Repeated disappointment only served the more to exasperate the
sovereign’s jealousy. It raged like a furnace within him; for to
exercise a due control over their actions is not the general character
of despots. His peace of mind was perpetually disturbed by the
fierceness of his emotions, and he became more than ever bent upon the
death of his successful rival in the affections of Mher-ul-Nissa.
Shere Afkun was not permitted to remain long unmolested. Kuttub, Suba
or governor of Bengal, knowing his master’s wishes, and in order to
ensure his future favour, hired forty ruffians to assassinate the
dreaded Omrah. So confident was the latter in his own strength and
valour, that he took no precaution to protect himself against secret or
open enemies. He lived in a solitary house in which he retained only an
aged porter, all his other servants occupying apartments at a distance.
Relying upon his own courage and the vigour of his arm, he had no
apprehension either of the secret assassin or the open foe.
This was a tempting opportunity. The murderers were engaged, and had
been promised such a reward as should urge them to the most desperate
exertions in order to ensure the consummation of their employees
wishes. They entered the apartment while their victim was asleep. A
lamp hung from the ceiling and threw its dim light upon him as he
reclined in profound slumber. There was no mistaking the hero, as he
lay with his noble head upon his arm, his expansive forehead turned
towards the light, every line blended into one smooth unbroken surface
denoting the perfect placidity of repose. Over his muscular frame
was lightly thrown a thin coverlid, which did not entirely conceal
its beautiful proportions, exhibited in the indistinct but traceable
outline of the figure beneath. He slept profoundly. The murderers
approached the bed and raised their daggers to strike; when one of
them, touched with remorse at the idea of such an unmanly assault upon
a man who had so signalised his courage and virtues, cried out, under
an impulse of awakened conscience, “Hold! are we men? What! forty to
one, and afraid to encounter him awake?”
This timely interposition of the assassin’s remorse saved the life
of his intended victim; for the Turkoman, aroused by the manly
expostulation, started from his bed, seized his sword, and retiring
backwards before the assassins had all entered, reached the corner
of the apartment, where he prepared to defend himself to the last
extremity. As he retreated, he had drawn the couch before him, thus
preventing the immediate contact of his enemies, who endeavoured in
vain to reach him; and as they were only armed with daggers, he cut
down several of them without receiving a single wound. Urged on,
however, by the great amount of the reward offered, the murderers still
pressed upon him, and succeeded at length in dragging the couch from
his grasp, though not before he had caused several others to pay for
their temerity with their lives. He was at length exposed to the full
operation of their brutal fury. Ten of his enemies already lay dead
upon the floor, showing fatal evidence of the strength and celerity of
his arm; there, however, remained thirty to vanquish; and, placing his
back against the wall, the hero prepared for the unequal and deadly
struggle.
Seeing him now entirely exposed to their assault, the ruffians rushed
simultaneously forward, in the hope of being able to despatch him at
once with their daggers; but they so encumbered each other by suddenly
crowding upon their victim in their anxiety to prevent his escape,
that they could not strike. He meanwhile, taking advantage of the
confusion, laid several of them dead at his feet: nevertheless they
pressed forward, and the same result followed. Shifting his ground,
but still managing to keep his back against the wall, he defeated all
their attempts; and such was his fearful precision in employing his
sword, that not a man came within its sweep without receiving practical
experience of the strength with which it was wielded. Besides those
already slain, many others of the assailants fell desperately wounded.
At length the rest, fearing the extermination of their whole band,
betook themselves to flight, and left him without a wound.
The man who had warned Shere Afkun of his danger stood fixed in mute
astonishment at the prowess of him whom he had received a commission
to murder. He had been so paralysed, that he could neither join in the
attack, nor defend his victim from the sanguinary assault which the
latter had so heroically defeated. He had no time for meditation. The
charge had been so sudden, and the defence so marvellous, that his mind
remained in a state of stagnation, and was restored to its proper tone
only upon seeing the extraordinary issue. Perceiving himself to be
alone with the man whom he had undertaken to destroy for a base bribe,
his heart sank within him--he felt that he deserved to die; but his
intended victim advanced, and kindly taking his hand, welcomed him as
his deliverer. Having ascertained from the man’s unreluctant confession
by whom the assassins had been hired, the hero dismissed him with a
liberal benefaction.
This remarkable exploit was repeated from mouth to mouth with a
thousand exaggerations; so that wherever Shere Afkun appeared, he was
followed and pointed at as a man of superhuman powers. Songs and
romances were written to extol his prowess and magnanimity. He was
cheered by the populace wherever he approached. Mothers held up their
babes to behold this extraordinary warrior, blessing him as he passed,
and praying that their sons might emulate his virtues. He was flattered
by these universal suffrages in his favour; nevertheless, in order to
avoid a recurrence of perils similar to those from which he had so
recently escaped, he retired to Burdwan.
Meanwhile the Emperor, burning with secret rage at hearing the valour
of his rival the theme of every tongue, gave orders to his creature,
the Suba of Bengal, to seek a more favourable opportunity than he had
before availed himself of, to destroy this detested Omrah: for such was
his astonishing strength and dexterity, that the Suba dared not attack
him openly.
Being now at a distance from court, the bold Turkoman thought himself
beyond the influence of his sovereign’s jealousy, and, with the natural
frankness of his character, immediately cast aside all suspicion of
mischief. The Suba coming with a great retinue to Burdwan, about sixty
miles from the modern capital of Bengal, with a pretence of making
a tour of the territory placed under his political superintendence,
communicated to his officers the secret of his mission. They heard him
with silent pleasure; for most of the nobles being jealous of a rival’s
popularity, with a mean and dastardly spirit joined readily in the
scheme for his destruction.
Unsuspicious of any hostile intention towards him, the devoted Omrah
went out to meet the Suba as he-was entering the town, and the latter
affected to treat him with great cordiality. He rode by the governor’s
elephant, familiarly conversing with the nobles who formed his suite,
and frequently receiving a gracious smile of approbation from the
Emperor’s vicegerent. He was completely thrown off his guard by this
apparently courteous bearing; and abandoning himself to the generous
warmth of his nature, invited the Omrahs to his abode, resolving to
entertain them with a munificence equal to the liberality of his
disposition; a determination which he knew his wife, the beautiful
Mher-ul-Nissa, would not be backward in fulfilling. Full of these
hospitable resolutions, he pressed forward with a gaiety which showed
the utter absence of suspicion.
In the progress of the cavalcade, a pikeman, pretending that Shere
Afkun was in the way, rudely struck his horse. In a moment the latter’s
suspicions were roused; his countenance darkened, and he cast around
him a look of fiery indignation. Without an instant’s delay he drew
his sword and clove the offender to the earth. Knowing that no soldier
would have thus acted without orders, the insulted noble immediately
saw that his life was aimed at, and directly spurring his horse
towards the elephant of the treacherous Suba, he tore down the howdah,
seized the cowardly Kuttub by the throat, and buried his sword in the
traitor’s body before any of his guards could rescue him; then turning
upon the Omrahs, five were almost instantly sacrificed to his just
revenge.
Reeking with their blood, the avenger stood before the host, sternly
braving the retribution which he saw them preparing to inflict,
and hailing them with a loud defiance. He expected no quarter, and
therefore determined not to yield without a struggle. His mind was
braced to the extreme tension of desperate energy, and he resolved that
the coveted prize of his death should be dearly won. Those who were
within the immediate reach of his arm he slew without distinction, and
such was the fatal celerity of his motions that the enemy fled before
him in dismay. He did not pursue, but challenged the unequal strife.
Like a grim lion, he stood defiant before them, spotted with the gore
of the slain, and prepared for fresh slaughter, but there was not a foe
daring enough to approach him.
Terrified at his prowess, the soldiers began to discharge their arrows
and matchlocks at him from a distance. His horse, struck by a ball in
the forehead, fell dead under him. Springing upon his feet, he slew
several of the enemy who had ventured to rush forward in the hope
of despatching him while encumbered with the housings of his fallen
charger. They fled at the sight of their slain comrades, and left their
unvanquished destroyer to the aim of his distant foes, who fired upon
him without intermission. Covered with wounds and bleeding at every
pore, the still undaunted lion-slayer called upon the Suba’s officers
to advance and meet him in single combat, but they one and all declined
the encounter. They saw that certain death to each of them must be the
issue of such a contest. It was evident, moreover, that their victim
could not escape the aim of so many enemies.
At length, seeing his end approaching, the brave Turkoman, like a
devout Mahomedan, turned his face towards Mecca, threw some dust upon
his head by way of ablution, there being no water near, and standing
up, calm and undismayed, before the armed files of his murderers,
received at one discharge six balls in his body, and expired without a
groan.
Thus perished one of the greatest heroes whose exploits have had a
conspicuous place in the histories of nations.
The beautiful widow was immediately transported to Delhi, but Jehangire
refused to see her, whether from remorse or policy is uncertain. He
ordered her to be confined in one of the worst apartments of the harem.
This was exceedingly galling to her sensitive and haughty spirit.
The harem of an eastern prince is at once the penetralia of the
political and social sanctuary, whence emanate all the cabals and
conspiracies so rife in the cabinets of Moslem potentates; it may,
therefore, be as well to give a brief description of a Mahomedan
sovereign’s domestic establishment.
In the harem are educated the Mogul princes and the principal youth
among the nobles destined for posts of responsibility in the empire.
It is generally separated from the palace, but so nearly contiguous as
to be of ready access. None are admitted within its apartments except
the Emperor and those immediately attached to its several offices,
the duties of which are performed by women. It is generally enclosed
by lofty walls, and surrounded by spacious gardens, laid out with all
the splendour of eastern magnificence, where every luxury is obtained
which the appetite may demand or money can procure. Those inmates who
form the matrimonial confederacy of the Mogul potentate are among the
most beautiful girls which the empire can furnish. They are taught
embroidery, music, and dancing by certain old women hired to instruct
them in every blandishment that may captivate the senses and stimulate
the passions. These lovely captives are never permitted to appear
abroad except when the Emperor travels, and then they are conveyed in
litters closed by curtains, or in boats with small cabins, admitting
the light and air only through narrow Venetian blinds.
The apartments of the harem are very splendid, always, however, of
course in proportion to the wealth of the prince. The favourite object
of his affections exhibits the dignity and enjoys the privilege of a
queen, though of a queen in captivity. While her beauty lasts she is
frequently regarded with a feeling almost amounting to idolatry, but
when that beauty passes away the warmth of love subsides, her person
no longer charms, her voice ceases to impart delight, her faded cheeks
and sharpened tones become disagreeable memorials of the past. Neither
her song nor her lute is now heard with pleasure, for in the beautiful
imagery of the Persian poet, “When the roses wither and the bower loses
its sweetness, you have no longer the tale of the nightingale.”
The favourite, however, while she continues her ascendancy over the
heart of her lord, is treated with sovereign respect throughout the
harem. She smokes her golden-tubed hookha, the mouthpiece studded
with gems; and enjoys the fresh morning breeze under a veranda that
overlooks the gardens of the palace, attended by her damsels, only
second to herself in attraction of person and splendour of attire.
“Her smiling countenance resplendent shines
With youth and loveliness; her lips disclose
Teeth white as jasmine blossoms; silky curls
Luxuriant shade her cheeks; and every limb,
Of slightest texture, moves with natural grace,
lake moonbeams gliding through the yielding air.”[35]
Here she reclines in oblivious repose upon a rich embroidered carpet
from the most celebrated looms of Persia. Through an atmosphere of the
richest incense she breathes the choicest perfumes of Arabia the happy,
and has everything around her that can administer to sensual delight;
still she is generally an unhappy being. She dwells in the midst of
splendid misery and ungratifying profusion, while all within herself
is desolation and hopelessness. Her sympathies are either warped or
stifled; her heart is blighted and her mind degraded. She cannot join
in the enthusiasm of the inimitable Hafiz[36]: “The breath of the
western gale will soon shed musk around; the old world will again be
young,” but languishes, as the seasons return, in the most debasing
captivity, and feels that the western gale breathes not upon her either
the freshness of freedom or of joy.
FOOTNOTES:
[35] Uttara Rama Cheritra, a Hindoo drama, translated by Horace Hayman
Wilson, Esq., from the original Sanscrit.