two English miles, of the

capital. This was an announcement which made Jeipal’s heart leap within

him. His plan was instantly formed. Hope danced before him like a young

fair cherub from the skies, and he hailed the phantom as the harbinger

of his future bliss.

Upon the day mentioned in the royal proclamation, Delhi poured forth

her multitudes to join their sovereign in the chase. A long line of

elephants followed the King, and thousands of horsemen brought up the

rear. The sight was one to excite enthusiasm in the breast of the most

indifferent. The living sea flowed forward, undulating like the ocean

when the breeze slumbers upon its bosom and it only gently swells with

its own buoyancy, as if proud of its burden, rising to meet it with a

gush of quiet transport. However joyous the scene, there was one sad

heart at least among the delighted concourse; but he mingled with the

merry throng, and the plant of bitterness which grew at that moment

within his bosom was imperceptible beyond the secret sanctuary in which

it was enshrined.

The chase began, and continued for three days, during which period

hundreds of animals of all kinds were destroyed, from the fierce

royal tiger to the timid hare. The King enjoyed the sport during the

whole three days on horseback. Towards the close of the third, in

his eagerness of pursuit after a leopard, he was separated from his

nobles, and spurred his panting steed after the beautiful beast for

some time alone. The animal at length escaped; and Alla-ood-Deen, being

fatigued with his exertions, quitted his horse, and, fastening it to a

tree, ascended a spot of rising ground which gave him a command of the

surrounding plain. Here he seated himself alone, gazing at the distant

sportsmen who were enjoying the pleasures of the chase below. The scene

was animating, and his entire attention was absorbed by the various

objects presented to his view.

Whilst the King was thus engaged, an arrow entered his body from

behind; and this was followed by another, so rapidly discharged, that

he fell forward upon his face before he could discover from what

quarter the treachery proceeded. He lay for some time insensible,

and, when he recovered, found that his wounds had been stanched by

some Pariahs, who had their miserable abode in the jungle, and who

discovered him insensible and weltering in his blood. With their

assistance he crawled to one of the huts of these wretched outcasts,

where he remained several days, until his wounds were sufficiently

healed to enable him to move. He was afraid to make the Pariahs

acquainted with his rank, lest the assassins who had aimed at his life

should be still near the spot, and his wretched benefactors be induced

to betray him. His horse having been removed, he could not stir until

his wounds were in a state to enable him to walk.

When it was found that the King did not return to the capital, the

citizens made lamentation for him as for one dead, and had already

raised to the throne his nephew Rookn Chan. The customary prayers were

read from the Koran; the Khootba was formally pronounced in the name

of the Rookn Chan, and the public criers were ordered to proclaim

his accession. The Prince, now descending from the throne, proceeded

towards the harem; but the chief eunuch with his guard stopped

him at the door, protesting that until he showed him the head of

Alla-ood-Deen, the Prince should not enter while he had life to oppose

him.

Meanwhile Alla-ood-Deen, having quitted the abode of the hospitable

Pariahs, walked to a neighbouring hamlet, where he procured a horse,

and mounting it with great difficulty, raised a white canopy over his

head, which he had caused to be made at the village. Declaring that he

was the King, whose life had been attempted during the late sports, he

was joined by straggling parties as he advanced, until his followers

amounted to five hundred men. The army being encamped without the walls

of Delhi, the King ascended an eminence where he could be seen by the

whole force. Attracted by the white canopy, the soldiers immediately

crowded by thousands to his person. Rookn Chan, now supposed to have

been privy to the attack made upon his uncle’s life, was almost

immediately deserted. In this dilemma he mounted his horse, and fled

towards Afghanpoor. Alla-ood-Deen proceeded to the royal pavilion, and,

ascending the throne, gave public audience, sending at the same time a

body of horse in pursuit of his nephew. This party shortly came up with

him, severed his head from his body, and laid it at the King’s feet.

When Alla-ood-Deen was perfectly recovered, he sent for the Rajah

of Chittore, and again proposed to restore him to liberty upon the

conditions which he had before offered.

“Your daughter,” said he, “cannot be dishonoured by the affections of

the most powerful monarch of the East.”

“Our faith forbids such a union.”

“But if I am not actuated by the difference of creeds, why should you?

Can you think I revere religion less because I refuse to be bound by

the manacles forged by superstition? One only alternative remains to

you; within sixty days, if your daughter be not delivered up to me,

you shall suffer by a public execution. Comply with my wishes, and you

shall not merely be restored to your government, but be advanced to the

highest dignities in my kingdom.”

“What will those dignities avail me if I am despised by my nation?”

“Cast off the trammels, then, which priestcraft has woven to enthral

you, and become a convert to the faith of Islam, and you will find that

those dignities will avail you much. What say you?”

“That I will never relinquish my faith; but as my daughter is secondary

in my estimation to that faith, I consent that she shall be yours upon

condition that I receive my liberty. I shall immediately summon her to

your capital. She will not refuse to obey the mandate of her father.

Within forty days she shall be delivered to your protection. It is a

parent’s severest sacrifice.”

He was conducted to his prison to prepare the parental summons.

Meanwhile Jeipal had quitted Delhi and arrived at Jesselmere.

CHAPTER V.

When Jeipal reached Jesselmere, he confided to Jaya the secret of

having attacked the king’s life. He immediately quitted Delhi, after

having shot Alla-ood-Deen, whom he concluded was dead. He had entirely

escaped suspicion, and was congratulating Jaya and himself upon the

fortunate issue of his enterprise, when a summons came from Ray Ruttun

Sein, desiring his daughter immediately to proceed to Delhi, to become

the wife of its sovereign. This was a severe shock to the hopes of the

lovers; but Jeipal determined that his plighted bride should never

enter the walls of Delhi for such a purpose, and they both agreed to

embrace the sad alternative of dying by their own hands rather than

obey the parental command. Jaya’s relatives were greatly alarmed lest

pollution should fall upon their house, and they proposed that the

young Rajpootni should offer herself up as a victim in one of their

temples, in order to escape the miseries with which she was threatened.

“Nay,” said the beautiful girl, “it is time enough to die when no other

means of escape remain; but why should I leave those who are so dear

to me, so long as I am enabled to continue with them,--and why should

I seek death as a release from misery yet at a distance, while the

means of enjoyment are so near? I promise you I will perish rather than

submit to pollution; nevertheless, I will live so long as my beloved

Jeipal can be by to protect me with a husband’s arm, and to cheer me

with a husband’s blessing.”

It was agreed that their marriage should instantly take place. This

was assented to by the relatives, among whom was Jaya’s mother; but

they determined to poison both bride and bridegroom at the wedding

feast, in order to prevent the possibility of the pollution which

they apprehended, as they felt confident the marriage of the parties

would not prevent the King of Delhi from still demanding the lovely

Rajpootni. Preparations were accordingly made for the wedding.

On the day appointed, Brahmins poured in from all parts of the country,

to the number of six thousand. These were maintained during the whole

period of the marriage ceremonies, which lasted a week, at the expense

of the young votaries of Pollear.[14] Each Brahmin received a pagne,

which is a kind of dress bestowed upon these occasions.

Upon the day when the marriage was solemnized, the bride and bridegroom

sat beside each other in an apartment of Jaya’s mother’s house. Before

them were placed several earthen pots full of water, ranged in a

circle. Among these were two large jars, disposed on either side of the

young couple. In the middle of the circle formed by the water-pots,

there was a raised platform of wood. The two large jars were covered

with capitals of earth in the form of a column, to be removed

immediately after the marriage ceremony. The apartment was lighted by a

number of lamps, representing Agni, the god of fire, which cast a dull

lurid light upon the various objects around.

The preliminary arrangements being made, the officiating Brahmin prayed

that Vishnu and Lakshmi would descend into the two large vessels upon

which the earth had been piled, and that they would force the Devatas,

or inferior deities, to occupy the smaller pots, which had been ranged

in a circle. The Homan or sacrifice was then made. A fire was lit

upon the earth with those peculiar woods used at sacrifices, of which

there are twelve kinds. While the flame was kindling, the hierophant,

commenced reciting certain prayers in a dialect understood by none but

the priesthood, and frequently not even by them. Whilst reciting these

unintelligible supplications, he continued to keep up the sacrificial

fire of the Homan, by pouring butter upon it, and supplying it with

fuel. So soon as the prayers were ended, he approached one of Jaya’s

uncles, who, being nearest of kin, represented her father, upon this

solemn occasion, placed him by the bride, and instructed him in several

little particulars required to complete the ceremony.

After having received the necessary instructions, the paternal

representative put upon his niece’s palm a number of plantains,

together with a small coin of gold. He next placed the right hand of

the bride within that of the bridegroom. The mother now advanced, and

having poured water upon their hands, the young couple were finally

united. The Brahmin then took the tali, or marriage symbol--equivalent

to the ring in Christian marriages--presented it first to the gods,

then to the bride and bridegroom, and finally to the guests, all of

whom put their hands upon it. This being concluded, the tali was given

to the husband, who tied it round the bride’s neck; which completed the

ceremony.

After the marriage rite had been solemnized, the matrimonial

benediction was bestowed as follows: The husband swore before the

fire, the officiating Brahmin being present, that he would take care

of his wife so long as he lived. He then took her by the little finger

of the right hand, and in this way they walked three times round the

platform raised within the circle of jars. Near this was placed a flat

stone, used for pounding ingredients with which the curries were to be

prepared for the marriage feast. When they came near this stone, the

bridegroom passed one of his wife’s feet over it, as a token of the new

obligation into which she had entered, of subserviency to her husband.

The platform having been encompassed three times, large basins of rice

were brought and laid before the newly-married pair. The officiating

Brahmin then took a small quantity of turmeric, and mixing it with the

rice, repeated several prayers during the process. Now filling both

his hands with rice from a large platter, he flung it first over the

husband’s shoulders, and next over those of the wife. All the company

present immediately rose, and then the same ceremony was repeated.

This, among Hindoos, is the universal matrimonial benediction.

About three hours after noon, the marriage feast was provided for an

immense number of guests, who had assembled from all quarters upon

this joyous occasion. Every luxury which the most fruitful of climates

afforded was produced. The relatives of Jaya, however, amid this scene

of general festivity seemed grave and dissatisfied. Not a countenance

but theirs was saddened. Jeipal was at length blest. His wishes were

consummated, and he felt no longer any apprehension of being torn

from the partner of his earthly joys, now that she had become legally

and morally his. The thought of her father’s captivity was the only

interruption of his and the bride’s happiness, but he still resolved

to leave nothing unattempted to restore Ray Ruttun Sein to his family.

“Something must be devised,” said he to the anxious Jaya, “to rescue

your parent from that odious thraldom to which he is likely to fall a

victim if not speedily released, and, whatever the hazard, it has now

become my duty to risk my life in securing his freedom.”

A short time before the parties assembled to partake of the

marriage-feast, Jaya had gone into a small apartment to deck her

beautiful brows with some gems, in order that she might appear with the

greatest possible lustre before her guests. This room led into a larger

chamber, being separated only by a thin plaster partition. She had not

been long occupied in arranging her jewels, when her uncle and his wife

entered the outer apartment, and cautiously closing the door, Jaya

overheard the following conversation:

“Where is the newly-wedded?” inquired the uncle.

“In the veranda with her happy Jeipal.”

“Are you certain?”

“A very short time has elapsed since I saw them together, and they were

too happy to separate.”

“What think you of this marriage?”

“It is an ominous union. She must not live. The Mahomedan will never

relinquish his desire to obtain her while she is alive, and our house

shall not be degraded whilst we have the means of obviating it.”

“Then both must perish, for Jeipal would visit the destroyer of his

bride with terrible retribution.”

“Ay, he’s a true Rajpoot; death with him is as commonplace a matter as

eating his curry--’tis no great sacrifice for such a man to die.”

“But how is their death to be accomplished?”

“Thus. I will prepare two dishes for them especially, which shall be

placed before each at the feast. I know what is most grateful to both,

and will take care that they shall be provided with a mess which will

secure us from future apprehension. In order to escape all chance of

suspicion, I propose that the same dish precisely shall be placed

before you, only yours will contain no poison. Elated as they now are

they will not apprehend danger, and thus we are secure.”

Jaya was so agitated at what she heard, that she could scarcely support

herself, and fearing lest the base plotters against her life should

enter her apartment, she got under a small charpoy[15] which stood in

a corner, having first thrown upon it a palampore, that hung down over

the side, and thus effectually concealed her. It was a fortunate thing

that she took this precaution; for her uncle, in order to be sure that

his conversation with his wife had not been overheard, looked into

the room, but seeing nobody, and not suspecting that any one could be

hidden under the charpoy, he quitted the apartment with his partner in

iniquity, both being perfectly satisfied that their murderous plan was

a secret which could transpire only in its consummation.

When all was clear, Jaya crept from her place of concealment, and

stealing warily out of the chamber, joined her anxious husband, to whom

she related what she had just overheard. His indignation was raised

to such a pitch at discovering the horrible purpose of his wife’s

relatives, that he was about to denounce them, and inflict upon them

summary chastisement. He was, however, withheld by his more cautious

bride, who besought him to take no notice of what had passed, but make

the guilt of her uncle and his equally cruel partner recoil upon their

own heads. She had some difficulty in appeasing him; at length the

appeal of a beautiful woman, and that beautiful woman his virgin bride,

subdued his ire, and he listened to her proposal of obviating the

menaced destruction, which was as follows:--

She suggested that he should take the opportunity, when the guests were

engaged before the feast commenced, of exchanging the dish prepared

for him, placing it before her uncle, and taking his. “I,” continued

Jaya, “will not taste mine, and thus the poisoned mess will be eaten

by the husband of her who prepared it. In case of his death she will

be obliged to follow him to the funeral pile; thus shall we be fully

revenged.”

Jeipal embraced his sita, and consented with ready satisfaction to her

mode of punishing the atrocious designs of her relatives: they fancying

their secret secure, and confident of the success of their scheme,

mingled smilingly among the guests, and affected extreme kindness

towards the young wedded pair, who received their caresses with

repugnant formality at the hazard of raising their suspicion. Those

entertainments which were precursors of the feast being introduced,

tomtoms, viols, serindas, vinas, and various other instruments, struck

up their singular melody, and “ravished the ears” of those who loved

such music as would be little grateful to the fastidious refinement

of European taste. Nautch girls were first ushered in; they performed

their graceful evolutions, tinkled their tiny silver ankle-bells, and

did their best for the amusement of the company. Jugglers with their

snakes likewise appeared, showing their mastery over those venomous

creatures, which they grasped by the neck, tied round their throats,

even while their jaws were armed with those instruments of death with

which nature had provided them. Their feats of legerdemain were next

exhibited, to the general satisfaction of all present; but that which

most excited the amazement of the company was the following:--The

jugglers “produced a man, whom they divided limb from limb, actually

severing his head from his body. They scattered these mutilated members

along the ground, and in this state they lay for some time. They then

extended a sheet of curtain over the spot, and one of the men putting

himself under the sheet, in a few minutes came from below, followed by

the individual supposed to have been cut into joints, in perfect health

and condition, and one might safely swear that he had never received

any wound or injury whatever.

“They next caused two tents to be set up at the distance of a bow-shot

the one from the other, the doors or entrances being placed exactly

opposite. They raised the tent walls all round, and desired that

it might be particularly observed they were empty. Then fixing the

tent walls in the ground, two men entered, one into each tent. Thus

prepared, they said they would undertake to bring out of the tents any

animal the company chose to mention, whether bird or beast, and set

them in conflict with each other, Jeipal, with a smile of incredulity,

required them to exhibit a battle between two ostriches. In a few

minutes two ostriches of the largest size issued, one from either

tent, and attacked each other with such fury that the blood was seen

streaming from their heads. They were at the same time so equally

matched, that neither could get the better of the other, and they were

therefore separated by the men, and conveyed within the tents. Jaya’s

uncle then called for the Neilahgâo, and immediately were seen to issue

from their tents two of these untameable animals, equally large, fat,

and fierce, which likewise commenced a furious combat, seizing each

other by the neck, and alternately forcing one another backwards and

forwards for the space of nearly two guhrries of time, after which

they were also separated and withdrawn into the tents. In short, they

continued to produce from either tent whatever animal the company chose

to name, and before their eyes set them to fight in the manner above

described.”[16]

When the jugglers had withdrawn, the guests commenced the more

substantial enjoyments of the table. Jeipal and Jaya marked where

their respective dishes were placed, towards which they were finally

conducted by a sort of master of the ceremonies. During the first

bustle, Jeipal contrived to remove his own dish, and substitute that of

Jaya’s uncle before the latter had taken his station. The confusion was

so great, caused by the various movements of such a number of persons,

that the change of dishes was a matter of no great difficulty.

Jeipal began to eat of the mess before him in order to give

encouragement to his wife’s relation, who was placed by his side.

The latter unsuspiciously ate of the poisoned food, and in a very

short time had consumed the whole contents of the fatal dish. Jeipal,

meanwhile, was not backward, but followed the example of Jaya’s uncle,

and soon saw the bottom of his platter. Jaya had not tasted hers, which

being remarked by her aunt, the latter pressed her with extreme urgency

to eat, but her solicitations being firmly resisted, she expressed

great anger. “Is it thus you serve your guests, to refuse partaking of

your own wedding banquet, as if you were not willing that they should

enjoy it, or begrudged what has been provided?”

“I don’t like the appearance of this dish,” said Jaya calmly; “it has

an unnatural smell, too. In short, I shall not taste it.”

“It was prepared on purpose for you, and of those very ingredients of

which you have always expressed yourself so fond.”

“I know it has been prepared for me, and therefore decline it;

but to show you how little selfish I am in partaking of anything

especially prepared for me, I resign it to you with the greatest

cheerfulness--pray eat it, and I shall be much better satisfied than

taking the indulgence myself.”

The woman shrank back with a consciousness that she had been detected.

In a short time the poison began to operate upon her husband. His

cheeks became blanched, his lips closed with a convulsive compression,

his whole body stiffened, and he fell upon the floor. The poison was

of so potent a nature, that within a few minutes he was a corpse.

Considerable confusion prevailed; the body was removed; but such is the

characteristic apathy of the Hindoo, that the banquet was concluded

without further interruption. No inquiry was made as to the cause of

the man’s death. It was looked upon as a sudden visitation for some

secret crime. No pity was expressed for the sufferer, but for one it

was an event to be deeply deplored. The wife had the awful prospect of

expiring amid the flames upon the body of her deceased husband.

The guests separated, and this wretched woman was left to the dreadful

companionship of her own fierce repinings. On the morrow her husband

was to be consumed upon the pile amid the flames of which she would be

doomed to expire. It was a fearful thought. She was not prepared to

die, and the very idea of death was at once a dread and an agony.

The day of sacrifice dawned. The noisy tomtoms and harsh brazen

trumpets warned her of the solemn obligation which she was called upon

to fulfil. The shouts of thousands of mad enthusiasts rent the air; but

she was reluctant to answer their acclamations by exhibiting herself as

a willing oblation. The Brahmins, perceiving her fears, administered

opium in such quantities that she soon became stupefied; still, nothing

could remove her extreme horror of death.

The opium at length took such an effect upon her, that she scarcely

knew what she did, and was finally induced to accompany the Brahmins

to the pile. The sight of it renewed her terrors. After a while the

effects of the opiate had somewhat subsided, and when within the area

in which the fatal pyre had been reared, she positively refused to

ascend it; but it was now too late--she had gone too far to retract.

The Brahmins surrounded her--the tomtoms began their din, the trumpets

their clamour, and she was forced upon the fatal platform. Fire was

instantly applied. She raised herself amid the flames, but was forced

back by the officiating Brahmins with long bamboos. Her hair streamed

upon the breeze--her arms were a moment raised with the violent action

of agony--her eyes almost started from their sockets--but the flames

rose higher and fiercer. Being struck in the temple with a bamboo, she

fell backward into the devouring element, and was no more seen.

FOOTNOTES:

[14] The Hindoo Hymen.

[15] A bed-frame.

[16] See the Autobiographical Memoirs of the Emperor Jehangire,

translated by Major David Price. From this singular memoir I have

extracted the two passages marked with inverted commas, merely altering

the names and a word or two, in order to make them harmonize with the

narrative.

CHAPTER VI.

The only thing that now remained to complete the happiness of Jaya

was her father’s liberty. It happened about this time that Ray Ruttun

Sein was taken alarmingly ill. Fearing that his former summons might

not be attended to, and more than ever anxious to obtain his freedom,

he sent to his daughter to entreat her to visit him that he might see

her before he died. Alla-ood-Deen had promised the Rajah, that the

moment the beautiful Jaya appeared within the walls of his capital her

father should be restored to liberty. The latter evidently preferred

his own personal ease to his daughter’s honour; nevertheless she

determined to accede to his wishes, but at the same time resolved that

her presence in Delhi should be the means of her parent’s escape. In

reply to his communication she wrote, that she should shortly appear at

the Mahomedan capital, in obedience to his and the King’s wishes, and

when she had made the necessary preparations for her journey she would

let him know the day on which he might look for her arrival. She had

devised a plan for her father’s escape, which, with the concurrence of

her husband, she prepared to put into practice without further delay.

Alla-ood-Deen was beyond measure elated when he heard that the lovely

Jaya had at length consented to become the pride and glory of his

harem. He immediately ordered the rigours of her father’s captivity to

be abated. He was removed to a commodious apartment where everything

he required was provided, and his disorder began gradually to subside.

The King went to visit him in person, but Ray Ruttun Sein could not

meet cordially the man who had treated him with such wanton indignity,

and forced him to an act against which his conscience rebelled.

“Rajah,” said the King, “you have at length consented to make me happy.

When the possession of your daughter is secured to me, you have only to

name the price of her dowry, and it shall be paid into your hands. You

may look to be raised to the highest office under my government.”

“I had rather be supreme in my own little principality than second even

under so great a sovereign as he who sits on the throne of Delhi. All I

desire is my freedom, and I only regret the nature of the ransom which

your tyranny forces me to pay.”

“Alliances with Kings are cheaply purchased upon any terms; and why

should you grieve at your daughter becoming the wife of a powerful

monarch?”

“Because she has already a protector, and consequently can never

occupy a place in your harem but as a degraded wife. However, I have

commanded her presence here, and daily expect her; but you may prepare

to encounter the vengeance of an injured husband; and I need not tell

you that a Rajpoot foregoes his revenge but with his death.”

“I laugh at the vain efforts of a puny youth, who will have brought

what you call his wrongs upon himself. He married your daughter when he

knew that I had made overtures to possess her.”

“She had been pledged to him from infancy.”

“But the will of kings sets aside such idle pledges; they, therefore,

should not have been fulfilled.”

“Our destinies are not dependent upon the will of kings. It has been

hers to marry Jeipal, and all the powers of your extensive regality

cannot sunder the mystical link which unites them. You may separate

them from each other, but that conjunction of soul in which they are

mutually joined is beyond your control--you cannot annul it.”

“But I will tear them asunder in spite of it; and let me tell you that

while I live no power I possess shall be spared to secure the one great

object of my wishes, which is the possession of your daughter Jaya.”

“That I have promised you, and the word of a Rajpoot is a sacred bond,

forfeited only with life.”

Alla-ood-Deen quitted his presence with some lurking apprehensions

that it was the Rajpoot’s intention still to evade his demands; he was

therefore daily urgent to know the day which his daughter had fixed for

her appearance at his capital. A week elapsed, but no communication

had been made by the wife of Jeipal, and her father began to suspect

that she had no intention of fulfilling her promise. On the following

morning, however, he received a written communication from her, in

which she stated that on the tenth day following she should be at

Delhi; at the same time detailing to him a plan which she had devised,

in concurrence with her husband, in order to effect his escape. He was

delighted with the scheme, and prepared to advance its accomplishment

to the best of his power. The idea of escape from the odious thraldom

to which he had been subjected, gave such an impulse to his spirit

that he soon shook off the lethargy of disease, and within a week was

perfectly restored to his usual state of health.

The king, delighted at the near prospect of possessing the lovely Jaya,

commanded that her entrance into Delhi should be distinguished by the

strongest tokens of his affection. A guard was ordered to receive her

at the gate, and pay her military honours as she passed through. She

had requested her father to obtain the king’s passport for herself

and retinue to proceed by slow marches towards the capital without

interruption. Alla-ood-Deen had immediately granted her request, and

given orders at all the towns and villages that she and her attendants

should be exonerated from the ordinary scrutiny to which all travellers

were subjected.

Ray Ruttun Sein waited with impatience for the day when he should

welcome his daughter’s arrival at the Mahomedan capital. Alla-ood-Deen

was no less impatient to behold the woman to whom report had ascribed

such singular personal endowments. His harem was fitted up for her

reception with extraordinary splendour; and he lavished his treasure

with a profuse liberality in preparing to welcome this Hindoo beauty in

a manner worthy of his princely munificence.

On the morning named by Jaya for her entrance into Delhi, a numerous

cavalcade was seen approaching the city gate. It consisted of a

number of litters, in which women are accustomed to travel in Eastern

countries, covered with cloth draperies that entirely concealed from

view those within. The litters were accompanied by about a hundred

unarmed followers on foot. Each litter was borne on the shoulders of

four men, and they severally passed through the gate, that which headed

the cavalcade being honoured with a military salute from the guard.

As had been previously agreed, they were borne towards the prison in

which Ray Ruttun Sein was confined. This was a large house surrounded

by a court and enclosed by a high wall. Into this court the litters

were carried, and, when all were set down, the gates were closed and

fastened on the outside.

There was a strong guard within the court. No sooner were the litters

deposited, that the curtains of the principal one were drawn aside,

and Jaya stepped out. Giving a signal, an armed warrior started from

every litter; then, putting arms into the hands of their bearers, they

attacked the guard, whom in a few minutes they slew to a man. Jeipal,

who headed the party, now rushed into the building, cutting down all

who opposed his progress until he reached the apartment of Ray Ruttun

Sein, the locality of which had been previously indicated to him by the

Rajah, in reply to his daughter’s last communication. Ray Ruttun Sein

was already prepared for the rescue. Hearing the noise caused by his

son-in-law’s approach, he opened the door of his chamber, and met him

at the threshold. Jaya followed close behind, and springing into her

father’s arms embraced him passionately.

“Come,” said Jeipal, “we have not a moment to lose. The alarm will be

given, and a detachment sent to reinforce the guard outside the gate.

Horses await us at a village a coss from the city. We must fly for our

lives, for the pursuit will no doubt be hot.”

“We have done our best, my father,” said Jaya: “if we should be pursued

and overtaken, we have the Rajpoot’s courage and can die. I wear a

dagger which will remove us both beyond the reach of pursuit, should we

be likely to fall into the enemy’s hands. Let us begone.”

They moved hastily from the house into the court-yard. The sentinels

who stood outside the prison wall, hearing the bustle within, had

unbarred the portal to ascertain the cause. Jeipal and his followers

immediately despatched them, and made good their exit. Getting again

into their litters, they proceeded to the city gate, which they passed

through without the slightest suspicion. The work of slaughter had been

so speedily executed that no alarm was raised, the house in which it

had taken place being a solitary building in the outskirts of the city.

As soon as they reached the village where their horses were waiting

for them, they instantly mounted, and were off with the speed of the

wind. Their flight was soon discovered, but not before they were some

miles on their way. When Alla-ood-Deen was informed how he had been

outwitted, his rage knew no bounds. He raved like a madman, bit his

own flesh with fury, and swore an oath of deep and implacable revenge.

His violence brought on a disorder which threw him on a sick bed. He

raved perpetually, and such was the intensity of his excitement that

he became perfectly frantic. He ordered several citizens to be put to

death whom he chose to suspect, without the slightest ground, had been

privy to the escape of the fugitives. There were no bounds to his rage,

and his violence increased to such a degree that he was obliged to be

tied down to his bed.

Meanwhile the Rajah and his followers pursued their flight, and halted

only for a few minutes until they fancied themselves beyond the reach

of pursuit. They had ridden forty coss by noon the following day. Their

horses being somewhat lamed by the severity of their journey, they were

obliged to rest for the day; but fancying there was no longer anything

to apprehend from pursuit, they fairly congratulated themselves upon

their escape.

The village at which they halted was situated on the slope of a hill;

and in order to guard against an enemy, Jeipal commanded his little

band of twenty armed followers to keep alternate watch, half of them

only sleeping at a time, in case of surprise.

There was a bright moonlight. About two hours before midnight one of

Jeipal’s scouts apprised him of the approach of pursuers;--he had

calculated their number at about eighty men. These would no doubt be

followed by speedy reinforcements. There was no time for hesitation.

Jeipal placed six of his followers in ambush at the base of the hill,

with orders to keep the enemy in check, while Jaya and her father

pursued their flight with all speed. They again mounted their horses,

somewhat recruited by their day’s rest and good feeding, and were off

towards Chittore with the swiftness of thought. Jeipal, having seen

them safe on their journey, descended the hill with the rest of his

little band, commanding them to follow within reach of a signal. As he

arrived at the ambuscade where his six men, armed with bows and arrows,

were concealed, he perceived the enemy in full career across the plain.

The moon was in mid heaven, pouring her soft and tender light upon the

advancing squadron. As it neared the bottom of the mountain, Jeipal

discharged an arrow and shot the leader dead. Another and another

followed; and before the party could imagine that they were assailed by

a secret foe, ten of them were either killed or disabled. This checked

their career; they halted, and retreated a couple of hundred yards

beyond the ambush.

After a short pause they advanced at full gallop, and reached the base

of the hill in a few minutes, with the loss of another ten men, killed

or desperately wounded. Jeipal now gave the signal, and was joined by

the rest of his followers, who, rushing down the steep, sent their

arrows among the Mahomedans at the moment they were dismounting from

their horses. They were thrown into confusion at this fatal discharge,

and, before they had recovered from their consternation, were attacked

sword in hand by the furious Rajpoots. The slaughter was terrible.

Encumbered by their horses they could not act in unison, and their

leader being killed, they were dispirited. In a few minutes half of

them were slain; and the rest, remounting their steeds, galloped back

across the plain, where they were soon joined by a second party from

Delhi, which came to a halt beyond bowshot from the mountain.

Jeipal in this short but fierce conflict, had lost only four followers.

He had received a severe sabre-cut upon the forehead, round which he

bound his turban tightly to stanch the blood, and mounting his horse,

he and his faithful Rajpoots followed the fugitives. He overtook them

early on the following day. They had now ten hours’ start of their

pursuers, who had halted during the night on the plain.

The Rajah, with his daughter, her husband, and their companions,

eventually reached the hilly country, where they for the present

determined to remain concealed until the heat of pursuit should

subside. Shortly after, they heard of the death of Alla-ood-Deen, who

never recovered from the attack consequent upon Ray Ruttun Sein’s

flight. His death restored Jeipal and his lovely bride to their

security: the Rajah returned to Chittore, where he was welcomed with

rejoicings, and the rest of his life was passed among his children and

grand-children in freedom and in joy.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

Heg. 716 (A.D. 1316).--On the death of Alla-ood-Deen, his youngest son,

Oomar Chan, was raised to the throne by Mullik Kafoor. This prince was

deposed and imprisoned after a reign of three months and some days.

Heg. 717 (1317).--Moobarik Khiljy ascended the throne on the seventh

Mohurrum.

Heg. 721 (1321).--The king was cut off by a conspiracy, and Mullik

Khoosrow, the chief conspirator, raised to the throne; but he was put

to death after a reign of only five months by Gheias-ood-Deen Toghluk;

and with his death terminated the second Tartar dynasty of the kings of

Delhi.

Heg. 721 (1321).--Gheias-ood-Deen Toghluk was the first of the third

Tartar dynasty of the kings of Delhi. When he ascended the throne he

regulated the affairs of the government in a manner so satisfactory as

to obtain general esteem. He declared his eldest son heir-apparent,

with the title of Aluf Chan, and conferred upon him the ensign of

royalty.

Heg. 722 (1322).--This year the new citadel at Delhi was completed, to

which the king gave the name of Toghlukabad.

Heg. 724 (1323).--The king, after having appointed his son, Aluf

Chan, governor of Delhi, marched in person towards Bengal to stop the

oppressions committed by the Rajahs of Luknowty and Soonargam. On his

return towards his capital the king was met at Afghanpoor by his son

and the nobles of his court, who advanced to congratulate him upon his

safe return. Here Aluf Chan had erected, in the short space of three

days, a temporary wooden building for his fathers reception. When the

entertainment was over, the king ordered his equipage to proceed.

Everybody hastened out and stood ready to accompany him, when the roof

of the building suddenly fell, and the king and five of his attendants

were crushed to death beneath the ruins.

Heg. 725 (1325).--Aluf Chan ascended the throne by the title of Mahomed

Toghluk. He was the most eloquent and accomplished prince of his time;

and his letters, both in Arabic and Persian, display so much elegance,

good taste, and good sense, that the most able secretaries of later

times study them with admiration.

Heg. 727 (1327).--The king caused a copper coin to be struck, issued

it at an imaginary value, and, by a royal decree, caused it to pass

current throughout Hindostan. This was the cause of great distress,

the bankers and merchants alone benefiting at the expense of the

sovereign and his people.

Heg. 738 (1337).--Mahomed Toghluk conceived the idea of conquering

China, and sent an army of one hundred thousand horse into Nepaul and

the countries on either side of the Himalaya mountains. The expedition

utterly failed, nearly the whole army having perished in those

mountainous regions.

Heg. 741 (1340).--The king obtained possession of the strong fort

of Kondhana, the modern Singur, near Poma, which he starved into a

surrender. He removed his family to Dowlutabad, which he resolved to

make his capital, leaving the noble metropolis of Delhi a resort for

bats and a dwelling-place for the beasts of the desert.

Heg. 742 (1341).--Mahomed Toghluk laid heavy contributions upon

Dowlutabad and the neighbouring provinces, which caused an

insurrection; but his numerous and well-appointed army soon reduced the

insurgents to their former state of slavery. This year the king nearly

fell a victim to a pestilence which broke out in his camp with such

violence that it swept off a great part of his army. Having lost one of

his teeth, he ordered it to be buried with much ceremony at Beer, and

caused a magnificent tomb to be raised over it, which still remains a

monument of his vanity and folly.

Heg. 743 (1342).--Mullik Heidur, chief of the Ghoorkas, slew Tartar

Chan, the viceroy of Lahore.

Heg. 744 (1344).--The confederate Hindoos seized the country occupied

by the Mahomedans in the Deccan and expelled them, so that within a few

months Mahomed had no possessions in that quarter except Dowlutabad.

Heg. 747 (1346).--The king promoted several persons in the meanest

stations to the rank of nobles, which occasioned the hereditary Omrahs

to revolt; but their leader Azeez, upon the king’s troops advancing

to attack him, becoming panic-stricken, fell from his horse, was made

prisoner, and suffered a cruel death. His forces were totally routed.

Heg. 748 (1347).--Dowlutabad fell into the hands of the insurgents, who

put the king’s officers to death and divided the public treasure.

Heg. 752 (1351).--Mahomed Toghluk, having eaten to excess of fish,

was seized with fever of which he died, after a tyrannical reign of

twenty-seven years, and was succeeded by his cousin Feroze Toghluk.

Heg. 755 (1354).--The king built the city of Ferozabad, adjoining that

of Delhi, and on the following year dug a canal forty-eight coss in

length. He likewise constructed another canal between the hills of

Mundvy and Surmore, from the Jumna, into which he conducted seven minor

streams, which all uniting ran in one channel through Hansy, and from

thence to Raiseen, where he built a strong fort, which he called Hissar

Feroza.

Heg. 762 (1360).--The king sent the celebrated image of Nowshaba to

Mecca, to be thrown upon the road, that it might be trodden under foot

by the pilgrims.

Heg. 776 (1375).--The celebrated Mujahid Shah ascended the throne of

the Deccan. In his fourteenth year, in a struggle with his father’s

spice-bearer, Moobarik, a man of great strength, he threw him and broke

his neck.

Heg. 779 (1378).--He was assassinated after a reign of not quite three

years. Hajy Mahomed Kandahary states that he received his death-wound

from the son of Moobarik the spice-bearer.

Heg. 781 (1379).--Kurgoo, the Zemindar of Kutehr, invited to his house

Syud Mahomed, governor of Budaoon, together with his two brothers,

and basely murdered them. Enraged at this treachery, Feroze Toghluk

instantly marched and took severe vengeance on the associates and

kindred of the Zemindar, putting them to the sword, and levelling

their houses with the ground. The murderer made his escape to the

mountains of Camaoon, and was protected by the Rajahs of those parts.

Feroze ordered a detachment of his army against them, and nearly twenty

thousand of those mountaineers were made prisoners and condemned to

slavery; but Kurgoo contrived to elude the vigilance of the king’s

general.

Heg. 790 (1388).--Feroze Toghluk died, after having reached the almost

patriarchal age of ninety years.

The Mahomedan Nimrod.

CHAPTER I.

Mujahid, the son of Mahomed Shah, sovereign of the Deccan, was

remarkable for his courage and amazing strength of body. He was tall

of stature, prodigiously muscular, yet, in dignity of demeanour and

general majesty of aspect, surpassed all the princes of his race. In

valour and fortitude he stood without a rival. Such was his strength

of constitution, that he was affected by change neither of climate

nor of atmosphere: whether the season were wet or dry, hot or cold,

healthy or sickly, it was alike to him. He spoke the Toorky language

fluently, which he acquired from his favourite companions, who were

for the most part either Toorks or Persians. He was fond of archery

from his infancy, and all his conversation tended to military subjects.

His whole soul was absorbed by deeds of arms, or of hazard in some

shape. When a boy, he was the terror of his youthful associates.

Whoever offended him was sure to feel the weight of his resentment,

and such was his known determination, that they were afraid to unite

against him, lest his single arm should prove sufficient to break

their confederacy and punish them all; for he was repelled by no sense

of danger from resenting injury. Still he was a beneficent youth,

and beloved by them generally. There was nothing he would not do for

them, so long as they did not wantonly thwart his projects, which were

sometimes of a nature to be discouraged; but even when he engaged in

any mischievous adventure, it was more from exuberance of animal

spirits, and that love of enterprise which he could not suppress, than

from depravity of heart.

One day calling his companions together, he proposed that they should

go and hunt the tiger in some distant forest, where that animal was

reported to abound. But a difficulty arose: many of them had no

horses, and it was necessary that they should be supplied in order to

accomplish the wishes of their young prince. What was to be done?

“We must go,” said he, “at any rate, and you shall be supplied with

necessaries.”

“But how,” asked one, “are we to get them without money?”

“While there is a rupee in my father’s treasury, as I live you shall

not go without horses. We will hunt the tiger at all hazards.”

None of his comrades could imagine how Mujahid intended to introduce

himself into his father’s treasury, which was protected by a strong

door, secured by three huge bolts. These appeared much more than

sufficient to baffle the efforts of a youth of fourteen, for that was

precisely the age of Mujahid at this period. But he laughed at the

idea of impediments to any enterprise dear to his heart; and, calling

together the youths by whom he was generally attended, he desired they

would accompany him to the treasury. It was guarded by a sentinel; but

the prince, pretending to send him upon a message of some importance,

promised to take his place until he should return.

No sooner had the soldier quitted his post, than Mujahid, rushing

against the door which contained his father’s treasure, shook it from

the hinges, and opened a way to the means of procuring horses for his

contemplated excursion. Taking several bags of gold, he divided the

money among his youthful followers. They immediately repaired to a

mart, and supplied themselves with steeds, and other necessaries for

the chase.

When the sentinel returned he found his post abandoned, and that he had

been duped by the young prince. Knowing the penalty of having quitted

his charge, he immediately left the spot and fled beyond the reach

of danger. The treasurer, discovering the door broken down, and no

sentinel on the spot was amazed; but he had no difficulty in tracing

the act to the king’s son. The habits of Mujahid were too well known

for suspicion to be diverted from him; and, when taxed by the treasurer

with the theft, he did not deny it.

The sovereign, enraged at the vicious propensity of his son, sent his

spice-bearer, Moobarik, to summon the prince before him. Upon entering

his father’s presence, perceiving by the king’s manner that he had

been made acquainted with the robbery of his treasury, Mujahid, when

asked if he knew why he had been summoned, remained silent. “What could

induce you,” said the sovereign, “to commit such a trespass against the

laws, and such an act of violence against the authority of your father?

What do you deserve?”

Mujahid still continued silent, feeling justification impossible.

“Boy,” said the father, sternly, “it is necessary that such a violation

of the common laws of honesty as you have so wantonly committed should

be punished with due severity, in order that my people may see I do not

palliate or overlook the delinquencies of my son. What expectations

can you hope to excite of your honour and justice when raised to this

throne, of which you are the rightful heir, if you indulge thus in

the vulgarest of all vulgar crimes? Such tendencies are unbecoming a

prince, and must be subdued.”

The king now ordered Mujahid to be stripped, and taking a whip,

scourged him severely with his own hand until the shoulders of the

youthful offender were covered with blood. The prince was then ordered

to be imprisoned in the palace.

This galled him much more severely than the stripes he had received;

they were only the infliction of a moment; but the restraints of

imprisonment were vexatious to his haughty spirit. He was mortified,

too, that his projected expedition had been frustrated, attributing his

punishment to the officiousness of Moobarik, against whom from this

time he harboured a deep and implacable enmity.

His mother visited him in his confinement, and he complained to her

with great bitterness of Moobarik.

“Nay, my son,” said the queen, “the servant was not in fault; he only

did his duty. He did not acquaint your father with your act of youthful

indiscretion, it was the treasurer.”

“But if the spice-bearer had informed me that the affair at the

treasury had been discovered, I could have evaded my father’s wrath,

made you my intercessor, and thus have escaped the visitation of his

anger.”

“That will subside, my son. I can still be your intercessor.”

“But the punishment has been inflicted,--my back still bears the marks

of stripes; and, though these may be effaced from my skin, they will

never be obliterated from my memory. Those are wrongs, mother, which

can neither be forgotten nor forgiven.”

“Would you harbour a spirit of revenge against your father?”

“No; but against the man who has caused that father to visit me with

bodily chastisement my hatred will be inextinguishable.”

“Nay, this is the working of unsubdued passion,--the feeling will

abate. Your cool judgment may convince you that Moobarik has not been

in fault, and you will be pacified.”

Mujahid made no reply; but the lowering of his brow sufficiently

indicated the deep-settled hostility that had already stirred the

slumbering passions of his soul,--the fiercest and least tractable.

At the mother’s intercession, after a week’s confinement, the prince

was set at liberty; and, at her especial request, he forebore to

exhibit any marks of enmity against the spice-bearer; but he wore a

mask upon his countenance that disguised the rage working at his heart.

He summoned his youthful playfellows around him, and seemed occupied by

the amusements common to his age; but, with the eye of a lynx, he only

watched for an opportunity to signalize his revenge upon the man who

had aroused his hatred. This he sought to accomplish without involving

himself in an act of legal criminality. The son of Moobarik was one of

his comrades, and to him he showed marks of unusual attention, in order

to blind him to the one dark purpose with which his own young heart was

teeming.

It happened that a discussion took place one day among the boys with

whom the prince associated, upon the respective merits of different

wrestlers who had distinguished themselves in the arena upon occasions

when public sports had been exhibited before the king. In the course

of the conversation the son of Moobarik mentioned his father to be so

strong and skilful in the manly exercise of wrestling, that he had

several times thrown some celebrated players.

“Ay,” said Mujahid; “I should like to have a trial of skill with that

sturdy father of yours. Do you think he would fear to encounter the

strength of a boy of fourteen?”

“Nay,” said Musaood Chan, with a good-natured laugh, “the king’s

spice-bearer could have no objection, I should fancy, in proving his

strength to the king’s son.”

“It will be an unequal game--youth against manhood; yet I think I could

make the spice-bearer turn his eyes to the sun without measuring my own

length beside him.”

This freak of the prince excited the merriment of his juvenile friends;

they expected to see their daring companion somewhat roughly handled

in the grasp of Moobarik, who was generally reported a person of great

strength; having been raised by the sovereign to his present dignity on

account of his feats in arms.

Mujahid threw himself in the spice-bearer’s way, and after offering a

courteous greeting, said, with a jocular air,

“Your son tells me you have so sinewy an arm that few champions in the

wrestling-ground would be able to stand against you, if you were to

condescend to encounter them in a trial of strength and skill.”

“My son says indeed true. I have on more than one occasion thrown the

strongest men in the king’s army, and my arm has yet lost none of its

vigour.”

“Are you willing to put it to the test?”

“I can find no worthy rival among my equals, and I should scarcely

degrade my nobility by entering the arena against the hirelings of the

king’s pleasures.”

“You need not fear to find a competitor of your own rank; for I am

willing to try my powers and skill against yours, if you do not doubt

your chances of victory.”

“I can have no objection to a friendly contest with my master’s son;

but he must not be vexed if he should happen to be some what roughly

handled, for wrestling is no lady’s game.”

“I am prepared for what may ensue. Though but a boy, you must remember

that I broke open the door of my father’s treasury; you will not,

therefore, have a mere boy’s strength to try.”

On the following day it was agreed that the prince and the spice-bearer

should wrestle before the king. The preliminaries were settled, the

spectators assembled, and the competitors entered the hall of the

palace, which was strewed with sand in order to break the force of

their falls. Both the champions appeared naked to the waist. The tall,

muscular frame of Moobarik contrasted singularly with the round smooth

limbs of his youthful adversary, who was exceedingly robust, and the

size of his sinews hidden under a round surface of healthy flesh. At

the first onset, Moobarik grasped his antagonist by the shoulders,

raised him in the air, and was about to cast him on the floor, when

the prince adroitly passed his leg behind the spice-bearer’s knee, and

threw him on his back in an instant, falling upon him with considerable

force. The spectators were astonished; but there being a dispute as to

the fairness of the fall, both parties consented to another struggle.

This was not much longer than the last. After a little shifting to make

good his intended grasp, Mujahid seized his opponent suddenly by the

waistband of his short trousers, and, raising him in his arms, flung

him on the ground with such force that he lay senseless. He had pitched

upon his head; and, upon examination it was found that his neck was

broken.

CHAPTER II.

The death of Moobarik afforded a subject of conversation for several

weeks at the court of Mujahid’s father. It was a matter of extreme

surprise that a mere boy should have so easily foiled a man of

such great strength, and have so rapidly and fatally concluded the

contest. He was from this time looked upon as a prodigy. Musaood Chan,

however, from that moment entertained an implacable hatred against the

destroyer of his father. He dared not openly manifest his hostility;

nevertheless, it burned within him with a smothered, indeed, but

still with an unextinguishable, flame. He heard the general applause

bestowed upon the courage and prowess of the prince with silent yet

fierce repugnance, which he was obliged to mask under the exterior of a

suavity that seemed like self-mockery.

Mujahid treated him with kindness and with confidence; and being of

an open unsuspicious temper he did not for a moment harbour a thought

of Musaood’s sinister feelings towards him; as the former neither

expressed anger, nor evinced the slightest symptom of resentment at his

father’s death.

As Mujahid advanced towards manhood, he became the terror of the

neighbouring potentates. He commanded his father’s armies, and

invariably led them to conquest. The son of Moobarik witnessed his

success with envy, and the fires of vengeance still smouldered in his

bosom. He had a beautiful sister, whose detestation of the prince

was no less ardent than his own; she could not wipe from her memory

the cause of her father’s death; but she, as well as her brother,

dissembled her resentment, and received Mujahid courteously when they

happened to meet.

The prince had conceived a passion for her, which he shortly avowed,

and she encouraged. Hoping that it would forward the opportunity of

revenge so ardently desired by her brother and herself, she pretended a

reciprocal attachment, and listened to his unholy declarations of love,

at first without any expressions of shame, and finally, with apparent

pleasure. His passions were roused; but under various pretences,

the artful siren delayed gratifying those passions which her seeming

acquiescence had provoked.

Musaood was pleased at seeing his intended victim gradually drawing

towards the toil which he was preparing for him. The prince never for a

moment imagined that the children of Moobarik attached to him the guilt

of having purposely destroyed their father. Taking it for granted that

they looked upon his death as a mere accident, he did not conceive that

there could be cause for the slightest hostility towards him, and the

daughter’s apparent affection confirmed this impression. His love for

the sister caused him to repose the greatest confidence in the brother.

The latter became privy to all the prince’s designs, encouraging

Mujahid’s favourable feelings towards him by affecting a fervent zeal

for his welfare.

Mujahid’s love for the wily daughter of his father’s late

spice-bearer at length knew no bounds, and she was obliged to adopt

all the resources of her woman’s art to keep him from proceeding

to extremities. She tantalized him with promises, which she evaded

fulfilling by the most ingenious artifices. It was found at length

necessary to withdraw him for a while from the object of his passion,

in order to rescue her from a dilemma which was daily becoming more

difficult to elude.

Musaood, therefore, proposed a few days’ excursion into the woods to

enjoy the pleasures of the chase, of which he knew the prince to be so

fond that even his love of woman yielded to his love of killing lions

and tigers. It might, too, chance that in the forest an opportunity

would arise so long and so ardently sought. The prince accordingly

repaired to the jungles, accompanied by his young friends, and for

several days with his single arm destroyed many of its fiercest

inhabitants.

One morning he was informed that an enormous elephant was in the

neighbourhood. The huge beast was said to have committed dreadful

ravages, and to have killed so great a number of people who had

ventured near its place of usual resort, that travellers had

discontinued passing by that road for fear of encountering the savage

animal. Nothing could be more gratifying to Mujahid than the idea of

encountering an enemy which every one else shunned; and without loss of

time he proceeded to the spot where the elephant was reported to have

taken up its abode. It turned out to be a solitary male which had been

expelled from the herd; and when this happens, it always renders these

animals extremely savage.

Mujahid found the colossal beast in a part of the wood where the growth

was more than usually scanty, tearing down with eager voracity the

tender branches of the young trees which were growing around him. At

the sight of intruders it stopped, raised its trunk, gave a shrill cry,

and approached them at a rapid pace. The prince deliberately placed

an arrow on the string of his bow, pulled it to the head, and sent it

on its way with the force of a shot from an arquebuse. The steel head

struck the elephant on the breast, and the whole shaft was buried in

the animal’s body; the very feather being dyed with its blood. The

gigantic creature dropped instantly dead.

All were amazed at the force with which the arrow had been sped.

Mujahid ordered the elephant to be opened, that he might see the

direction which his arrow had taken. This was accordingly done, and

it was found that the shaft had passed directly through the animal’s

heart. The murmurs of astonishment rose into a great burst of

acclamation; but in proportion to the triumph of the King’s son the

envy of Musaood increased.

Among the persons present upon the occasion was a Tartar. This man was

deeply in love with the late spice-bearer’s daughter, who returned his

affection; he therefore felt that hatred towards the King’s son which

ardent lovers generally entertain towards their rivals. The hot blood

of this Tartar was roused at the thought of the object of his pure and

fervent attachment being pursued with sentiments of unholy love; and

he was prepared to execute any desperate act by which he might rid the

world of a wicked prince, and himself of a dangerous rival. Musaood was

well aware of his feelings, and likewise of reckless fierceness of his

character; and, thinking that now was a favourable time to attack the

prince’s life when he was reposing in full security upon the fidelity

of his friends, he persuaded Tuglook Beg to attempt the assassination

of Mujahid during the chase on the day after the latter had destroyed

the elephant.

During the morning the sport had been great; and Mujahid, stopping upon

the bank of a small rivulet, quitted his horse in order to bathe his

temples in the cool refreshing waters. He gave the reins into the hands

of an Afghan, named Mahmood, who held them while his master alighted.

At this moment the Tartar approached unperceived through the hollows

and broken ground along the banks of the stream, and was in the act of

charging the prince at full speed. The cry of some of his attendants

exciting Mujahid’s attention, he raised his head, and observed Tuglook

Beg advancing towards him at a gallop, evidently with the design of

cutting him down, his sword being bared and raised as in the act to

strike. The prince immediately seized the reins of his horse, and

making a sign to Mahmood Afghan to interpose himself betwixt his master

and the assassin, sprang into his saddle. The faithful armour-bearer

advanced to meet Tuglook Beg; but his steed rearing, owing to the

inequality of the ground, it fell, and gave the adversary a momentary

advantage. It was a critical moment; the Tartar came on with the speed

of a whirlwind; but Mujahid, being now prepared to encounter him upon

equal terms, spurred his horse forward. Tuglook Beg, however, made a

stroke at the prince, before the latter had time to put himself fully

upon his guard; the blow fell upon his turban, which, being folded very

thick and hard, in order to protect his head from the ardent rays of

the sun, the sword did not penetrate, though it struck the turban from

his brow, and left it exposed to the chance of a more successful blow.

Mujahid, however, having recovered his position, rose in his saddle,

and bringing his heavy cimeter upon the Tartar’s shoulder, clove him to

the chine, and he instantly fell dead from his horse. Having replaced

the faithful Mahmood Afghan upon his charger, the prince joined his

friends amid shouts and acclamations, in which Musaood Chan was the

foremost to join.

The fate of Tuglook Beg only embittered the hatred of his friend

towards his destroyer, and strengthened his determination of vengeance.

His sister received the news of her lover’s fate with that tearless

grief which bespeaks intense suffering, or the counteraction of a

purpose stronger than the sorrow to which it becomes subservient.

Fortunately at this time the prince was called to oppose Krishin

Ray, Rajah of Bejanuggur, who laid claim to some forts belonging to

Mujahid’s father, which saved the object of his passion from coming

to an open rupture with him, ere she and her brother found means to

revenge their parent’s death by accomplishing the destruction of him

who had been the cause of it.

As the prince advanced, Krishin Ray retreated before him. Afraid to

meet so formidable a foe in the field, but hoping to cut him off by

stratagem, the Rajah fled from place to place, and was pursued by

Mujahid for weeks without coming to an engagement. At length the good

fortune of the latter prevailed. The health of Krishin Ray and his

family became affected by the pestilential air of the woods, and they

were warned by their physicians to quit them. But the Rajah, hoping

that his enemy, unaccustomed to the deleterious atmosphere, would fall

an easy prey, resolved to continue where he was, until he saw his

expectations realized upon the foe. Mujahid’s constitution, however,

was proof against the pestilential air by which his enemy thought he

would be destroyed; and Krishin Ray was himself the first to suffer;

several of his family died, and he became himself so ill that he

was obliged to retreat by secret paths towards Bejanuggur. Mujahid

despatched an army in pursuit of him, while he laid waste the country.

Having broken down many temples of the idolaters, and destroyed

numerous idols, he returned flushed with victory to his father’s

capital.

It now appeared to Musaood and his sister that their hated enemy was

destined to triumph in all his undertakings, and that they were doomed

to suffer the utmost severity of disappointment.

It was nevertheless their policy still to dissemble; and the artful

siren received her detested lover with gracious smiles of welcome that

were like oil poured upon the flame of his passions, which hitherto had

been only tantalized, and now raged with redoubled fury.

CHAPTER III.

In order to avoid the importunities of Mujahid, the sister of Musaood

was obliged to feign illness, that she might not give him umbrage by

opposition. The chase was again her brother’s resource to withdraw his

royal friend’s thoughts from the indulgence of more criminal passions.

In a mountain some few miles from the capital was a cave, reported

to be the haunt of wild beasts. This information had been privately

conveyed to Musaood, and he determined to take advantage of the

prince’s ignorance of this fact to accomplish the long-cherished

purpose of his soul. Mujahid made no objection to another expedition

into the forests in search of the lion and tiger, since that was a

pastime perfectly congenial with his adventurous spirit. With him

excitement was a vital principle. The announcement of peril was music

to his ear. He was accompanied by his favourite, Mahmood Afghan, who

always attended him in his excursions, whether of war or of pleasure.

He went as usual armed with his bow, a well-filled quiver, and his

cimeter, which had been tried in many a rough encounter with foes, in

whose blood it had been frequently steeped.

Musaood had lost nothing of the prince’s confidence: so admirably did

he mask his feelings, that not a creature save his sister knew, and

no one suspected his deadly hostility to the son of Mahomed Shah.

Nothing could exceed his apparent zeal in seeking to administer to the

enjoyments of the prince, who was a perfect slave to his pleasures; and

Mujahid acknowledged the professed fidelity of the late spice-bearer’s

son with especial marks of favour.

Upon approaching the forest where the pleasures of the chase were to

be enjoyed, the skies began to lower, and to threaten one of those

violent elemental conflicts occasionally witnessed within the tropics,

and of which even the Alpine storms in Europe can afford but a faint

conception. It soon became too evident that a hurricane was to be

expected, and the only thing which now occupied the thoughts of the

party was where they should find shelter.

The prince was at this time separated from his followers, being

accompanied only by Mahmood, Musaood, and a menial attendant. This

had been purposely contrived by his foe, to whom, however, not the

slightest suspicion of any sinister design attached.

The sun soon became veiled by a succession of coppery clouds which

rapidly overspread the sky, opening at intervals in different places,

and emitting momentary flashes of lightning. The rain quickly began to

fall upon the broad smooth leaves of the trees; the birds flew to the

foliage, and chirped dolefully. Snakes and lizards crawled from beneath

the bushes, where they had been basking in the genial sunshine, and

crept into the tufts of high grass with which the jungle abounded. A

gloom passed over the earth, like the sudden setting in of night, and

the distant howlings of the forest community gave a strong feature of

dreariness to the scene.

The storm was every moment increasing, and the party were by this time

anxious to obtain a shelter. They had advanced considerably up the

hill. Musaood had taken care to be informed of the exact locality of

the cavern, to which he led the way, the prince and his companions

following. The ascent was rather steep, and, from there being no

regular pathway, not easy to climb. Their anxiety to escape from the

pelting of the storm enabled them to overcome all impediments.

They had fastened their horses under trees in a small glen at the

hill’s base, as the ascent was too steep to render the attempt on

horseback practicable. After about a quarter of an hour’s toil they

reached a natural recess in the mountain, within which was the entrance

to a cave, no doubt the same that had been described to Musaood. The

opening was low, and so narrow that not more than one person could

squeeze in at a time. It was about four feet high, and scarcely more

than two wide. Within the darkness was so intense, that the eye

could not penetrate to the extremity. Scarcely was the party safely

sheltered, when the hurricane poured down with prodigious fury. The

rain fell in a confluent stream, forming little cataracts, which

gushed over the slope of the hill between the rocks, adding to the

rush and roar of the tempest. The entire horizon appeared every moment

illumined, and the lightning streamed like a fiery deluge upon the

earth. There was the least imaginable pause between the flashes. A

large tree in front of the cavern was struck, the trunk severed from

the root, as if cleft with an axe by an omnipotent arm, and it fell

with an awful crash down the side of the mountain. The thunder rolled

with scarcely an interval between the peals, and occasionally burst

with such deafening crashes, that the ear could not endure the sound

without a positive sensation of pain. Snakes and other reptiles were

washed from their coverts, and crawled for shelter into the cavern, as

if awed by the fierce convulsion of the elements. They exhibited no

signs of reluctance at the propinquity of human beings, of whom they

have an instinctive fear, but appeared as if they had laid aside their

natural instincts under the terrors by which they were assailed. The

savage cobra closed its hood and slunk into a corner of the cavern, as

if glad to hide itself from the terrors of the storm. After a while,

the lightning flashed less continuously; there were longer intervals

between the peals of thunder; it became gradually more remote, and at

length the sun glimmered through the clouds, which, rapidly dissipating

before its beams, left a beautiful expanse of clear blue sky above the

hill.

The gloom of the cavern had now considerably abated, though nothing was

distinctly perceptible at the extremity.

As soon as the deafening noise of the tempest had subsided, a singular

sound was heard at the end of the cave, like the loud purring of a

cat. Mahmood and the attendant groping their way towards it, shortly

returned with something in their arms, which when exposed to the

light, proved to be the cubs of a lioness. The ferocious parents were

evidently abroad, but this discovery was not at all calculated to beget

an assurance of safety.

“We had better,” said the attendant, “immediately quit our retreat,

or we shall be visited by the parents of these young savages before

we have time to escape. They will, no doubt, return now the storm has

abated, and we may look for their presence every moment.”

“Well!” said the prince, “you don’t fear to encounter a lion? This will

be somewhat reversing the sport; instead of seeking the game, it will

seek us; but, upon second thoughts, it will not do to let them come

upon us before we are prepared; we shall be cramped in this cave; we

must have room to ply our arms. If the lions make good their entrance

before we have secured our retreat, we shall stand but a sorry chance

for our lives.”

“Suppose,” said Musaood, “I go and climb yonder tree, which commands

a view of the entire side of the hill. Should anything approach I can

give you a signal; you will have plenty of time to mount the rock just

beyond where we now stand, and from that elevation, with the prince’s

unerring aim, the lions will prove but contemptible foes.”

“Nay,” said Mahmood Afghan, “I like not this mode of getting hedged by

dangers; let us quit the cavern at once, and encounter our enemies in

an open field, if they come upon us. I need not tell you that these

animals are always the more furious when disturbed near the lair in

which they have deposited their cubs.”

“That’s just what I should desire,” said Mujahid; “the more furious the

quarry the greater the sport. You say, however, well, Mahmood; let us

go and meet these tawny strangers.”

During the raging of the tempest the prince and Mahmood had flung down

their bows and quivers upon the floor of the cave; when the attendant

took them up in obedience to the command of his master it was found

that the cubs had been amusing themselves with the arrows, and had

snapped every reed except two. This was a mortifying discovery. It was

now held advisable that the party should not seek an encounter with the

lions, as they were no longer in a condition to face them, but make the

best of their way down the hill, obtain a fresh supply of arrows, and

return on the following day.

By this time Musaood had quitted the cavern, and climbed a lofty tree

not far off, as he had proposed. The prince, with his armour-bearer

Mahmood, and the menial attendant, were about to quit their place of

refuge, when a huge lion appeared advancing stealthily towards its den,

which they had occupied in its absence.

“Hah!” said Mujahid, “we have no chance now, I see, but to struggle at

a disadvantage. The foe has taken us by surprise, and we must use the

best means of defence which such an emergency has left us. He shall

have a warning, however, that we are not to be intruded upon with

impunity.”

The prince placed an arrow on the string of his bow, and discharged it

as the lion advanced. It struck him in the shoulder, the steel head

fixing in the bone. The wounded beast gave a savage howl, tore the

shaft from its body, and bounded forward with a roar that made the

mountains ring.

Meanwhile the party had rolled a huge fragment of rock, which lay

within the cave, before the entrance, and thus excluded the ferocious

visitor. Reaching the opening, the lion paused a moment, repeated its

roar, and sprang against the stone. This vibrated with the animal’s

weight. It repeated its spring, but the prince placing his back against

the piece of rock, managed by his immense strength to prevent the

lion from forcing an entrance. The savage creature put its paws upon

the stone, and thrust its nose into the aperture left between the top

of the fragment and that of the entrance. Sensible that enemies had

invaded the sanctuary of its home, its howls were terrific, its eyes

glared with portentous rage, and it repeatedly rushed against the

opposing barrier, in order to force a passage to its offspring. All its

attempts, however, were foiled.

“Mahmood,” said the prince, as the enraged beast was standing with its

paws upon the stone, licking its rapacious jaws, now covered with foam,

“take thy bow, and discharge the arrow which remains into the lion’s

eye. You are so close that you may make sure of your aim, and if well

taken the steel will enter its brain, and give us a safe delivery.”

Mahmood took the bow; his hand trembled with anxiety, not with fear. He

was visible to the lion, which glared upon him with an expression of

terrific fury. Its eye was open to the utmost extension. Mahmood placed

the barb of his arrow within a few inches from the rolling orb, and

hurriedly drew the string. At the instant it escaped from his finger

the lion raised its head, and received the shaft through its tongue.

Maddened by the pain, it bounded a moment from the opposing rock, and

rolled upon its back, snapping the reed with its teeth, and returning

with renewed fury to its former position. The foam now dropping from

its mouth was dyed with blood. It protruded the lacerated tongue, from

which the gore copiously dripped, part of the reed still sticking in

the wound.

CHAPTER IV.

The situation of the prince, his friend, and attendant, was becoming

every moment more critical. The lion seemed determined to remain

stationary at the entrance of the cave, and to admit it was certain

death. Mujahid, however, resolved to remove the stone from the cavern’s

mouth and take the chance of a conflict with the ferocious beast. He

and Mahmood had their swords; one of them therefore might escape,

though, from the darkness and lowness of their place of refuge, the

chances were doubtful.

Musaood had at first secured his safety in the tree, from which

he descended while the foe was eagerly engaged with those who had

so unwittingly intruded into its den, and succeeded in making his

escape. Having reached the bottom of the hill, he mounted his horse

and galloped off in search of the prince’s followers, hoping that the

slayer of his father would now meet with deserved retribution.

As Mujahid was about to remove the fragment of rock from the cave’s

mouth, Mahmood proposed that they should try to strangle the lion with

a strong silken cord with which he had come provided; a sort of lasso,

which he was very skilful in throwing, and with which he was in the

habit of securing smaller game.

“No,” said the prince, “that were an ignoble and cowardly mode of

destroying the regal beast; I have a kindred feeling which repels me

from such a dog-like method of killing a lion. Besides, the thing is

impracticable, you will never be able to get it over the creature’s

head.”

“I will try, however,” said Mahmood, “since I have no kindred feeling

about the matter, and would as soon strangle a lion as a cat.”

Mujahid, in spite of his prejudices against casting a stigma upon

regality by attempting to inflict a degrading death upon the “monarch

of the woods,” yielded at length to the expostulations of his

armour-bearer, who attempted to cast the noose of the lasso over the

lion’s head. The aperture above the stone was so small that he had not

room to fix it; and while he was making the attempt, with a fearful

growl the enraged animal seized the rope between its teeth, sprang

from the opening, drew it from Mahmood’s grasp, and left him without a

resource in his peril.

“Well,” said the prince, “there is now no alternative between trying

which will be the longest starving, ourselves or our brindled guard, or

allowing it to enter and boldly trying our strength against it. We are

three to one, and that is fearful odds.”

“But the darkness and disadvantage of this low cave reduces our chances

and increases those of the enemy.”

“We must then bring him to battle on the outside of his den.”

“Alas! before we can squeeze ourselves through this narrow entrance,

the savage will have made good its spring, and the first stroke of its

paw is certain death.”

The attendant now proposed as a last resource that they should

strangle the cubs and throw them out to the lion. This was indeed a

desperate experiment, but Mujahid consented that it should be tried.

The attendant accordingly unwound the turban from his forehead and

twisted it tightly in the form of a rope. The cubs were found asleep

in a corner of the cave; but though so young, their strength was such

as to render the process of strangulation a thing of some difficulty.

A noose was made in the centre of the twisted turban, and being passed

over the cub’s head, was pulled at either end by Mahmood Afghan and the

attendant, the prince meanwhile applying his vast strength to keep the

lion from displacing the stone from the entrance.

Both the cubs being at length strangled, were forced through the

aperture, and flung before the enraged parent. The moment it saw its

offspring, the lion quitted the stone, stood over the cubs, and begun

to purr, licking their heads for a few moments with the greatest

tenderness. After a while, seeing they did not move, it turned them

over gently with its paw, erected its ears, and looked at them intently

for an instant; and then, as of a sudden becoming conscious that they

were dead, erected its head, raised its nose in the air, and howled

with a piteous expression of agony. The wounded tongue hung over its

jaws, still suffused with gore, and tears filled the eyes of the

noble beast as it again bent down its head to gaze upon the work of

destruction.

Its emotion soon subsided, and was succeeded by the most frightful

rage. It dashed against the barrier with increasing fury, and its

roarings were continued without intermission. It now required the

whole strength of the prince and his two companions to keep the stone

from giving way under the furious assaults of the lion. After a while,

as if exhausted with its energies, it retreated a few feet from the

aperture, lay down upon its belly beside the dead cubs, raised its head

towards the skies, as if invoking a silent curse upon the destroyers of

its offspring, and sent its voice among the surrounding echoes, which

multiplied it into one fearful and prolonged evocation of blended fury

and distress. In a short time it started to its feet, waved its tail,

and looking forward, ceased its horrible roar. Upon turning his eyes

toward the spot, the prince perceived another lion advancing at a rapid

trot in the direction of the cavern.

“This,” cried Mahmood, “is no doubt the mother of the cubs, and we

have, if possible, more to dread from her fury than from that of the

male savage. We have now no chance of our lives but by continuing where

we are until the lions shall retire. They will probably drag the cubs

away after the first burst of grief for the loss of their young shall

have subsided.”

“I like not this imprisonment,” said the prince, “and shall only

forbear forcing a retreat a short time longer. I am determined to try

my chance of escape while my strength remains unabated.”

Mahmood, however, prevailed upon his impatient and daring master to

await the issue of the second beast’s approach, before he rashly

determined upon an encounter, which it was now apprehended must

infallibly terminate in the death of each of them.

The lioness advanced eagerly, with her ears erected; and having

reached her cubs, she turned them over for a moment with her paw, and,

instantly perceiving they were dead, rushed towards a tree that grew

near, sprang upon the trunk, and, stripping off the bark, began to tear

it in pieces with the greatest violence. She now united her roars with

those of her consort; then fixing her eyes upon the den in which she

had deposited her young, bounded with foaming jaws towards the opening.

Infuriated by opposition, she darted to and fro before the cave,

springing at the trees, fixing her claws in the bark, and stripping

their trunks bare to the root. Again she assaulted the stone which

prevented entrance into her lair.

While she was exhibiting these paroxysms of exasperation, the male,

probably exhausted by its previous exertions, lay down beside the

cubs, placed its two fore-paws upon their bodies, and resting its head

upon the ground between them, kept up a low and continuous moan. The

lioness, at length fatigued with her unavailing efforts to retaliate

upon the destroyers of her young, walked deliberately up to the lion,

and after again turning over the bodies of her cubs, she seized one

of them in her mouth, and plunged with it into the thicket. The lion

took up the body of the other in the same way, and immediately followed

her. After a while the party in the cavern heard their roarings in the

distance, and began now to think seriously of making good their retreat.

“Our danger,” said the attendant, “is by no means at an end. Those

animals are never-failing in their instincts; they know that the

destroyers of their offspring are in this cave, and they will not quit

the neighbourhood until they have had their revenge. Their vigilance is

not to be evaded.”

“But,” said Mahmood, “did you not hear their roarings in the distance?”

“Nevertheless they will return immediately upon their steps. I have

seen much of the habits of these ferocious creatures. They have

disposed of the bodies of their dead cubs under some shrub or tuft of

grass, and covered them with dried leaves; they are now on the watch

for us; it is utterly impossible we should escape.”

“They shall feel the sharpness of this sword’s point, however, if they

do come upon us,” said the prince, rising, and stretching his cramped

limbs. “Our chance will be greater beneath the fair light of the sky,

with plenty of fighting room, than cooped up in this dismal den, where

we can’t distinguish a lion from a shadow.”

“It is clear,” said Mahmood, “there is no safety for us here; we have,

consequently, only a choice of evils, and it will therefore be the

greater prudence to choose the least. The lions are now out of sight,

and in spite of their cunning, we may be fortunate enough to baffle it.”

“Then we had better descend the mountain,” said the attendant, “in the

opposite direction to that taken by our watchful enemies, else we must

give up every chance of evading them.”

“But there is no practicable path,” said the prince; “and ever if there

were, our chances are much the same, whatever road we take, provided

what thou sayest of the vigilance of these creatures be true.”

The stone was now rolled from the cave’s mouth, and the prince pushed

his body through the narrow opening, followed by his armour-bearer and

the attendant. No enemies were visible, and their roarings had by this

time ceased to echo among the hills. Approaching the tree into which

Musaood had climbed upon the first apprehension of danger, Mujahid

looked up, and called upon his friend to descend; but perceiving that

he was not among the branches, the prince said with a smile.

“Musaood has tried the speed of his heels. If the lions should have

crossed his path and wreaked their vengeance upon him, they will

probably be satisfied; but if he has escaped, there is at least an

equal chance for us. Grasp your swords and follow me.”

“I have no doubt,” said Mahmood, “he has made good his retreat; I saw

him descend the tree while the first lion was engaged in assaulting the

rocky fragment which we had laid across the entrance of the cavern.

He’s a wary youth that Musaood: I know of no one who likes so little to

get into danger, or who knows so well how to extricate himself out of

it.”

“That is not the lion’s instinct,” said the prince, smiling.

“Nay, but it is part of the wise man’s discretion.”

“Then, Mahmood, thy master is a fool; for he never was yet remarkable

for his prudence in getting out of a scrape.”

“But valour,” replied Mahmood, with a respectful salaam, “is not an

attribute of wisdom; that, therefore, would be prudent in the brave

man, which would be folly in the wise.”

“Then we bold fools, Mahmood, may be justified in cutting the

throats of lions for the preservation of our own lives; while your

sages, in conformity with their characters of wise men, would, as a

matter of course, bow their heads under the lion’s paw, and die like

philosophers.”

Mahmood smiled, made another salaam, and remained silent, as if

assenting to the truth of his master’s observation.

The party proceeded slowly onward, on account of the narrowness and

ruggedness of the path, which would not admit of two going abreast. In

a short time, however, they had overcome the most difficult part of the

descent without interruption from their dreaded foes. They were already

congratulating themselves with having escaped, when a cry from the

attendant, who was a few yards behind his master and Mahmood, caused

the two latter to stop and turn. The cause of that cry of alarm was

soon explained. The two lions were seen making their way down the side

of the mountain at a very rapid rate, their ears depressed, the hair

on their tails erected, and exhibiting other signs of fury not to be

mistaken. It was impossible to avoid them as the path was still narrow

and rugged.

The prince, drawing his cimeter, placed himself in front of his two

companions, and undauntedly awaited the threatened onset. The male lion

was several paces in advance of the lioness, and, bounding forward,

stopped suddenly within about thirty feet of its intended victim, and

crouching a moment crawled a few yards upon its belly, then rising with

a quick motion sprang with the rapidity of lightning towards Mujahid.

He had been prepared for this; and when he saw the body of the angry

beast propelled towards him, as if urged by that Almighty force which

wings the thunderbolt, he leaped actively on one side, raised his

weapon, and urging it with all his force as the foe descended, struck

it in the mouth with the full impulse of an arm that, by a similar

stroke, had frequently severed the head of a buffalo. The sword crashed

through the jaws, forced its way into the throat, opening so hideous a

wound that the lion fell forward, writhed a few moments, and died.

The lioness, which had crouched several paces behind while her consort

was making its spring, seeing the issue of the contest, leaped forward

with a roar, and coming up to the prince before he had recovered his

guard, placed its paws upon his breast, and attempted to gripe him by

the throat. Mujahid grasped the savage by the windpipe, and keeping it

at arm’s length, prevented it from effecting its purpose; but it still

kept its claws fixed in his breast, which it lacerated in a frightful

manner, and at length seizing one of his hands crushed it dreadfully.

Still he managed to keep its head from his body.

Mahmood, seeing the peril of his master, struck the ferocious beast

with all his might upon the back with his sword, which was very keen

and heavy. This assault induced the lioness to relinquish her hold

and turn upon Mahmood; but her spine had been so injured from the

stroke of the cimeter, that she was unable to spring. A second blow

from Mahmood’s ponderous weapon upon the skull, instantly seconded by

another from that of the attendant, soon brought her to the ground,

when she was easily dispatched, though not before she had left

terrible marks of her fury upon the prince’s body, who, reeking with

his blood, stood gazing at his vanquished foes. The effusion was great,

and the lacerations so extensive as to exhibit a fearful aspect of

fatality.

Mahmood, being well skilled in the virtues of herbs, gathered some from

the hill-side, and bruising them formed a styptic which he applied to

the wound, and arrested the hæmorrhage. The prince declared himself

able to proceed, the application of the herbs having somewhat subdued

the irritation of his wounds. He was obliged to bare his body to the

waist; and in order to prevent the sun from incommoding him, Mahmood

and the attendant skinned one of the lions, and fixing the hide upon

four bamboos, formed a sort of canopy under which Mujahid managed to

creep down the remainder of the descent.

When they reached the bottom of the hill, they found their horses

securely tied to the trees, as they had left them. Mujahid felt himself

unable to proceed: the attendant, therefore, rode off in pursuit of

some of the followers, whom he happily found at no great distance

pursuing the pleasures of the chase. Among these was Musaood, who had

refrained from mentioning the state of peril in which he had left his

companions on the hill. Upon hearing that the prince had been wounded

in the breast by his tawny foe, he concluded that the consummation of

his revenge was nigh. A calm smile passed over his features; but he

warily suppressed the feelings which rose with the warmth of a kindly

emotion in his bosom, and elated his heart. Affecting to commiserate

the condition of Mujahid, he proceeded, accompanied by several of

his followers, to the spot where the prince lay in a state of great

suffering stretched upon the lion’s skin; but, smiling as Musaood

approached, he said--

“You had a better instinct than I, Musaood. Had I taken to the tree I

might have escaped these scratches, which will keep me from the chase

for some weeks, and, what is worse, from thy sister; but the cause of

so long an absence will furnish my excuse.”

“There’s no pleasure, prince, without its pain, and in your sufferings

all your friends participate.”

“Then they are great fools. It is enough that one should suffer in

a matter of this kind, and you ought all to rejoice that you have

had the good luck to escape. These are the little contingencies of

lion-hunting, but I shall not be the worse for it when my scratches are

healed.”

A litter was now made, in which the prince was laid, and carried slowly

towards his fathers capital. The faithful Mahmood walked by his side,

anticipating all his wants, and attending upon him with affectionate

earnestness. In spite of the styptic, his wounds bled so copiously that

when he reached the end of his journey he was in a state of extreme

exhaustion. For some weeks he was in considerable danger, which spread

a general gloom through the city, but, after a severe struggle, his

constitution triumphed, and he at length completely recovered.

CHAPTER V.

When Mujahid had recovered from his wounds he renewed his addresses

to the sister of Musaood, who, finding that she could no longer delay

the gratification of the prince’s desires without a direct breach of

promise, determined to bring the thing to an immediate issue. She had

for some time encouraged his proposals of dishonourable love; she had

done this for a sinister purpose, and was still loth to give up the

hope of seeing the slayer of her father meet with that retribution in

this world which she thought he deserved. She cared not how her own

reputation was endangered so long as she could see the man punished by

whom she had been deprived of a parent she tenderly loved. She did not

forget, too, that his hand was stained with the blood of her lover, and

although this was done in self-defence, it nevertheless did not abate

in her judgment the odiousness of the deed.

Toghluk Beg had been long attached to her, and it was this attachment

which urged him to risk his life against the valour and personal

strength of a man notorious through his father’s kingdom for the

invincible force of his arm. The daughter of Moobarik could not

forgive the double injury which she had received at the hands of the

king’s son, and in order the more securely to effect the purpose so

long entertained by herself and her brother she finally came to the

resolution of admitting Mujahid to the enjoyment which he sought,

indifferent to consequences, save the accomplishment of her revenge.

When next she saw her brother, “Musaood,” she said, “the enemy seems

to have a charmed life; no sword can reach him, and he is even proof

against the claws of the lion.”

“My sister, his time will come yet.”

“So you have said for years, and yet he is abroad in his might, and the

world appears to fall prostrate before him. How is this colossus to be

upheaved?”

“By constant dripping water will wear down the mountain to a level with

the valley.”

“But we cannot wait so slow a process, brother. Can you suggest no

means of a speedier vengeance?”

“He loves you, my sister.”

“Well, that won’t kill him.”

“No; but you return his love with hatred, and that may.”

“Hatred is of itself passive.”

“Still it may instigate the hand to urge the dagger home.”

“Then I must yield to his passions, an act against which my soul

recoils.”

“His death were worth any sacrifice. Had I a thousand reputations I

would relinquish them all to see him dead before me.”

“You sanction, then, my infamy?”

“It will be neutralised by the event. If it bring retribution upon the

head of our father’s destroyer it will be a filial oblation, and do you

everlasting honour.”

“The sacrifice shall be made, and may the desired issue be speedy! It

is, however, a hard thing to dissemble in the presence of an object

whom the heart loathes; how shall I endure the caresses of such a man?”

“As sick men take bitters, for the cure they bring. It will heal thy

hatred, sister, by removing the cause of it, and will not that be your

sufficient reward?”

“It is like making one pass to paradise through a path of fire.”

“Remember that when the paradise is gained you have all joy and no more

suffering.”

“What part do you intend to play in this sanguinary drama?”

“Do you but make the opportunity, and I am ready to drive the dagger

home to his heart. I must, however, do it where even the winds cannot

murmur an alarm.”

“Agreed; I will sacrifice my fair fame to the retribution we owe to a

fathers spirit.”

Thus was the foul conspiracy against the prince’s life hatched by the

brother and sister. They brought over to their purposes two disaffected

nobles, who entertained an inveterate animosity against Mujahid because

he had punished their cowardice with disgrace during his expedition

against Krishin Ray.

The prince, unsuspicious of treachery, visited the siren who had won

his affections with a full conviction that his passion was returned

with equal warmth. He provided for her a splendid mansion and a

numerous retinue, devoting most of his time to the society of his

enchantress. She feigned affection so artfully that he imagined himself

the idol of her heart; but Mahmood, who suspected her sincerity, though

he had no suspicion of her treachery, frequently told him that he

was deceived. This rather begot a coldness in the prince towards his

faithful armour-bearer; the latter, however, did not abate an atom of

his attachment towards his master, whom he looked upon as the dupe of

an artful woman, and whose interests he watched with a vigilance which

fully showed that they were no less dear to him than his own.

“Fair one!” said Mujahid one day, “am I deceived in thinking that you

love me?”

“Why this question?”

“Nay, that is no answer.”

“But surely I am justified in seeking to know why my affection is

suspected. Tell me candidly, have I ever given you just cause to

suspect it?”

“No.”

“Then you wrong me by your suspicions. Some enemy has attempted to

poison your mind, and it is but fitting I should know who that enemy

is.”

“You can have no enemy, my sweet flower, except the blights; and they

will not pass over thee yet.”

“Sooner than you may dream of, if I am to be doubted by one for whom

I have sacrificed so much. Remember that the flower is prostrated by

the sun when his scorching rays fall on it, as well as by the tempest;

so love may be as completely subverted by suspicion as by the fiercest

hatred: it cannot exist but in an atmosphere of mutual confidence.”

Convinced by her specious manner that he was beloved, whatever

suspicions might have previously existed soon passed from his mind.

About this time his father dying, he succeeded to the sovereignty of

the Deccan. His accession was solemnized with great rejoicings; but

the secret conspiracy against his life was not quelled, only retarded,

by this event. He lavished immense sums of money upon the favourite

who was secretly plotting his destruction, nor would he listen to a

suspicion breathed against the fervency of her attachment, of which

the faithful armour-bearer still ventured occasionally to express his

doubts.

Musaood’s duplicity was now redoubled. His apparent zeal for the

interests of the king blinded all but Mahmood, whose distrust became

excited in proportion as the apparent earnestness of the other for his

master’s welfare was displayed. It happened that he one day overheard

part of a conversation which passed between the brother and sister,

that confirmed his suspicions of intended mischief; and he resolved

to acquaint the king, in defiance of the royal interdiction not to

introduce the subject again in his presence.

Appearing one morning before the sovereign, he said, “A good subject

must not fear to incur the displeasure of a kind master, where danger

is likely to accrue to the one, which the other, by a timely warning,

may avert.”

“What means this, Mahmood? Annoy me not with any of your silly

suspicions; you know I have forbidden you to speak of them in my

presence.”

“I know it; but my love for a good king and generous master will not

allow me to be silent when I have reason to apprehend that danger is

near him.”

“What grounds have you for so supposing?”

“Musaood and his sister are frequently closeted, and I overheard the

former say to the latter, but a few days ago, ‘Our revenge has been

long baffled, but the consummation draws near.’”

“Why should you apply this to me, when I have secured the affection of

the one and the fidelity of the other?”

“Professedly you have, but kings are not always the best skilled in

reading human hearts; they too frequently mistake the mask for the

countenance.”

The king smiled. “Mahmood,” said he, “how long have you been a

decipherer of the unwritten records of human character? Do you not

think that you may chance to be mistaken as well as other men?”

“Beyond question: but no one can deny the policy of being upon

one’s guard, even in a state of the greatest apparent security. The

profoundest calms are frequently the precursors of violent tempests;

and what is seen in the natural may likewise occur in the moral world.”

“But would you have me live in a state of perpetual suspicion, with

that void in my heart arising from the absence of confidence, which is

one of the most grievous penalties of our existence?”

“No; but I would not have you too rashly trust, and, indeed, never

until you have well weighed the characters whom you admit to your

friendship.”

“And have I not done so? Have you not won my confidence? and have I

ever found reason to regret having bestowed it upon you?”

Mahmood was rather staggered; he felt the truth of the observation;

but still determined not to allow the king to remain blind to his

insecurity, without striving to put him upon his guard, he said, “Men

must be judged by their actions.”

“Precisely so; and Musaood has never given me cause to suspect his

fidelity.”

“What has he ever done to render him an object of trust?”

“Nothing, at all events, that should render him an object of suspicion.”

“My sovereign, I do not suspect upon slight grounds; I have seen

frequent and secret meetings; I have heard ambiguous words uttered,

and am willing to risk my head upon the truth of what I assert, that

your royal safety is not secure from secret machinations. Having put my

royal master upon his guard, my duty is performed.”

Mujahid Shah, though he had the strongest reliance on the integrity

of his armour-bearer, and a sincere esteem for him, yet looked upon

his suspicions as chimerical, and took no measures to counteract any

plots that might at that moment be ripening against his life. His

passion for the sister of Musaood was unabated, and he treated her with

distinguished regard.

He one day declared to her his intention of passing the night in the

house she occupied, at which she expressed herself extremely flattered,

and immediately communicated the information to Musaood.

“My brother,” said she, “the king sleeps here to-night, and the

opportunity so long sought after may be now embraced.”

“What do you propose?”

“That Mujahid should die this night by your dagger.”

“If you will show me that his death can be safely accomplished, I am

ready to become the instrument.”

“Go and seek your two confederates, and introduce them into the house;

I will let you into the king’s chamber at midnight;--the work is then

easy.”

“But does not his armour-bearer always sleep in an adjoining apartment?”

“Yes: he, however, will be easily disposed of. I will prepare his

evening meal: he shall be deaf to the cries of his master when they

come.”

“Could you not contrive to remove his arms?”

“What will signify arms to a man who has not the power of using them?

Do you quail, Musaood? Don’t be shamed by a woman! Such an opportunity

does not occur every day. Embrace it, or let it pass, as you please:

upon your choice depends whether we ever again meet as brother and

sister. You need not be told that kindred foes are the most deadly.”

This peremptory insinuation immediately decided Musaood. It was

arranged that he should repair to the house, with his two confederates,

so soon as night closed in.

In the evening Mahmood’s curry had been prepared for him; but labouring

under an excited state of mind, and having a presentiment of evil which

he could not repress, he did not taste it. Flinging himself upon his

couch, he lay feverish and restless.

About two hours after he had retired to rest, hearing a noise in the

adjoining room, he rose and listened. He could distinguish voices in a

whisper, but not a word reached his ear. There was sufficient light to

discern the dim outlines of three persons at the entrance to the royal

chamber. He was not kept long in suspense, for after the lapse of a few

moments a female figure opened the door, and the three men entered.

Mahmood, drawing his sword, instantly followed. Upon reaching the door

of his master’s room, he saw Musaood and his two companions armed with

daggers. The king was lying asleep upon his couch, and the treacherous

confederate of the assassins standing, with a lamp in her hand, near

his head.

Without an instant’s pause Mahmood cried, in a loud voice, “Rise,

Mujahid Shah! you are beset by murderers!” at the same time cutting

down one of the assassins. The sovereign, awakened by the noise,

started from his bed, just as Musaood was about to plunge a dagger

into his body. The blow had already descended, but Mujahid caught it

upon his arm, receiving a severe wound. He instantly laid hold of the

assassin by the wrist, wrenched the dagger from his feeble grasp, and

buried it in his heart.

The third confederate, seeing the fate of his two companions, rushed

from the chamber. Mahmood, seized his lasso, which was at hand,

pursued the criminal, and casting the cord round his legs as he quitted

the house, tripped him up, and brought him to the ground. He was

immediately secured, and conducted before the king.

“At whose instigation did you attempt the life of your sovereign?”

“My own!” answered the noble firmly.

“What was your object?”

“To get rid of a tyrant!”

“Was that woman your accomplice?” asked Mujahid Shah, pointing to the

siren who had placed his life in jeopardy.

“No; she is innocent.”

The wretched woman, who had stood pale and abashed before the royal

presence, immediately recovered her composure, and affected to repel

the suspicion with indignation.

The accomplice of her brother did not betray her. He would reveal

nothing, but made up his mind to die with that sullen resolution

so frequently witnessed at public executions. The king, summoning

two attendants, ordered them to take the traitor into an adjoining

apartment and strangle him. This was accordingly done, and his body

thrown from the window. By the time Mujahid Shah quitted the house in

the morning, nothing but a skeleton was seen upon the spot where the

strangled corpse had been cast the preceding night.

The sovereign having so narrowly escaped, was reminded by the faithful

Mahmood of the policy of withdrawing himself from the woman who

had obtained so entire an ascendancy over his heart; but such was

his infatuation that he could not believe her guilty. She had been

pronounced innocent by the confederate of her brother; and so complete

was her empire over him, that he would not allow himself to suppose her

implicated in the conspiracy against him. She affected to curse her

brother’s memory, not only for the murderous act of lifting his arm

against his sovereign’s life, but likewise for involving her in the

suspicion of having been an accomplice in so wicked a design.

“Make your mind easy,” said the king, in reply to her asseverations

of innocence; “my confidence in your affection is not to be shaken.

A woman does not hate out of mere wantonness the man to whom she has

relinquished all that is most prized by her sex. Great sacrifices are

only made for those we love, and for me you have made the greatest.”

“I fear I have an enemy in your armour-bearer,” said the artful siren;

“and cannot but feel apprehensive that he will eventually tear me from

your heart; this fear is a perpetual sting in my bosom. I have never

given him any cause of offence; and yet he continually pours the poison

of prejudice into the king’s ear.”

Mujahid Shah was silent. He could not but feel the force of this

observation, and it struck him that Mahmood’s prejudice was altogether

unjustifiable. In spite of his late gallantry in defending his master’s

life, the king was angered at the hostility which his armour-bearer

evidently entertained against the object of the royal affections, and

he treated him with unusual coldness, sometimes even with asperity.

Within a few months after the late attack upon the life of Mujahid

Shah, Musaood’s sister had completely steeped his heart in the

infatuation of dotage. He felt perfectly secure of her affection; and

finding that all suspicion had subsided, she determined to perpetrate

with her own hand the deed of blood which her late brother had failed

to accomplish.

One night, when she retired to rest with the sovereign, concealing a

dagger under the bedclothes, she awaited with tremulous impatience

to see her victim lulled in slumber. His senses gradually faded into

unconsciousness, and he slept heavily. She drew the weapon slowly from

its concealment. Her hand trembled. She cautiously bared the king’s

chest, and, compressing her lips, plunged into his heart the instrument

of death. Mujahid started from his sleep; he saw the night-dress of

his murderess stained with blood, and her hand still upon the dagger.

Feeling his senses fast failing, he grasped her by the throat, held

her a few moments in his death-grip, flung her with his last effort of

expiring strength upon the floor, strangled, and fell dead beside her.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

Heg. 790 (A.D. 1388).--Feroze Toghluk was succeeded on the throne of

Delhi by his grandson, Gheias-ood-Deen Toghluk, who was murdered,

after a reign of only five months and a few days.

Heg. 791 (1389).--The late king’s murderers raised to the throne Aboo

Bukr, another grandson of Feroze Toghluk; he was deposed after a reign

of eighteen months, and succeeded by his uncle, Nasir-ood-Deen Mahomed

Toghluk.

Heg. 793 (1390).--Mahomed, after having silenced all opposition,

entered Delhi in the month Rumzan, and ascending the throne, assumed

the title of Nasir-ood-Deen Mahomed.

Heg. 794 (1391).--The Vizier Islam Chan was condemned to death for a

projected revolt, on the evidence of his own nephew Hajoo, a Hindoo,

who swore falsely against him, in consequence, as it is supposed, of

his uncle having embraced the faith of Islam.

Heg. 795. (1392).--The king was taken ill of a fever, at Mahomedabad,

and became delirious for some days.

Heg. 797 (1394).--Mahomed, having suffered a relapse of the fever,

died, after a short reign of six years, and was succeeded by his son

Humayoon, who took the name of Secunder, but was suddenly cut off,

forty-five days after his accession to the throne, when Mahmood, a

younger son of Nasir-ood-Deen Mahomed, succeeded him.

Heg. 799 (1396).--Gheias-ood-Deen ascended his fathers throne in the

Deccan, and, having given offence to one of the household slaves, was

dethroned by him, and confined in the fort of Sagur.

Heg. 800 (1397).--Shums-ood-Deen, brother to the deposed king, was

raised to the throne, but was dethroned after a reign of five months

and several days; the slave being put to death by Gheias-ood-Deen,

whom he had deposed and blinded.

Heg. 801 (1398).--Ameer Timoor, commonly called Tamerlane, arrived on

the banks of the Indus, took the town of Bhutnere, ravaged the whole

country, and having, in different encounters with the idolaters, made

nearly a hundred thousand prisoners, ordered them all to be massacred.

The conqueror made himself master of Delhi, where he caused himself

to be proclaimed Emperor, and the usual titles to be read in his

name in all the mosques. The fine mosque, built by Feroze Toghluk,

on the stones of which he had inscribed the history of his reign,

was so much admired by Timoor, that he carried the same architects

and masons from Delhi to Sarmakand to build one there upon a similar

plan. Having given up the city to a general pillage, and committed

a dreadful massacre of the inhabitants, the conqueror commenced his

retreat to his own country. After a while, those who had quitted the

city returned to their homes, and Delhi in a short time assumed its

former appearance of populousness and splendour.

Heg. 811 (1408).--Mahmood Toghluk returned to Delhi.

Heg. 814 (1412).--The king, indulging too eagerly in the diversion

of hunting, caught a fever, of which he died. With him fell the

kingdom of Delhi from the race of Toorks, the adopted slaves of the

Emperor Shahab-ood-Deen Ghoory, who were of the second dynasty of the

Mahomedan princes of India. The disastrous and inglorious reign of

Mahmood Toghluk continued, from first to last, twenty years and two

months.

Heg. 815 (1412).--Dowlut Chan Lody, an Afghan by birth, was raised

to the throne by general consent of the nobles, after the death of

Mahomed Toghluk; but was deposed and put to death by Khizr Chan, after

a nominal reign of one year and three months.

Heg. 817 (1414).--Khizr Chan ascended the throne of Delhi, and was

the first of the fourth dynasty of her kings. In the first year of

his government, he sent Mullik Tohfa with an army towards Kuttehr,

which place he reduced. Nursing Ray was driven to the mountains, but

upon paying a ransom, his territories were restored to him. This year

a band of Toorks, the adherents of Beiram Chan, assassinated Mullik

Ladho, governor of Surhind, and took possession of his country.

Heg. 821 (1418).--A conspiracy was formed against the king’s life; but

having detected the conspiracy, Khizr Chan commanded the household

troops to fall upon them and put them to death.

Heg. 824 (1421).--The king died in the city of Delhi, and, as a token

of respect for his memory, the citizens wore black for three days.[17]

The nobles having assembled, elevated Moobarik, the son of Khizr Chan,

to the vacant throne.

Heg. 825 (1422).--The king, having marched to Lahore, ordered the

ruined palaces and fortifications to be repaired, and returned to

Delhi.

Heg. 826 (1422).--The king deposed Mullik Secundur from the vizierat,

and raised Suvuur-ool-Moolk to that office.

Heg. 830 (1426). Moobarik laid siege to Byana for sixteen days, but,

on the desertion of part of the garrison, Mahomed Chan, the governor,

surrendered at discretion, and with a rope about his neck was led into

the royal presence.

Heg. 832 (1428).--The king marched to Mewat, and entirely subdued that

country, compelling the inhabitants to pay him tribute.

Heg. 833 (1430).--Ameer Sheikh Ally having made himself master of

Toolumba in Moultan, plundered the place, and put to death all the men

able to bear arms. He likewise burned the town, and carried the wives

and children of the inhabitants into captivity.

Heg. 835 (1432).--The king deprived his vizier of the government of

Lahore.

Heg. 839 (1435).--Moobarik ordered a city to be founded upon the banks

of the Jusuna, which he called Moobarikabad, and made an excursion

towards Surhind, in order to take the diversion of the chase. On the

way he received advices that Surhind was taken, and the head of the

rebel Folad was presented to him, after which he returned to the new

city.

According to custom, on the ninth of the month, Rujub Moobarik went

to worship in a mosque lately built in the new city, with only a few

attendants, and was put to death by a band of Hindoos clothed in

armour, who entered the sacred edifice while the king was performing

his devotions. The vizier immediately raised to the throne Mahomed,

one of the grandsons of Khizr Chan. One Ranoo, a slave of the vizier,

being nominated collector of the revenues of Bayana, endeavouring to

obtain possession of the fort, was opposed and slain by Yusoof Chan

Lodi.

Heg. 840 (1436).--The vizier, aided by several conspirators, broke

into the royal apartments with drawn swords, in order to put the king

to death. The latter, however, having intimation of their design,

placed a guard in readiness to counteract it, which, on a certain

signal, rushed out upon the conspirators, who fled. The vizier was

killed as he was passing the door, and the other conspirators, being

afterwards taken, were publicly executed.

Heg. 849 (1445).--The king’s power decaying rapidly, the Zemindars

of Bayana placed themselves under the government of Sultan Mahmood

Khiljy, of Malwa, and Syud Mahomed falling sick, he died a natural

death, leaving behind him the character of a weak and dissolute

prince. He reigned twelve years, and was succeeded by his son

Alla-ood-Deen.

Heg. 854 (1450).--Alla-ood-Deen, having adopted Bheilole Lody as

his son, formally abdicated the throne in his favour, on condition

of being permitted to reside without molestation at Budaoon.

Alla-ood-Deen dwelt at Budaoon until his death, which happened

A.H. 883, A.D. 1478, his reign at Delhi being seven years, and his

retirement at Budaoon nearly twenty-eight.

FOOTNOTES:

[17] The Mahomedans as well as Christians wear black for mourning.

The Rival Brothers.

CHAPTER I.

Gheias-ood-Deen, a young and handsome youth in his eighteenth year,

was attended by a slave who was scattering perfume round the spot upon

which his master sat. This youth had just ascended the throne of his

father, late king of the Deccan, and gave promise of being a popular

sovereign. In conformity with the practice of his predecessor, he

behaved very graciously to all the members of his court, remembering

the zealous supporters of his family, and distinguishing them with

especial marks of favour. He raised several of his most deserving

nobles to places of distinction, and rewarded his late father’s

faithful domestics with offices of trust. This greatly excited the

jealousy of Lallcheen, principal Toorky slave of the household, who not

only aspired to obtain his freedom, but to be advanced to some post

of honour. He was now in the presence of his young sovereign, towards

whom he had frequently evinced his dissatisfaction by certain marks

which, though they apparently expressed nothing, were nevertheless

sufficiently intelligible.

“Lallcheen,” said the young king, “why do you appear thus dissatisfied?

My conduct, since my accession to the throne of my father, seems to

have diffused general content, and why should you be an exception?”

“Slaves have no great cause for satisfaction under any condition of

bondage; but when faithful servants are not rewarded, they have just

grounds for complaint.”

“They can have none whatever, so long as the master is not unjust.

Slaves cannot expect to be treated like princes.”

“But they can expect to be treated like men who have minds to

appreciate, and hearts to feel the difference between justice and

tyranny.”

“But I think it an act of injustice to place a slave upon a level with

a free man. By the condition of his destiny, the fetters of slavery

have been cast upon him, and he must wear them. I do not approve of

elevating bondmen to posts of honour.”

“Has the sovereign forgotten that the queen-mother was originally one

of that degraded class which the king thinks it unjust to dignify?”

“No woman is degraded by her condition, because she is the mere

instrument in the Deity’s hands for perpetuating the human race. The

son derives neither rank nor degradation from the mother;--it therefore

matters not whether she be a slave or a princess.”

“The king reasons like a profound casuist,” said Lallcheen, with an

ill-disguised sneer; “and I feel how utterly impossible it is for a

slave to beat down the lofty fences of royal logic.”

“You do not, however, seem very heartily convinced by it; but of this I

would have you in future assured--that it will be one of the principles

of my government not to place my bondmen upon a level with free men.”

Lallcheen had been a favourite with the late king, whose memory his

son held in great reverence; he therefore bore with the liberty of the

servitor who during the last reign had received a sort of licence to

express his thoughts without reserve, being a person of considerable

intelligence and of an active inquisitive mind.

Lallcheen was exceedingly mortified at the sentiments expressed by the

young king. They were scored upon his mind with literal fidelity, and

he secretly meditated revenge, though he did not show it openly. He

had sprung from a race of bold haughty barbarians, who held freedom

to be the pole-star in the firmament of human glory; and the friction

from the fetters of bondage seemed to rub against the very core of his

heart. He panted for liberty as a drowning man does for the air which

the waters exclude from his lips; and the disappointment with which

the sovereign’s definitive resolution was charged came over his spirit

with a crushing burden that for a moment seemed to weigh it down to the

lowest level of degradation. His fierce passions, however, which had

long slumbered under the assuasive kindness of his late master, rose

to his relief, casting off the burden from his soul as with an arm of

might and lifting it where it could soar unincumbered from the trammels

of its griefs, devise new motives of action, and nerve itself to high

and important resolves.

The slave had a daughter, the fame of whose beauty had reached the

ears of Gheias-ood-Deen. She was as celebrated for her wit as for her

personal attractions, and her skill in music was so perfect that she

eclipsed all the regular professors of the capital. There was not an

accomplishment of which she was not mistress. Her celebrity had already

gained her many admirers, and the king expressed a desire to see her.

Lallcheen was not sorry at the opportunity which this circumstance

might afford him of mortifying the sovereign, or of punishing him more

effectually, and therefore determined to throw the lovely Agha in his

master’s way in the palace gardens, to which the slave had free access.

The king was one morning walking in the gardens with his brother

Shums-ood-Deen, a remarkably beautiful boy in his sixteenth year.

“Who is that yonder, brother,” asked the latter, “by the marble tank?”

“I know not; but, by the gait and figure, something to admire.”

“She retires: I fear we shall lose the opportunity of ascertaining who

she may be, for handsome strangers are not wont to visit the private

gardens of the palace.”

“Go quickly and bid her stop;--say the king desires a word with her.”

Shums-ood-Deen bounded forward, and overtook the stranger as she was

retiring behind an arbour through a path which led to a back entrance

into the gardens.

“Stay, damsel,” said the prince; “the king desires a word with you.”

The stranger turned, and exhibited to the wondering eyes of the royal

youth features and a form of such extraordinary beauty that he gazed

in speechless admiration. Agha, for it was she, stood before him with

a demeanour of undisturbed modesty without uttering a word, awaiting

the sovereign’s approach. Gheias-ood-Deen was no less amazed than his

brother with the houri form upon which his eyes, as he approached,

instantly became riveted.

“Do I,” said he, “behold the marvel of my capital, to whom report has

ascribed such unrivalled perfections?”

“The king beholds the daughter of his slave,” said Agha, with her eye

fixed somewhat proudly on the youthful monarch.

“He is henceforward free for the daughter’s sake,” said the sovereign,

approaching and offering to take her hand.

She retired, and said gravely, “I am an intruder here; may I be

permitted to withdraw? It shall be my care not to intrude again upon

the king’s privacy.”

“Such intrusions are blessings for which the proudest monarchs of the

earth would barter their sceptres. Talk not of intruding, Queen of the

Graces!--not only these gardens are henceforth free to thee, but every

part of the palace. The sunshine of thy smile will produce a harvest of

delight wherever it glows.”

“The daughter of a slave is but an abject thing at best; but the king’s

mockery tends to remind her how complete is her abjection.”

Saying this, she withdrew, leaving the two brothers in a state of

blended admiration and amazement. Shums-ood-Deen, in the ardour

of youthful enthusiasm, had he a throne to offer, felt that he

would willingly make her the partner of it on the instant; but

Gheias-ood-Deen was influenced by a less sanctified passion. He thought

that the offspring of a slave could not for a moment object to be the

concubine of a king; nor did he imagine that the slightest impediment

would be raised to the proposal, which he contemplated the instant he

saw the exquisite beauty of Lallcheen’s daughter.

“What think you, brother, of this girl?” asked Gheias-ood-Deen.

“That until now I had no idea of the beautiful inhabitants of Paradise.

I feel my soul elated! Oh! with such a creature I could enjoy more than

happiness in this lower world! Had I a throne, she should be my queen.”

“Silly boy!” said the brother, pettishly; “the daughters of slaves do

not become thrones.”

“But, brother, the daughter of a slave is at this moment the mother of

a king.”

“A bad precedent is not to be followed; therefore no more of this.

You must discourage your raptures for the child of Lallcheen; she

must become part of my household. I love her, but as monarchs love

menials--for their pleasures, and my purpose must not be crossed,

Shums-ood-Deen.”

This was said with a deliberate emphasis of tone that implied a threat,

if obedience did not follow the injunction. It greatly mortified the

prince. He was silent, but nevertheless resolved to contravene the

designs of his brother, whose impure intentions towards Agha were to

him like a profanation of the sanctuary. His youthful enthusiasm was on

fire, and he determined, if possible, to counteract the king’s purposes

by immediately making honourable love to the slave’s daughter; for he

could not associate the idea of degradation with anything so perfect.

It seemed to him as if the finger of Allah were especially to be traced

in that fair work of his creation, and that therefore she ought to be

elevated to the highest earthly dignities, instead of being allowed

to wither in an atmosphere of social degradation. He lost no time in

seeking Lallcheen, whom he found a ready listener to his sallies of

enthusiastic admiration for the beautiful girl who had that morning

captivated his youthful heart. The slave’s hostility towards his master

made him attend with greater readiness to the proposals of the prince,

who at once declared his readiness to marry the lovely Agha.

“But, prince,” said Lallcheen, “what will the king say to such a

connexion as you propose? He thinks that bondmen ought to live in

their fetters; he will never, therefore, sanction your alliance with

slaves.”

“I am free,” said Shums-ood-Deen, “to marry whom I will; he has no

right to control me in that which essentially regards my domestic

happiness. I have resolved to choose for myself, and only await your

consent to make me happy.”

“Prince, it will not appear flattery to say that I honour your liberal

sentiments--that is a matter of course. If you can secure my child’s

consent, you have mine upon one condition, that I obtain my freedom;

for it would ill become the dignity of Shums-ood-Deen to be the

son-in-law of a slave.”

“This I promise. Your freedom is a boon which the king will scarcely

fail to grant to a brother’s supplication. Your daughter would be

cheaply purchased at the price of an empire.”

The wily father saw that the greatest advantage was to be drawn from

the boyish enthusiasm of Shums-ood-Deen; and his hopes of casting back

upon the king the odium which he had made to fall so heavily upon

his bond-servant, rose rapidly to their meridian as he listened to

the declarations of attachment towards his daughter from the lips of

his master’s brother. He sought his child, and prepared her for the

visit of Shums-ood-Deen, at the same time relating to her his earnest

professions of honourable attachment. She received the communication

with undisguised pleasure, for she had beheld the prince with more than

common satisfaction. His youthful beauty, untainted by the habitual

exercise of gross passion, had made a favourable impression upon her;

and she felt gratified by the undisguised expression of delight which

passed over his glowing countenance the moment he beheld her.

“Now, my child,” said the father, “you have made a flattering conquest.

It is no common thing to find a prince entertaining honourable

intentions towards those looked upon by the world as excluded from all

society but the lowest: appreciate this as it deserves.”

“I shall, my father; but withal, flattering as such approbation is, it

may prove the mere effervescence of passion in a youthful bosom, that

will pass away with the occasion. At all events, be assured I shall

never give my consent to a union with any man upon whom I have not

first bestowed my heart.”

With this understanding Lallcheen prepared to introduce the prince, who

had declared his intention of visiting her father’s house that evening.

The lovers met in Agha’s apartments, and were mutually charmed with

each other.

CHAPTER II.

Although a slave, Lallcheen was possessed of considerable wealth, and

his house would not have disgraced the dignity of a nobleman. On the

day Gheias-ood-Deen had seen his slave’s daughter, he summoned the

father to his presence.

“I have been considering thy services, Lallcheen, and shall reward

them; from this moment thou art a free man.”

“I accept the royal boon with a bondman’s gratitude. But I marvel at

this sudden change in the king’s sentiments.”

“Thou hast a daughter.”

“True.”

“For her sake, I recall my resolution of the morning, and give thee

freedom; but thou must pay the price.”

“Name it; I am wealthy.”

“I only demand a single jewel.”

“If I possess it, the sovereign has only to signify his wish. What

jewel does the king demand?”

“Thy daughter.”

“Ha! thy slave must feel the honour deeply; but will not the monarch of

the Deccan be dishonoured by wedding a slave’s daughter?”

“Ay, in truth, he would, Lallcheen, if he were weak enough to wed a

slave’s daughter; but of that he dreams not. If I give thee liberty,

the lovely Agha must be mine upon my own terms.”

“King, I am your bondman, but not your pander. I despise liberty upon

the terms you offer it. My child would scorn an impure alliance even

with a mightier monarch than Gheias-ood-Deen. She has suitors of proud

lineage, who woo her with honourable love.”

“Then my offer is refused? ’Tis well! the power that governs an

empire is not to be slighted with impunity. You will repent this rash

decision,--retire.”

Lallcheen did retire more than ever incensed against his royal

master. He was stung deeply at the insult offered to his child, in

the supposition that she would barter her purity for her father’s

freedom. He felt himself, moreover, grievously wronged by his royal

master harbouring the thought that he could be base enough to sell his

daughter’s honour at any price. It was an injury neither to be forgiven

nor forgotten. He quitted the royal presence with a throbbing heart

and burning brow;--the blood had receded from his cheek and lips when

he entered the apartment of his child. He found her singing an air in

a voice that would have enchanted the nightingales of Cashmere, or

drawn a tear of sympathy from the eye of a Peri. It was a strain of

exquisite tenderness: the parent’s emotions were calmed at the sound of

her celestial voice; but the blood returned not to those channels from

which the silent struggles of passion had banished it.

“My father,” said Agha, as he entered; “why so pale?”

“I have been disturbed, my child, by the king.”

“How?”

“He would give me freedom.”

“Well, would not that be a blessed deliverance?”

“At the price of my child’s honour?”

Agha’s cheeks flushed,--they were overspread with an intense crimson.

The blood seemed to ebb rapidly from her heart, which fluttered for

a moment; but the reflux almost instantly came and poured in upon it

a tide of womanly indignation. She continued silent, but the base

proposals of one brother imparted by contrast in her thoughts a

beautiful colouring to the honourable intentions of the other; and she

was already half prepared to love Shums-ood-Deen, and detest his royal

relative.

“Well, Agha, what answer shall I return to the master who honours his

servant by loving that servant’s daughter?”

“Does my father require that I should frame an answer? Could not his

own heart suggest it? My answer would be precisely such as I should

return to a snake, were it to ask if I would permit it to sting me.”

“I have anticipated your feelings, my child, and given the sovereign

no hopes. He threatens violence; his evil purposes, therefore, must be

counteracted by artifice. You must feign acquiescence with his wishes.

Having once hushed him into security, I will invite him to a banquet,

under the promise of resigning you to his possession, and he shall then

see that impunity is not the indefeasible right of kings.”

In obedience to this determination, Lallcheen affected to concur with

his master’s views; but prevailed upon him on some plausible pretence

to delay enforcing his claim to Agha for a few weeks, promising

implicit obedience to his wishes at the end of a specified period.

Meanwhile Shums-ood-Deen had been daily admitted to the presence of

Agha, upon whose young heart his generous affection had made a deep

impression. She could not help contrasting his disinterested and

honourable attachment with the selfish and debasing passion of his

brother; and in proportion as her respect for the one declined, her

love of the other increased. The father was gratified at witnessing

this growing fondness; it roused his parental ambition: he was proud

of his daughter, and longed to see her elevated to that distinction

which he considered her born to adorn. Shums-ood-Deen was heir apparent

to the throne of the Deccan. He might reign, and the beautiful Agha

become a queen. These thoughts roused her father’s soul and stirred

his passions to fiercer hostility against his royal master, who, as

he considered, had so deeply injured him. Though the king was popular

among his nobles, yet by some he was much disliked, and those who were

hostile to the claims of the elder brother would willingly encourage

the elevation of the younger.

Lallcheen took every opportunity which offered of making himself

acquainted with the feelings of the nobles. Those who had not been

raised to posts of honour and emolument in the state, were dissatisfied

and ripe for a change of government; but were kept in awe by the large

majority of the well-affected. The sovereign fancying himself secure in

the affection of his subjects, took no care to subdue the murmurings

of such as he considered unworthy of the royal patronage; he had,

therefore, a greater number of enemies than he was aware of.

Lallcheen’s plot rapidly advanced towards maturity, and he at length

invited the king to an entertainment, promising that he would resign

his daughter to him. Gheias-ood-Deen received the invitation with a

thrill of passionate satisfaction. Agha not being privy to her father’s

treachery, he had taken care on that day to remove her from the house

on some plausible pretence, in order that she might not interfere with

the execution of his scheme. It had been already arranged that she and

the king’s brother should be married at the beginning of the ensuing

year.

With Gheias-ood-Deen were also invited his chief Omrahs, who were all

much attached to his person. At an early hour the royal party arrived,

and were welcomed by the slave with extravagant marks of loyalty.

The nobles, astonished at the splendour of the entertainment, freely

expressed their surprise that a bondman should possess so much wealth.

“Wealth,” said Lallcheen, “will not purchase freedom, if it does not

please the monarch to grant it.”

“What can compensate for the sacrifice of honest services?” said

Gheias-ood-Deen, with a condescending smile; “I value them more,

Lallcheen, than your gold.”

“But not more than my daughter, king,” said the slave, significantly.

“No, no; all things have their price. I set your ransom high; you will,

therefore, value your freedom according to the price paid for it.”

The guests placed themselves at the banquet. Every luxury which the

country produced was there in generous profusion. The rarest wines

sparkled in golden chalices, and freemen waited upon the guests of the

slave. The wine went round, and the king anticipating the joy of being

presented to the beautiful Agha, drank liberally of the enlivening

beverage. He began to be exhilarated.

Nautch girls were introduced to heighten the pleasures of the

entertainment: they swam through the mazes of the dance with a light,

floating motion, tinkling the silver bells which hung from their

delicately small wrists and ankles, waving their arms with a graceful

undulation that gave exquisite elegance to the curving motions of their

bodies; every now and then throwing their long veils over their faces,

and peeping through them with eyes that might have kindled a ray of

admiration even under the tub of Diogenes.

The guests began to express their delight by loud acclamations, and

it had already become evident that the sovereign was considerably

elated by the wine he had taken. Lallcheen had been cautious in keeping

himself perfectly calm. He drank but sparingly, and was therefore in a

condition to take the best advantage of the state of his guests. When

he considered the favourable moment had arrived for the consummation of

his vengeance, he commanded the nautch girls to retire, and then in a

whisper requested the king would order his nobles to withdraw, that his

obedient host might introduce his daughter.

Gheias-ood-Deen, elated at the thought of beholding the beautiful

creature who had so inflamed his passions, commanded his Omrahs to

quit the room, as he desired to have some private conversation with

the host. Excited by wine, and unsuspicious of evil consequences, they

obeyed with ready alacrity, singing as they reeled from the apartment,

and laughing stupidly at the fatuity of their own thoughts. When the

guests had retired, the traitor led his sovereign respectfully to an

ottoman, seated him, and began to arrest his attention by extravagant

encomiums upon the beauty of his daughter. Gheias-ood-Deen listened

with evident delight, and at length expressed himself impatient to be

introduced to the idol of his love. Lallcheen perceiving that he was

raised to the proper pitch, told him he would instantly go and bring

the peerless Agha to his royal master and guest. Quitting the room, he

shortly returned, armed with a naked dagger.

“Where is your daughter?” asked the king.

“Here,” replied the slave, raising the dagger, and advancing towards

his sovereign with the gleaming instrument of death in his hand.

Gheias-ood-Deen, though much intoxicated, staggered towards the

traitor, and attempted to wrest the weapon from his grasp; but being

unable to walk steadily, he fell, and rolled down a flight of steps. A

eunuch was in the room, who, seizing the king by his hair, threw him

upon his back, and pierced out his eyes with the point of a crease.

Lallcheen, perceiving that he had now gone too far to retreat, removed

the wounded monarch to another apartment, and immediately despatched a

messenger to the nobles who had that night been his guests, desiring

in the king’s name that they would immediately return. The message was

delivered to each noble separately, so that one by one they reached

the slave’s residence. As the first who arrived entered the chamber

where he had so lately partaken of Lallcheen’s hospitality, he was

put to death by two eunuchs, who flung a noose over his head and

strangled him. Thus the whole of them were destroyed to the number of

twenty-four, and their bodies cast forth a prey to jackals.

On the morrow, when Agha returned to her home, she was shocked beyond

expression at the sanguinary revenge which her father had taken. Her

heart was chilled: she felt that she never could again look upon her

parent with respect, and the fond yearnings of her bosom grew cold.

She reproached him with his cruelty, but he silenced her with a stern

rebuke. The disaffected Omrahs thronged to his house, prepared to

assist him in his future views with respect to the government. The

daring act of blinding the king and slaying his nobles, had produced

a general panic. The people looked on in silent amazement; when

Lallcheen, thinking it was high time to act definitively, placed

Shums-ood-Deen, the deposed king’s brother, upon the throne, and sent

the latter in confinement to the fortress of Sagur.

CHAPTER III.

The conduct of Lallcheen excited great indignation: but the king had

so lately given way to intemperance and the indulgence of his grosser

passions, that those hopes entertained of him at his accession to

the throne had subsided. He had raised many enemies by his excesses.

The traitor, moreover, was supported by the queen-mother, of whom

her younger son, Shums-ood-Deen, had ever been the favourite. He was

extremely popular, too, among many of the Omrahs; for he was a generous

youth, possessing many virtues, and no flagrant vices.

The moment his brother was deposed, Lallcheen, assisted by the

influence of the queen-mother, placed Shums-ood-Deen upon the musnud.

The young monarch was now eager to make Agha his queen; but she,

shocked at what had passed, could not be prevailed upon, for the

moment, to consent. She would not see her father, and to the king’s

urgent entreaties to make him happy, she replied:--

“Alas! the auspices under which you reign are evil. I fear that

prosperity can never track the steps of a prince whose path to the

throne has been stained with blood.”

“My noble Agha, we must bow to the crisis that has suddenly come upon

us. I mourn the event which has elevated me to the highest of human

dignities as much as you can do, and detest the agents who have placed

me upon the musnud, with hands dyed in my brother’s blood. But as he

has been disabled, it was necessary that a sovereign should be found;

and I am the next of kin. You know it to be against the canons of our

constitution that a blind prince should reign. Were I to refuse to hold

the sceptre, I should be looked upon with suspicion, and my life would

be in perpetual peril.”

“Prince, I shrink from becoming the wife of a man who has obtained his

dignities by violence. I acquit you of all participation in the crime

which has so suddenly made you a monarch, but will never consent to

share your sullied honours. I foresee only misery from my parent’s

ambition. Though the deposed king would have heaped upon me the

heaviest wrongs which can weigh down the spirit of a virtuous woman,

still I would have left him to the punishment which invariably awaits

the wicked, administered by a higher arbiter of human dereliction than

man.”

“Agha!” cried the Prince, passionately, “have I deserved to forfeit

your love?”

“Not my love, Prince; but my consent to be your bride. You must now

form higher views; there is an insuperable bar between us.”

“Nay, had we been united while I was only heir-apparent to the throne

to which I have been just elevated, I might have soon come to that

inheritance to which your father’s violence has prematurely raised me.”

“But then you would have ascended the musnud with honour; now, you have

ascended it with disgrace.”

“I am ready to relinquish all honours for you, Agha.”

“That may not be; you have pushed the stone from the precipice, and, in

spite of all mortal endeavours, it will roll to the bottom. Farewell,

and may your reign be happy.”

One day, a singular-looking devotee was seen to cast himself upon the

ground without the walls of the capital, and to pronounce, in a tone

of solemn vaticination, woe to the kingdom of the Deccan. In proof of

his inspiration, the fanatic declared himself ready to fast forty days

on the very spot where he then lay. He was old and withered to a mere

skeleton; his age was said to exceed a hundred years; for the oldest

inhabitants remembered him but as a very aged man. His hair still

hung over his shoulders so copiously as to cover them like a mantle;

but it was so impregnated with filth that its colour was not to be

ascertained. He had no beard, save a few straggling hairs scattered

over his chin like stunted bushes upon the desert rock. His ears were

so long that they nearly reached his shoulders, which rose towards them

with physical sympathy, as if to relieve the head from their weight.

His gums were toothless, and so blackened by opium and the smoke of

tobacco, that as his lips parted--and when they did, they seemed to

shrink from a renewed contact, and to seek severally protection from

the nose and chin--the whole mouth presented a feature of sickening

deformity. Every rib in the old man’s body was as traceable as the

lines which mark the latitude and longitude upon a chart. The very

sinews had wasted into thin, rigid cords, without either flexibility or

tension.

The approach of this sainted object to the city was a circumstance

of much uneasiness to those who had acted so conspicuous a part in

the recent change of government. The veneration in which he was held

made them fear the effect of his crazy predictions upon the excited

multitude.

Lallcheen hoped the old man would confirm his declarations by a fast

of forty days; flattering himself that, by exposing to the people the

delusions by which the object of their veneration evidently juggled

them, he should be able to show that the fanatic was a worthless

impostor. A tent was consequently ordered to be pitched over the

prostrate devotee, and a number of men appointed to watch him day and

night, in order to see that no human nourishment passed his lips. Two

persons were constantly by his side.

Lallcheen visited him. As the traitor appeared before him, the seer

raised his head; his eye instantly kindled as if with a divine

afflatus, and he said, waving his arm solemnly:

“The blood of the murdered shall give life to the avenger! When slaves

rebel, and grasp the thunderbolt of power, they eventually hurl it

against their own heads. The web of fate is spun by different threads,

but the woof of thine is black. Prepare, Lallcheen, for the explosion

which thy own ambitious hand has kindled. The match is already at the

train; thou wilt soon hear and feel the desolating concussion! Woe to

the destroyer!”

The slave trembled, in spite of his conviction that the saint was

crazed. He dreaded the influence of his wild sallies of prophecy. Day

after day passed, and neither food nor water was seen to pass the

diviner’s lips. The guards were astonished, and beheld him with sacred

awe. They vowed they never slept: they were constantly changed, but

precisely the same result followed--the inspired man was seen to taste

nothing. He sat upon the cold ground, without a rag to cover him,

in an apparent state of devout abstraction, never uttering a word;

except now and then, when he poured out terrible denunciations of wrath

against those who had blinded the late king and murdered his nobles.

Fifteen days of the term of fasting had already expired, and no change

appeared in the prophet. His eyes occasionally sparkled with fierce

brightness, though he said nothing, and the watchers began to grow

uneasy in his company. They feared a proximity to something unearthly;

and in proportion as they were impressed with this superstitious

feeling, in their eyes their sacred charge grew more deformed and

hideous. They placed themselves at the very extremity of the tent, and

were so awed by his ghoul-like appearance, that they were obliged,

for relief, to turn their faces to the broad sky, and remit their

vigils until they had recovered their self-possession. They took it

for granted, however, that he could not, like some less disgusting

reptiles, feed upon the dust, and therefore hesitated not to report, at

the end of their term of watching, that the saint had taken nothing but

a chameleon diet, and yet was as lively as that celebrated lizard after

a six months’ fattening upon good wholesome air.

The people’s astonishment was daily increased by the report of those

persons appointed to watch the devotee. They already began to talk of

dedicating a temple to him, and paying him divine honours.

On the twentieth morning of his voluntary abstinence, the venerable

probationer desired that some of the authorities might be summoned

to attest his having undergone half of his prescribed mortification,

and to witness his performance of a holy rite. Lallcheen accordingly

visited the seer.

“Behold!” said the man, “I have subsisted twenty days without earthly

food, sustained by a heavenly nutriment, which the eye does not see,

but the body is sensible of. This night the Prophet has visited me,

and here is the sign of his coming;” saying this he held between his

bony fingers a white pebble about the size of a plum. “Within this,” he

continued, “is the revelation which I shall make known to you at the

termination of my penance.”

Having once more exhibited the pebble, he jerked it from his fingers

into his mouth, and swallowed it in an instant.

“For twenty days I need no further nourishment. A stone is neither meat

nor drink, yet will it invigorate this withered body to tell you things

to come. Leave me.”

He could not be prevailed upon to make any further communication; but

relapsed into silence. The slave was abashed before the presence of

a man whom he despised, and who, he felt satisfied was an impostor;

nevertheless, he dared not commit an act of violence against one

generally held to be in direct communication with Heaven. In spite of

his incredulity, he could not conceive how the pretended diviner had

evaded the scrutiny of his guards. He had used every precaution to

detect the imposture, without success. Day after day passed on, but the

same report was every morning received that the saint had not tasted

food. Multitudes flocked round the tent to behold this extraordinary

man. Persons who were diseased approached to touch him, imagining

that their distempers would be removed by the sacred contact. He

pronounced blessings upon the poor, which won him the homage of the

needy crowd who thronged to receive his benedictions. The marvel of his

supernatural fast rapidly spread over the country, and people came from

every part of the vicinity to behold him.

The term of his abstinence at length expired: no one had seen him taste

a morsel of food or a drop of water for forty days. On the morning

of the forty-first day he rose, and, quitting his tent, was greeted

with profound reverence by thousands who had assembled to behold

him. Money was thrown at his feet, which he picked up and scattered

among the religious mendicants who had come far and near to offer him

their homage. He now partook of a small quantity of milk, and then

turning his face towards the holy city, repeated a certain prayer.

Having poured dust upon his head, he crossed his arms upon his breast,

and invoked audibly the name of the Prophet; then came the solemn

objurgation:

“Woe to the man of blood! he shall fall by the hand of him from whose

eyes he has shut out the sunbeam! The sceptre shall drop from the grasp

of his minion, who shall find that happiness is not the inheritance of

kings. But the innocent shall not be confounded with the guilty: the

slave shall be requited as becomes a regicide! The voice of our holy

Prophet has spoken, and it shall come to pass!”

He dropped his arms and hobbled slowly through the crowd, who made way

before him, following him with acclamations. Lallcheen was disappointed

at not having been able to detect the juggle of this patriarchal

deceiver. How he had managed to elude the scrutiny of the watchers was

a fact which baffled his comprehension; and he was fearful that the

credulity of the multitude as to the fakeer’s direct communication with

Heaven might lead to dangerous consequences. No doubt was entertained

of the man’s prophetic endowments and supernatural sustentation.

That he had fasted forty days and forty nights was a fact which few

questioned; and the general expectation was that some fearful calamity

was about to befall the king and his ministers. Groups of idle

gossippers were seen at the corners of the streets, communicating their

suspicions and whispering their fears.

CHAPTER IV.

When Shums-ood-Deen was placed upon the musnud, intimidated by the

fate of his unhappy brother, he was afraid to oppose the man who had

raised him to the throne; he had therefore little more than the name of

king. All the substantive power was in the hands of his late father’s

slave, who assumed the title of Mullik Naib, an office equivalent to

regent; and the nobility who had escaped the sword, seeing no safety

but in submission, bowed to his authority. The queen-mother, having

been originally a slave, paid the utmost deference to the traitor who

had blinded her elder son, in order that she might obviate any mischief

against the younger, whom she advised to submit to the wiser counsels

of his minister, observing that he was indebted to him for his crown,

and that the man who had so easily deposed one brother might with equal

facility depose the other. “Besides,” she said, “you owe him a debt

of gratitude, and, depend upon it, he will expect it to be paid. You

will find, my son, many malicious insinuations breathed into your ear

against your benefactor--but let me conjure you to give them no heed,

for the king who requites benefits with injury can have no security for

his throne.”

“Alas! mother,” said the young monarch, “I have been exalted only

to misery; I find the throne a seat of thorns instead of roses. My

elevation has been the means of separating me for ever from the object

of my soul’s idolatry, and I am become a wretch whom the veriest

outcast might pity.”

“Nay, this is mere delusion: higher objects will engross your attention

now. Alliances will be sought with you by princes; seek not, then, the

attachment of slaves.”

“Did you not recommend gratitude towards my benefactor?”

“True, I did; but this may be shown without marrying his daughter.”

“To marry her is the one dear wish of my heart; not in order to signify

my gratitude to the man who has placed me upon the pinnacle of human

greatness, but to signalise my love for one who is at once an honour to

her sex and to her country.”

“These are youthful raptures, my son, which the cares of royalty will

soon stifle.”

“Never! the impress upon my heart is too deep to wear out: it will

never be effaced but by the worm.”

The queen-mother could not succeed in persuading her son to relinquish

all thoughts of the lovely Agha, which she was anxious to do, in order

that he might form an alliance that would secure him upon the throne,

and render him independent of a man who might turn all his influence

against him, should he be impelled by caprice or interest to serve some

other object of his ambition.

Shums-ood-Deen’s mother treated Lallcheen with great cordiality, and

he, in return, behaved to her with much respect, sending her valuable

presents, and using every method to secure her confidence; but this

conduct on both sides was mere temporising, as no real cordiality

subsisted between them.

It was now Lallcheen’s grand aim to see his daughter united to the

young king, and it mortified him extremely to find that the only

impediment was her own scruples. His soul was stung at the chance

of losing that reward which he had waded through blood to obtain.

Disappointed ambition exasperated him against what he called the

rebellion of his child, and he determined to compel her to embrace

the dignity which he had steeped his soul in guilt to secure for her.

Knowing the Readiness of Shums-ood-Deen to make her his queen, he was

the more enraged that any impediments should arise from her who was the

party that would be especially benefited by such a union; and he sought

her with a determination to enforce obedience to an authority which he

had never hitherto exercised in vain.

“Agha”, said he, sternly, “can it be possible that you refuse to become

the wife of a man whom you have confessed you love, and who is ready to

make you the partner of his throne?”

“It is true, my father; I never could sit upon a throne the ascent

to which is stained with the blood of its legitimate inheritor. The

present king shares in the crime of his brother’s deposers so long as

he partakes of the fruit of their guilt.”

“Girl, this is not the language of a child towards her parent; you know

the first wish of my heart is that you should share his dignities with

the son of my late master. If the man whom I propose you should wed

were odious to you there might be some reason in your opposition, but

as this is not the case, I expect you immediately to become the wife of

Shums-ood-Deen.”

“That will not be while he sits upon a blood-stained throne. You are my

father, and I know your power. My life is at your disposal, but not my

will; you may take the one, but you shall never coerce the other!”

“No, Agha, I will not take your life, however you may rebel; but

your liberty is likewise at my disposal, and depend upon it, that if

you persist in a stubborn opposition to my wishes, you shall suffer

penalties under captivity which you little dream of.”

“I have well weighed the consequences of resistance, and am prepared to

pay the penalty. I feel that the man who would not hesitate to dethrone

his king would have little scruple about imprisoning his daughter. But,

to put you at once out of suspense as to my determination, I tell you,

firmly and solemnly, that I never will comply with your wishes. Take me

to the prison you have prepared for me!”

Lallcheen did not reply, but quitted her with a blanched cheek. He was

deeply vexed at this unexpected bar to his ambition from his own child.

The fruits of crime were already ripening, but he perceived that they

had only a flavour of bitterness. He remembered the predictions of the

devotee, and the sun of his glory grew dim--a shadow passed over it,

but the disc again grew light, and he hoped that it would be no more

obscured.

Difficulties now began to thicken around him. Feroze Chan and Ahmud

Chan, uncles to the deposed king, had promised their brother-in-law,

Mahmood Shah, father of Gheias-ood-Deen, when he was on his death-bed,

that they would be faithful and loyal to his son; they accordingly

served him with submission and fidelity. Being from the capital at

the time their royal relative was deposed by Lallcheen, they escaped

the unhappy fate of the nobles who were assassinated. Finding,

however, that the king had been dispossessed and blinded, their wives

instigated their husbands to avenge the indignity to which their nephew

had been subjected. Feroze and Ahmud Chan readily listened to these

natural appeals in favour of their injured relative, but the traitor,

discovering their intentions through his emissaries, complained to

Shums-ood-Deen, and, accusing those nobles of treason, demanded their

instant execution. Hoping to excite the young sovereign’s fears, he

represented to him that their object evidently was the restoration of

Gheias-ood-Deen, which would involve the death of the reigning monarch,

as, the moment the deposed king was restored, he would naturally wreak

his vengeance upon all who had been instrumental in hurling him from

his throne, among whom the man raised to that throne would be one of

the first to suffer.

Shums-ood-Deen being emboldened by the known influence and bravery of

his uncles, resisted these importunities of the slave, whose imperious

exercise of authority already began to be exceedingly vexatious. Seeing

that the opposition was likely to become serious, Lallcheen sought the

queen-mother, and artfully representing to her the perils by which

her son was beset, obtained her promise to co-operate with him in

counteracting the confederacy forming against the government of her

younger son.

“If,” said he, “we do not get rid of these Omrahs, the worst

consequences are to be apprehended. Their connexion with the

blood-royal gives them an influence which must endanger the safety of

your son; and you being suspected of having participated in the late

revolution, will be certainly singled out as one of the first victims.

If they are not to be overcome by open force, the concealed dagger is a

sure and speedy remedy against threatened hostility.”

These arguments rousing the queen’s fears, she hastened to her son,

threw herself at his feet, and implored him to provide for his own

and his mother’s safety by ordering the instant seizure of the two

refractory nobles before they should be aware that their hostile

designs had been made known.

Shums-ood-Deen, overcome by the earnest entreaties of his mother, was

reluctantly induced to consent to the apprehension of the husbands of

his aunts. They, however, having obtained intelligence of his design,

quitted Koolburga, and shut themselves up in the fortress of Sagur,

where they were for the present secure from the machinations of their

enemy.

An officer of the name of Suddoo, formerly a servant of the royal

family, commanded in Sagur. He was rich and powerful, and received the

princes with the greatest hospitality, doing everything in his power to

evince his attachment to them. He was entirely in the interests of the

deposed monarch, and felt the strongest antipathy towards the traitor

who had mutilated him and assassinated his nobles. He had been elevated

by Gheias-ood-Deen to his present dignity as a reward for long and

faithful services, and his gratitude did not sleep. Towards Lallcheen

he always entertained a secret enmity, suspecting the integrity of

his purposes, and believing him to be nothing better than a hollow

hypocrite.

The fortress under Suddoo’s command was one of great strength, and in

it for the present the princes felt themselves perfectly secure. Here

they were determined to remain until they could assemble a sufficient

body of forces to oppose the treacherous slave.

In pursuance of this determination, they addressed letters to

Shums-ood-Deen and the principal nobility, declaring that they were

making preparations to chastise the man who had committed such an act

of outrage upon his sovereign, at the same time declaring that they

had no intention of disturbing the existing government. They stated

that, as near relatives of the deposed monarch, they conceived it

their duty to use every effort to inflict justice upon him by whom he

had been so irreparably injured, and called upon the nobility and the

reigning sovereign to assist them in punishing so grievous an offender.

If this were done they promised entire submission to Shums-ood-Deen’s

government, and concluded by a solemn asseveration that nothing should

deter them from bringing retribution upon the head of Lallcheen.

The king was not disposed to look unfavourably at this communication.

The trammels which his benefactor, as the sanguinary slave always

called himself, had cast upon him, cramped his youthful and ardent

spirit. Nothing but his affection for the daughter made him hesitate

upon sacrificing the father. This caused him at first to waver; he

thought upon her beauty, her accomplishments, and his passion began

to blaze. How would she endure to see her father given up to certain

death by the man who professed to love her as his own soul? Would she

not spurn him, would she not shrink with loathing from the destroyer

of her parent? He reflected upon that parent’s baseness, his ambition,

his tyranny; but his love for Agha bore down all opposition arising

from the contemplation of her father’s worthlessness, and he finally

determined to protect the man whom by every principle of equity he was

bound to sacrifice.

Lallcheen meanwhile was not insensible to what was going on. He was

now more than ever anxious that his daughter should be united to

the reigning monarch, as he imagined it would tend to confirm his

own influence in the state, and put an end at once to those hostile

measures which the family of Gheias-ood-Deen were taking to vindicate

the wrongs of their royal relative: it would moreover enable him

to command the whole energies of Shums-ood-Deen’s kingdom, civil,

political and military, which he would have the power of employing

to counteract the hostile intentions of his foes. He felt himself,

nevertheless, in a state of great embarrassment, and began to entertain

such designs as are generally the resort of desperate men. Although

conscious of his unpopularity, he had nevertheless secured the favour

of the troops by paying up their arrears, and allowing them some

privileges which they had never hitherto enjoyed. All the disaffected

Omrahs too, of whom there were not a few, tendered him their services,

and declared that they would maintain his cause to the last drop of

their blood. He, however, was fully aware how little confidence is

to be placed either upon the professions or promises of unprincipled

men. His own heart was a faithful interpreter of what such promises

and professions amounted to, and he therefore felt anything but in a

state of security. This rendered him desperate. The opposition of his

daughter had so exasperated him against her that he had treated her

with a severity which, instead of subduing her resolution, had only the

more firmly determined her to thwart his wishes with an indomitable

resolution, which he did not imagine she possessed. To all his promises

of tenderness towards her, if she would only relax from her stubborn

opposition, she replied by a calm look of defiance, that moved him more

than once to acts of violence. She shrank not from the arm that struck

her to the earth, but rose without a murmur of complaint, and smiled

upon the impotent malice that would stifle her conscience under the

claims of parental authority.

The situation of the slave was now becoming critical. He sought

the queen-mother, and represented to her the danger to which she

must necessarily be exposed, should the avengers of her elder son’s

deposition succeed in gaining possession of the capital. She had never

been popular with the Omrahs, and therefore began to fear that her fate

would be involved in that of Lallcheen, as it was generally believed

that she had been more than privy to the late massacre of the nobles

at the slave’s house. Imagining her safety inseparable from his, she

hastened to her son, and demanded his protection for Lallcheen. “It

is evident,” she said, “that the pretended avengers of your brother’s

wrongs seek but the gratification of their own ambition, either in

your death or degradation. Our common interests require that we should

oppose them.”

“Are our means sufficient?”

“You have the confidence of the army and of the chief Omrahs, and the

enemy can only hope to seduce under their banners the disaffected,

who are as likely to become traitors to their present masters as they

were to their former. We have no alternative but a resolute and fierce

resistance; let me entreat you, therefore, to return an unqualified

defiance to those haughty rebels, who seek to subvert your government.”

Shums-ood-Deen being thus prevailed upon by his mother to act with

instant decision, returned an answer to Feroze and Ahmud Chan which

served only to inflame those princes without bettering his own cause.

They, with the assistance of Suddoo, having collected three thousand

horse and foot, proceeded towards the capital, calculating with

much confidence that other troops would join them on their march.

Disappointed, however, in this expectation, they halted for some time

on the banks of the river Beema, without receiving any reinforcements.

All the chiefs withheld their aid, as if they considered the good

cause desperate. This, nevertheless, did not deter the princes from

proceeding with their present means to put into immediate execution

their design of vindicating the wrongs of a much-injured sovereign. It

was accordingly agreed that they should advance without further delay,

with the regal canopy carried over the head of Feroze Chan. Upon this

occasion his brother Ahmud was raised to the rank of Ameer-ool-Omrah,

Suddoo to that of Meer Nobut, and Meer Feiz Oolla Anjoo to that of

Vakeel or minister.

On the arrival of the princes within four coss of the city, Lallcheen

marched out to meet them, accompanied by the young king. He had

distributed great sums of money among the officers and troops, which

had secured their present fidelity. Knowing that the means of his

enemies were insufficient to purchase the treachery of his army,

he advanced against them with great confidence. His own numerical

superiority caused him to look upon victory as certain; and when he

considered the raw, undisciplined state of the hostile forces, his

confidence grew into arrogance, which eventually did fatal mischief to

his cause.

Notwithstanding the disadvantages under which the princes laboured,

they did not decline an engagement. They trusted to their good

intentions, and the general enthusiasm of their troops. A severe battle

was consequently fought in the vicinity of the town of Merkole; and the

brothers being defeated, after an obstinate resistance, fled with their

adherents to the fort of Sagur.

The victors were beyond measure elated at the successful issue of this

first battle. The power of Lallcheen increased his presumption and that

of the queen-mother, which at length rose to such a height that many

officers of the court privately offered their services to the defeated

princes, whom they advised to lose no time in procuring pardon from

Shums-ood-Deen, by offers of immediately returning to their allegiance,

and repairing to the capital without loss of time, in order to concert

future plans for punishing the traitor and re-establishing the lawful

supremacy.

Lallcheen was too much engrossed by the views of his ambition, which

rose with his success, to observe that a silent but secret disaffection

was working among the nobles and some of the most influential officers

of the army. Confidence rendered him haughty, and where he was in the

habit of conciliating he began to command.

CHAPTER V.

The disgust which the pampered minion daily excited by his arrogance

rendered him shortly so unpopular, that the brothers Feroze and

Ahmud Chan resolved to embrace the advice of those Omrahs who had

promised to favour their cause. Relying upon their assurances, in the

sincerity of which they were confirmed by the growing unpopularity

of Lallcheen, they sent Meir Feiz Oolla Anjoo, Syud Kumal-ood-Deen,

and other persons of distinction, to the slave and the queen-mother,

representing that fear only had occasioned their rebellion, of which

they now sincerely repented, and promising that, if the sovereign would

send them written assurances of pardon, they would repair to court.

The traitor, imagining that if they were once in the capital he should

have the means of disposing of them at pleasure, was elated by these

overtures; and repairing forthwith to the king, persuaded him to listen

favourably to their supplications. Accordingly letters, containing

flattering assurances of forgiveness, were immediately despatched to

the refractory princes.

Since her last positive refusal to espouse the king, Agha had never

been once permitted to leave her apartment; but having found means

to corrupt the two women to whose custody she was consigned, she

quitted her father’s house unobserved, and left the city in a covered

litter. Knowing that Feroze and Ahmud Chan were at the Fort of Sagur,

she determined to proceed thither, and cast herself upon their

protection. They received her with the greatest respect. Her story

deeply interested them. Her generous forbearance in refusing to marry

the reigning sovereign because his ascent to the musnud had been

stained with blood exalted her highly in their estimation, and in their

overtures to the king they stipulated in her favour for oblivion of

the past and assurances of future kind treatment. The father, though

exasperated at her escape, thought that the wisest policy would be to

dissemble his anger, hoping yet to overcome her repugnance, and to

see her queen of the Deccan. She, however, refused to return to the

capital unless she were guaranteed the protection of some influential

person who could shield her from her father’s violence. It was

ultimately agreed that she should dwell with the queen, who offered her

an asylum in her palace.

She had some difficulty in concurring with any arrangement that should

put her again in the power of him who, though her natural protector,

had treated her with savage severity. She feared that under the queen’s

roof she should not be secure from the oppression of that father

towards whom she felt the natural instincts of affection giving way to

those harsher feelings which tyranny, even though exercised under the

questionable plea of paternal authority, can never fail to excite.

The brothers received Shums-ood-Deen’s assurances of pardon with some

misgivings, although these were couched in the strongest terms of

affectionate welcome. They knew the treacherous heart of the man by

whose sinister counsels the sovereign was swayed, and their minds were

in a state of vibration between pacification and resistance. The day

after the royal communication arrived, the two brothers were sitting

upon a terrace consulting whether they should venture to the capital.

“I have no confidence in the king’s promises,” said Ahmud Chan,

“because he is under the control of those to whom treachery is too

familiar not to be resorted to, should their interests suggest such

a course. The moment we are within the walls of the capital we shall

be in the slave’s power, and we have reason to know how little mercy

he has for those who wear his fetters. Slaves are proverbially and

practically the worst of tyrants.”

“But,” said Feroze, “we have our security in the dissatisfaction of the

nobles, who already look upon him with an eye of jealousy. They can ill

bear to see a menial, not only raised above their heads, but affecting

to rule them. The troops have been won by his gold, but as his coffers

get low their zeal will cool, and the moment the reaction comes he will

be in jeopardy.”

“But meanwhile we shall be in danger. It is a nice question to decide

whether we should throw ourselves upon the sovereign’s forgiveness or

continue in arms, for there is danger in both.”

“The least danger will be the best choice; and I think we shall incur

less risk in repairing to the capital than in keeping up our hostility

with such insufficient means.”

“But we have promised protection to the slave’s daughter against her

father’s violence.”

“That is guaranteed by the king.”

“The promises of monarchs are hollow. They are too often made for

convenience, and broken at pleasure.”

While the brothers were debating whether they should disband their

troops and accept Shums-ood-Deen’s offers of pardon, or remain his

declared enemies, a Cashmerian madman passed by. His dress was covered

with red paint. A chowry was stuck in his turban, and round his legs

were bound wisps of grass. In his hand he flourished a long thin

bamboo, at the head of which was fixed an orange. Approaching the

princes, he said, “I am come from the Prophet with happy tidings,

Feroze Chan. He has deputed me to conduct you to Koolburga, and place

you upon the musnud, and I shall do his bidding. You may smile, Feroze

Chan, but this will not be the first time a fool has set up a king.”

Regarding this as a happy omen, and remembering the prediction of the

saint who had fasted forty days, the brothers, accompanied by Agha,

proceeded immediately to Koolburga, where they were warmly welcomed by

the young monarch. Lallcheen received them with a studied civility;

from the first moment they met he and the princes were visibly guarded

in their conduct, and the slave, with all his subtlety, was unable to

win the confidence of either brother.

No sooner had Feroze and Ahmud Chan entered the capital, than they

endeavoured to render themselves popular with the citizens, who,

it was sufficiently evident, were by no means contented under the

existing government. In order to satisfy the capacity of the troops,

Lallcheen had been reduced to the necessity of drawing largely upon the

people’s pockets, and as his exactions were grievous, their dislike

of him was bitter in proportion. The troops, too, finding that his

bounty had subsided, relaxed in their fidelity, and murmurs began to

be everywhere heard. The slave was roused to a sense of his danger;

but seeing he possessed the confidence of the monarch and his mother,

he fancied that by sheltering himself behind their influence he should

escape any mischief which might be threatened by the dissatisfied

citizens. His daughter, according to the king’s stipulation with

the princes, had remained in the queen’s house, so that she had not

been molested by her father, who, in compliance with the royal wish,

had forborne to see her. Thinking such forbearance would satisfy

the brothers, he was disposed rigidly to adhere to the terms of his

contract with them, when they consented to throw themselves upon the

sovereign’s mercy, and restore the beautiful Agha to the protection of

her friends.

About a fortnight after the arrival of Feroze and Ahmud Chan the king

had a public audience. Feroze entered the durbar, accompanied by twelve

silehdars devoted to his interest. These silehdars answered to our

knights, and followed the courts of their monarchs mounted on their

own horses, and in their train rode one or more attendants. Feroze

had previously stationed three hundred faithful followers without the

audience-chamber. Not the slightest suspicion was awakened either

in the breast of the king or his minister. Shortly after Feroze had

arrived, his brother Ahmud entered the court, as had been previously

concerted. Upon his arrival the princes told Lallcheen that some of

their relatives were come from their estates in order to pay their

respect to the sovereign, and requested that orders might therefore be

given to the porters to admit whomsoever he should send for.

The minister, entertaining no idea of mischief, gave the order without

hesitation, affecting great urbanity, as if willing to conciliate those

whom he feared, and who, if not propitiated by at least an appearance

of courtesy, might eventually prove dangerous enemies.

Shums-ood-Deen, meanwhile, being occupied with the ceremony of

receiving his nobles, paid no attention to the number of strangers who

accompanied his relatives. The court on this day was very numerously

attended, and the shades of disaffection were seen on many a brow

which bent before the throne with the usual expression of homage.

At a signal from Feroze Chan, who took care to occupy Lallcheen’s

attention by exciting an animated discussion, his brother retired from

the audience-chamber under pretence of introducing his relations. In a

short time he returned, but, upon attempting to pass the guards with

twelve followers, he was stopped, the soldiers refusing to allow him to

proceed unless he could give a satisfactory account of himself, and of

those by whom he was attended.

The moment was critical, and the danger imminent, but Ahmud resolved

to put all to the hazard. Imagining that the plot was discovered, he

commanded the guards to stand back, but they instantly interposed

themselves between him and the door. Ordering his followers to draw

their swords, and unsheathing his own at the same moment, he buried

it in the body of the foremost man who had opposed his entrance. His

companions, following so resolute an example, attacked the guards with

such spirit that they were soon overpowered, and many slain. Ahmud

rushed into the durbar with his sword drawn and his dress spotted with

blood.

The utmost confusion prevailed. A few of the minister’s creatures

assembled round him, and endeavoured to protect their patron; but

all the rest of the assembly fled: they were suffered to escape, as

their flight only rendered the capture of the traitor more sure.

Pale and trembling, the latter stood in the midst of his attendants

imploring mercy; but when he found that it would be denied, he summoned

his energies for a last struggle. His followers behaved with great

gallantry, and while they were fighting in his defence, a body of

soldiers stationed in the courts of the palace rushing in, saved the

king and his minister from immediate destruction.

The three hundred adherents of Feroze Chan, hearing the din of battle,

quitted their station, and repairing to the spot, attacked and put to

flight the royal guards, together with the dependents of Lallcheen, and

in a short time the palace was in possession of the two princes. They

were soon joined by many disaffected nobles; and when the issue was

known to the citizens, acclamations were everywhere heard, and threats

of extermination against the tyrant. It was now clear that Feroze and

Ahmud Chan were masters of the capital. When the tumult had subsided,

the king and Lallcheen were nowhere to be found; but after a diligent

search, being discovered in a subterraneous chamber, they were dragged

before the conquerors.

“Traitor!” said Feroze Chan to the now humbled slave, “what punishment

do you deserve for your enormities?”

“Such a punishment as a generous conqueror would inflict.”

“You have pronounced your own doom.”

“Generous souls requite evil with good.”

“But there are degrees of guilt which to pardon would be unjust; and

where mercy is unjustly bestowed it is a crime. Your punishment shall

rest with him who has received the greatest injury at your hands.”

Feroze Chan having put chains upon the king and Lallcheen, confined

them in the apartment where they had sought shelter, while he,

accompanied by the nobility, repaired to the hall of audience and

ascended the throne amid the acclamations of his followers; thus

fulfilling the prediction of the Cashmerian madman. He assumed the

title of Feroze Shah Roze Afzoon, and, by way of confirming his title,

placed upon his thigh the sword of Alla-ood-Deen Hussun Gungoo. Having

established his authority without the slightest opposition, he sent for

Gheias-ood-Deen from the fort of Sagur. When the unhappy ex-king was

brought into the presence of Feroze Chan, the latter said--

“Gheias-ood-Deen, I regret that the laws do not permit a blinded

sovereign to reign, or I should have had more joy in placing the

sceptre in your hands than in my own. What is there that you would

desire to render your life happy?”

“My requests are two--first, that I may be allowed to inflict

punishment with my own hands upon the man who blinded me, and next to

perform a pilgrimage to Mecca that expiation may be offered for my

sins. There I should wish to pass the remainder of my life, which I

purpose devoting to God.”

“Your wishes are granted,” said Feroze, “and I shall order the

treasurer to remit you annually the sum of five thousand golden

ashruffies[18] for your maintenance, as becomes a prince.”

Lallcheen was now brought in chains before his late victim. When he saw

Gheias-ood-Deen standing with a drawn sword in the midst of the hall of

audience, a clammy moisture oozed from every pore of his body, and he

felt as if the dews of death had gathered upon his brow. Being brought

close to Gheias-ood-Deen, the latter said, “Who stands before me?”

Lallcheen was silent.

“Let me hear thy voice, slave. What punishment does the man deserve who

deposes a monarch and murders his nobles?”

The slave was still silent.

“Traitor, I am blind! it was through thee that these eyes were closed

in everlasting darkness. The penalty of crime is now demanded. Art thou

prepared to perish?”

There was no answer. The ex-king placed his hand upon Lallcheen’s

shoulder, and raising his sword, brought it with the full force of an

arm of vengeance upon the head of the criminal, who fell dead at the

avenger’s feet.

On the following day Agha solicited an audience of the new monarch.

“King,” she said, “I need not tell you that mercy is the brightest

jewel in the regal sceptre. It is the axiom of every country where

sovereigns reign and people are obedient.”

“On whose account, lovely girl, do you seek to propitiate the royal

clemency?”

“On that of the deposed monarch, Shums-ood-Deen. I know him to have

been innocent of any participation in the late transactions which have

cast such ignominy upon the memory of one whom I would willingly have

remembered as a good man. Shums-ood-Deen sought not to reign. Had he

rejected the throne, his only alternative was to die. We were plighted

to each other. I refused to wed him as a king, when I did not consider

his elevation just; but I am prepared to link my destiny with his now

the bar is removed which disunited us.”

“Your wish, lady, shall be fulfilled. He will be released for your

sake, with the government of Dowlatabad as a reward for his temperance

upon the throne. You shall be the messenger of these tidings.”

Agha fell at the king’s feet; he raised and dismissed her, with

kind assurances of future favour. She sought the apartment in which

Shums-ood-Deen was confined. He was seated on the ground at the

extremity fronting the door, and remarked not her entrance. His hand

was upon his brow. He seemed to press it, as if it ached from the

severe infliction of his own thoughts. The sigh came heavily from his

bosom, and he occasionally muttered indistinct sounds, which were

evidently the groanings of a lacerated spirit. He did not raise his

head as Agha advanced, but appeared unconscious of her presence.

“Shums-ood-Deen!” she said, in a tone of the gentlest tenderness. He

started from the ground in a moment.

“Alla Akbur!” he cried, bowing his head; “It is Agha! Is this a visit

of reconciliation before I die?”

“I come to release you from your chains. You have imagined that I did

not love you. It was a mistake: I loved the man, but as I could not

respect the king, I determined not to be the partner of an elevation

which my conscience could not justify. Your pardon has been pronounced

by the reigning monarch: I have his authority for announcing to you

that you will be henceforward governor of Dowlatabad; and, if you still

think the slave’s daughter worthy of your choice, she is now prepared

to fulfil her pledge.”

He threw his arms round her. They repaired to the royal presence, where

Shums-ood-Deen’s pardon was confirmed, and a proclamation to that

effect immediately issued. He swore allegiance to Feroze Shah Bahmuny

with much more joy than he had received the sceptre. The details of

love and marriage are too ordinary events of life for the pages of

history; it therefore only remains for the narrator of these adventures

to say, that the beautiful Agha and the youthful Shums-ood-Deen were

married forthwith, and repaired to Dowlatabad to a peaceful and happy

home.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] The ashruffy varied from thirty to forty shillings.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

Heg. 854 (A.D. 1450).--Bheilole Lody Afghan was the first prince of the

fifth dynasty of the kings of Delhi. He succeeded Alla-ood-Deen, who

resigned the kingdom to him, and retired to Budaoon, where he died.

Heg. 856 (1452).--The king having defeated several insurgent sheiks,

the power of Bheilole Lody was firmly established.

Heg. 883 (1478).--Syud Alla-ood-Deen, who had abdicated the throne of

Delhi, dying at Budaoon, Hoossein Shah Shurky proceeded thither, and

after performing the funeral ceremonies, seized that district from

the children of Alla-ood-Deen. From thence marching to Sumbhul, he

imprisoned Moobarik Chan, governor of that province, and proceeding

towards Delhi, crossed the river Jumna, near the Cutcha ghaut. Bheilole

Lody was at Surhind when he received intelligence of this invasion,

and returning with expedition to his capital, several slight actions

ensued; but Hoossein Shah Shurky was finally defeated in a general

engagement at Canouge, when his regalia, equipage, and the chief lady

of his harem, Beeby Khonza, fell into the victors hands. After this

decisive victory, Bheilole retreated to his capital.

Heg. 894 (1488).--The king being now old, and infirmities increasing

daily upon him, he divided his dominions among his sons, and died at

Badowly, in the district of Sukeet, after a prosperous reign of thirty

years, eight months, and seven days. He was succeeded by Secunder Chan,

son of Zeina, the daughter of a goldsmith, introduced into the royal

harem on account of her beauty.

Heg. 897 (1491).--The fort of Agra fell to the king’s arms after a

short but stubborn siege.

Heg. 900 (1494).--The king met Hoossein Shah Shurky in the field, and

defeated him at a place about eighteen coss or thirty-six miles from

Benares. The vanquished chief fled to Patna, and his army was nearly

exterminated.

Heg. 904 (1498).--A conspiracy was formed against the life of Secunder

Lody, which being detected, the conspirators, who were powerful Omrahs,

were despatched upon different services, and cut off in detail.

Heg. 905 (1499).--Syud Chan Lody, Tartar Chan Firmully, and Mahomed

Shah Lody, being suspected of disaffection, were banished to Guzerat.

Heg. 915 (1509).--The king being encamped at Dholpore, he ordered

Suliman Chan to march to the aid of Hoossein Chan, of Hunwuntga

Suliman Chan having excused himself by saying that he preferred being

about the king’s person, the latter became incensed, and forthwith

dismissed him from his service, directing him to quit his camp by

daybreak the following morning, at the same time conferring on him the

revenue of Birun for his future maintenance.

Heg. 923 (1517).--Secunder being taken ill, died of quinsy, and was

succeeded by his son Ibrahim. A conspiracy was formed by the Lody

chiefs to raise his younger brother to the throne.

Heg. 923 (1518).--The king prepared to defeat the aims of the

conspirators, whom he finally quelled, and giving full latitude to his

vengeance, put many of the Omrahs to death.

Heg. 925 (1519).--Babur made his first campaign in India. On this

occasion he marched his army as far as the Indus, to where it is called

the Neelab: he overran with his troops all the countries in his route,

and crossing the river, advanced to Berah in Punjab. In this province

he levied contributions upon the inhabitants, instead of allowing his

troops to plunder. From Berah he sent to Ibrahim, acquainting him that

as the Punjab had been frequently in possession of the house of Timour,

it was fit he should relinquish his pretension to it, and thus prevent

the war from being carried further into India.

Heg. 926 (1520).--Babur made his third irruption into India, attacking

the Afghans on his route.

Heg. 928 (1522).--Chandahar and the country of Gurmseer fell into

Babur’s hands.

Heg. 930 (1524).--Babur entered Lahore in triumph, having defeated the

troops of Ibrahim Lody, and set fire to the Bazaar, a superstitious

practice common among the Moguls. Babur remained only four days in

Lahore, when he proceeded against Depalpore. The garrison having forced

him to risk an assault, he put the whole to the sword.

Heg. 932 (1525).--Babur marched for the first time towards Hindostan,

being joined by his son Hamayoon from Budukhshan, and Khwaja Kullan

from Ghizny. This year, Babur, with an army of only twelve thousand men

defeated Ibrahim Lody, who brought into the field a hundred thousand

horse and a hundred elephants. This victory secured the empire of India

to the House of Timour. Ibrahim Lody was found among the slain. This

year the fort of Gualior was besieged by a numerous army of Hindoos.

Tartar Chan, the governor, being reduced to great distress, applied to

Babur, who marched to his relief, and obliged the enemy to raise the

siege.

Heg. 933 (1525).--The mother of the late king of Delhi, Ibrahim Lody,

formed a design to poison Babur, and seduced the taster of the royal

kitchen to put some poison into a dish of hare soup. Babur, after

tasting a few spoonsful, nauseated the soup, and immediately vomited,

which saved his life. The plot was discovered, the taster put to death,

Ibrahim Lody’s mother cast into prison, and her wealth confiscated.

Heg 933 (1526).--The king defeated an army collected by several

confederated chieftains, in order to place a son of the late Ibrahim

Lody upon the throne of Delhi.

Heg. 935 (1528).--Babur commenced a tour through his new kingdom. He

first took the route to Gualior, and viewed there the fortifications,

the stone elephant, and the celebrated palace of Rajah Man Singh.

He then visited the gardens of Raheem Dad, and having admired some

extremely fine scarlet oleander flowers, ordered a few of the plants to

be conveyed to Agra. During his stay at Gualior he went in state to the

great Mosque, built by the Emperor Altmish, for whose soul he ordered

prayers to be read, and returned by another route to Agra.

Heg. 936 (1530).--In the month Rujab of this year, the king fell sick,

and his disorder gaining ground, he sent for his son Prince Humayoon,

and appointed him his successor.

Heg. 937 (1530).--On Monday the fifth of Jumad-ool-Awul, Babur Padshah

died. According to his will his body was transported to Cabul, and

interred in a sepulchre at that city. He died at the age of fifty,

having reigned thirty-eight years.

The Siege of Gualior.

CHAPTER I.

The fort of Gualior was in a state of siege. Tartar Chan was at this

time governor of it; but being beleagured by the Rajah of that country,

to whose family it had formerly belonged, and not in a condition to

resist the numerous forces of the Hindoo, Tartar Chan solicited Babur’s

aid. The detachment of troops sent by the Mogul monarch defeated the

Rajah, and obliged him to raise the siege. The governor being now

released from his enemies, and repenting of his promise of submission,

delayed, under plausible but frivolous pretences, to put the Moguls

in possession of the fortress. Their general, therefore, retreated in

disgust, with a threat of soon coming in larger force to compel this

fulfilment of the conditions upon which his services had been expressly

rendered.

The Moguls had no sooner retired than the Rajah returned with his

forces and invested Gualior. Tartar Chan was again in a dilemma, but

feared making another application to the Mogul Emperor, whom he had

lately requited with such signal ingratitude.

Within the fort was one Sheik Mahomed Ghows, a very learned man, who

had a great number of students under him, and was looked upon as an

oracle throughout the province. He was consulted in all cases of

emergency, being thought to possess the gift of inspiration. In his

difficulty, Tartar Chan repaired to the sage, and asked him what was to

be done under the present unpromising aspect of his affairs.

“We have not provisions,” said he, “for more than a few weeks; and the

garrison is already so much reduced that a sally cannot be prudently

attempted. What is to be done?”

“You have but a choice of evils; you must propitiate the Mogul.”

“But how?”

“Deliver the fortress into his hands.”

“Then I may as well capitulate to the enemy.”

“No; from the Hindoos you may look for extermination, from the

worshippers of the Prophet you may hope to retain your government in

fealty to the Emperor.”

“No vassal is secure under the domination of despotism.”

“What security have you within these walls, surrounded by an implacable

enemy whom you acknowledge you are in no condition longer to resist,

and who are prepared to exercise against you the severities which

conquerors seldom fail to inflict upon the vanquished, whom they happen

to hate? You have asked my advice under your present difficulties;--I

give it. Make your peace with the Mogul Emperor, perform the conditions

upon which he lately granted you assistance against the foe, by giving

him possession of this fortress, only stipulating to retain the command

of it as his vassal.”

Though Tartar Chan did not much relish the advice of the sage,

he nevertheless saw that he had no choice between complying and

capitulating to the Hindoos. He therefore despatched a messenger, who

succeeded in passing through the enemy’s lines as a fakeer--for those

visionaries pass everywhere unmolested--entreating the Emperor Babur to

advance once more to his assistance, and offering him full security for

the performance of the conditions upon which he solicited his aid.

About five weeks after the consultation just described, the garrison

was reduced to extreme distress. Their provisions were diminished to

such an incompetent supply that every person was put upon a stated

allowance of four ounces of rice per day. Disease was already beginning

the work of destruction, and there appeared no chance of escaping

the horrors of famine except by a speedy capitulation. The cries of

lamentation were everywhere heard, but no relief came. The prospect

of the besieged was anything but cheering; with starvation on the one

hand, and an odious captivity on the other, they had only a choice

of miseries, unless aid should be obtained before the expiration of

another week.

Tartar Chan did his best to soften the privations of the garrison; but

as he could not fabricate grain, he could do little towards hushing the

doleful cries of suffering which everywhere met his ears. The besiegers

were so vigilant that they cut off all supplies, and were determined to

starve their enemies into a surrender.

One evening four horsemen were seen by the Rajah’s scouts, advancing

towards Gualior. They were Moguls, and appeared to be sturdy warriors,

being well-armed and well mounted. They entered a thicket.

“Baba Shirzad,” said the chief, “do you ride towards the fort at

your best speed, and endeavour to ascertain the strength of the

besieging force. We will await your return here, and act according to

circumstances. I like an achievement: the greater danger, the more

glory.”

“I go,” said the Mogul; “but to my thinking you are poking your nose

into a wasp’s nest, and you know how severely those insects sting.”

“But we must pluck out their sting, Baba, and then they’ll only be able

to buzz.”

“But in plucking out the sting we may chance to get a puncture.”

“Ha! so much the better; ’twill be a spur to renown; so strike your

heels into the flanks of your good Arab, and away.”

Baba Shirzad did as he was commanded, and was lost in a few seconds

amid the gloom of the forest.

“Mir Shah,” said the chief to another of his companions, “we must

prepare for blows. These idolators are grown savage at their late

defeats and fight desperately. We must relieve the garrison in spite

of Tartan Chan’s late subterfuges. He’ll be a cunning governor if he

outwits his betters a second time.”

“Had we not better get into the plain?” asked Mir Shah. “I don’t like

these strange thickets; they are too favourable for surprises, and my

topographical knowledge of this quarter is not considerable. Let us go

where we can see our horses’s ears, for here we can exercise only one

sense, and that the least important of the five.”

“Nay, do you mean to make four pass for a unit? You can exercise all

your senses in the dark, save the faculty of seeing, and, my word for

it, blindness is not always an evil. But let us get into the plain if

you will, and there await the return of Baba Shirzad.”

The Moguls had not long emerged from the wood, when, overcome by the

fatigue of their journey, they began to nod on their saddles. They

were, however, suddenly roused by a clattering of hoofs, as of a horse

at full speed, and presently Baba Shirzad appeared coming towards them

at a hard gallop.

“Fly!” said he; “we are pursued by a large detachment of the enemy;

they are close at my heels, and we have not a moment for deliberation.”

“Nay,” said the chief, “the Mogul is not accustomed to fly we must

stand our ground at all risks.”

“But the enemy are at least a hundred and fifty men.”

“The more the better; throw them into confusion and they’ll cut one

another’s throats. ’Tis no easy matter to distinguish friends from

foes in the dark, and after a death or two they’ll magnify two brace

of warriors into a host. Stand by me like brave men, and I’ll show you

some sport worth witnessing.”

By this time a considerable detachment of the enemy had advanced to

within a hundred yards of the spot where the four horsemen stood. The

Moguls had separated, each taking up his position with his back towards

the wood, and shouting simultaneously, in order to lead the enemy to

suppose they formed a small squadron. The Hindoos reined up their

horses, and immediately winged a flight of arrows, calling upon their

foes to surrender; this was answered by a discharge of four shafts,

which, being directed with better aim, and against a large mass, did

some execution.

The Hindoo chief was mounted upon a white charger, which was a guide to

the Moguls in what direction to shoot their arrows. The four horsemen

now uniting galloped towards the enemy, and when within ten yards of

them, discharged their barbed reeds, turned and retreated. This they

repeated several times, until the enemy, galled by these attacks,

spurred forward in pursuit. The Moguls again separated, and plunged

into the neighbouring thicket. The Hindoos being thus disunited rode

onward in disorder, and frequently mistook one another for foes. Arrows

were occasionally shot from the wood, and not knowing whence the

mischief came, their confusion increased. In several instances they

rode each other down, the enemy meanwhile occasionally shouting to