Mohabet, feeling that his future safety depended upon the death of Noor
Jehan, had sent a soldier to despatch her. The minister of destruction
entered her tent after midnight, when she was plunged in profound
repose. Her beautiful limbs were stretched upon a Persian carpet,
the rich colours of which glowed in the light of a lamp that burned
upon a silver frame near her bed. Her fine features were relaxed into
that placid expression which sleep casts over the countenance when no
disquieting dreams disturb and excite it into muscular activity. The
slow and measured breath came from her lovely bosom like incense from
a sacred censer. Her right arm, naked to the shoulder, and on which
the scar of the wound she had lately received appeared still red and
tender, was thrown across her bosom, showing an exquisite roundness of
surface and delicacy of outline that fixed the attention of the rugged
soldier, who hesitated to remove so beautiful a barrier to that bosom
which his dagger was commissioned to reach. He stood over his victim in
mute astonishment. He was entranced by her beauty. The recollection of
her undaunted heroism disarmed his purpose, and he dropped the weapon
of death. Noor Jehan was roused by the noise;--she started from her
slumber. Seeing a man in the tent, she sprang from her couch, and,
eyeing him with calm disdain, said,
“I apprehend your purpose; you are a murderer;--Noor Jehan is not
unprepared to die even by the assassin’s dagger. Strike!” she said
sternly, and bared her bosom.
The man was overcome; he prostrated himself before her, pointed to the
fallen weapon, and besought her to forgive the evil purpose with which
he had entered her tent:
“I am but an humble instrument of another’s will.”
“Go,” replied the Sultana with dignity, “and tell your employer that
your mistress and his knows how to meet death when it comes, but claims
from him the justice awarded to the meanest criminal. The secret dagger
is the instrument of tyranny, not of justice. I am in his power; but
let him exercise that power as becomes a brave and a good man.”
Mohabet was not surprised, though greatly mortified, when he found that
his purpose had been thus defeated. He therefore sought the Emperor,
and insisted that he should immediately sign a warrant for the death
of his Sultana. Jehangire knew too well the justice of the demand,
the wrongs which she had heaped upon the man who made it, and his own
incapability of resistance, to disobey. Not having seen the Empress for
some time, he had in a degree forgotten the influence of her charms;
and prepared, though with reluctance, to comply with the sanguinary
requisition. When the awful announcement was made to the Sultana, she
did not exhibit the slightest emotion. “Imprisoned sovereigns,” she
said, “lose their right of life with their freedom; but permit me once
more to see the Emperor, and to bathe with my tears the hand that
has fixed the seal to the warrant of my death.” She was well aware
of the influence she still possessed over the uxorious Emperor; and,
her request being complied with, she attired herself in a plain white
dress, with the simplest drapery, which showed her still lovely figure
to the greatest advantage, and was thus brought before Jehangire in the
presence of Mohabet. There was an expression of subdued sorrow upon her
countenance, which seemed only to enhance the lustre of her beauty. She
advanced with a stately step, but did not utter a word; and, bending
before her royal husband, took his hand and pressed it to her bosom
with a silent but solemn appeal. Jehangire was deeply moved. He burst
into tears, and raising the object of his long and ardent attachment,
turned to Mohabet, and said in a tone of tremulous earnestness, “Will
you not spare this woman?” Mohabet, subdued by the scene, and feeling
for his sovereign’s distress, replied,
“The Emperor of the Moguls should never ask in vain.”
Waving his hand to the guards, they instantly retired, and the Sultana
was restored to liberty. She, however, never forgot the wrong, and
determined to avenge it. She manifested no signs of hostility, but
always met the general with a cheerful countenance and a courteous air,
by which she completely lulled his suspicions. Secure in the general
estimation of the troops, and especially of his faithful Rajpoots, he
felt no fears for his own personal safety; and having completely won
the good opinion of Jehangire by his late act of generous forbearance
towards Noor Jehan, he had little apprehension from the intrigues of
the latter, however she might choose to employ them. He, however, knew
not the person of whom he judged so lightly. Her aims were not to
be defeated but by the loss of liberty. She never lost sight of her
purpose save in its accomplishment. Nothing could reconcile her to the
degradation which she had been lately made to endure. Her daughter
indeed had been restored to her; but she likewise had been deprived of
freedom, and treated with the indignity of a prisoner. The wound of the
latter, which was slight, had soon healed; yet the mother felt that she
had received a double wrong in the captivity of herself and child. She
employed her time in devising schemes of vengeance; but for six months
she plotted so secretly, that not the least suspicion was excited in
the mind of Mohabet. Jehangire treated him with the open confidence
of friendship, and the Sultana appeared to meet him at all times with
amicable cordiality. This, however, was only the treacherous calm which
often heralds a tempest.
One morning, when the general, accompanied by a considerable retinue,
went to pay his customary respects to the Emperor, he was attacked at
the same moment from both ends of a narrow street. He was fired at from
the windows of several houses. Great confusion ensued; but Mohabet’s
followers being well armed, he put himself at their head and cut his
way through the assailants. His escape was a miracle; the whole of his
retinue were either wounded or slain, yet he was unhurt. The plot had
been so well concerted, that not a single creature was prepared for
it but those persons to whom it had been communicated. The spirit of
disaffection soon spread. The guards who surrounded the Emperor were
attacked by the citizens; and all, to the number of five hundred, put
to the sword. The whole city of Cabul was in an uproar; and had not
Mohabet fled to his camp, which was pitched without the walls, he would
have fallen a sacrifice to their fury. Enraged at their perfidy, he
prepared to take a speedy and ample revenge. The Sultana, perceiving
the failure of her scheme, was aware that she was in a situation of
extreme peril. The citizens, terrified at the preparations which the
incensed general was making to punish their perfidy, sent some of the
principal inhabitants to him, supplicating his forbearance; declaring
that the tumult originated with the rabble, and offering to give up the
ringleaders to his just indignation. Although Mohabet suspected that
Noor Jehan had been the principal instrument of the attack upon his
life and the massacre of his guards, he dissembled his resentment, and
accepted the offers of submission, but made a vow never again to enter
Cabul. Having punished the ringleaders, he quitted the neighbourhood on
the following morning, taking the Emperor with him.
On their way to Lahore, Mohabet suddenly resolved to resign his
power, and to place Jehangire again at liberty. The resolution was
as inexplicable as it was sudden and unexpected. He had no wish for
empire. Having punished his enemies and vindicated his own wrongs, he
exacted from Jehangire oblivion of the past; then disbanding his army,
and retaining only a small retinue, he left his sovereign to his entire
freedom. Noor Jehan, not in the least moved by this act of generosity
on the part of a man whom her own intrigues had forced into rebellion,
resolved now to seize the opportunity of consummating her revenge.
She could not forget the indignities she had endured at the hand of
Mohabet; that he had once attempted her life, obliged the Emperor to
sign her death-warrant, and held her in odious captivity. She demanded
that her royal consort should immediately order his execution.
“A man,” said she, “so daring as to seize the person of his sovereign
is a dangerous subject. The lustre of royalty must be diminished in the
eyes of the people, while he who has dragged his prince from the throne
is permitted to kneel before it with feigned allegiance.”
Jehangire, remembering the provocations which Mohabet had received,
and his temperate use of power, was shocked at the Sultana’s
vindictiveness, and commanded her, in a severe tone, to be silent.
Although she made no reply, she did not relinquish her design. Shortly
afterwards, an attempt being made upon the general’s life, he found
it necessary to quit the camp secretly. The emissaries of the Empress
were sent to capture him, but he effected his escape. He who had
so lately had a victorious army at his command was now a fugitive,
without a follower, and obliged to fly for his life. He had left all
his wealth behind him, which was seized by the implacable Noor Jehan;
and she issued a proclamation through all the provinces of the empire,
denouncing him as a rebel, commanded him to be seized, and set a price
upon his head. This violence on the part of the Sultana was disapproved
both by the Emperor and the Vizier, the latter of whom did not forget
the courtesy shown to him by the fugitive after the defeat of the
imperial army, when he was made prisoner by that very man who was now
pursued with such hostility by a vindictive enemy who owed to him her
life and liberty.
Asiph, Noor Jehan’s brother, was not insensible to the merit of
Mohabet. He knew him to be the best general of his time, an ardent
lover of his country, and that he had been forced into rebellion by
acts of repeated and unjustifiable aggression. He felt assured that
such was not a man to be cast off from the state without doing it an
injury that could never be repaired. Besides, he feared the lengths
to which the Sultana’s ambition might carry her, and considered it
was high time it should be checked. Although Mohabet was a wanderer
and a refugee under the denouncement of death, he bore up against his
reverses with the same magnanimity which had actuated him when at the
summit of his power.
The Vizier having found means to assure him of his friendship, Mohabet
mounted his horse and rode four hundred miles without a single
follower, to meet and confer with that high functionary; trusting to
his bare and secret promise of protection. The minister was at that
time encamped in the road between Lahore and Delhi. Mohabet entered
the camp in a mean habit, late in the evening. Placing himself in the
passage which led from the apartments of the Vizier to the harem, and
telling the eunuch that he wished to see that minister, the fugitive
was immediately led into the latter’s presence. When Asiph saw the
wretched condition of Mohabet, he fell upon his neck and wept. Retiring
with him to a secret apartment, the general declared his determination,
notwithstanding the low ebb of his fortunes, to raise Shah Jehan to
the imperial throne. Asiph was overjoyed at this declaration, as that
prince was allied to him by the double tie of friendship and family
connexion.
The result of this conference was a general declaration, in favour of
Jehangire’s third son, who had already twice rebelled; but the Emperor
dying a few months after, the state was freed from the probable effects
of a civil war, and Prince Churrum ascended the imperial throne, under
the title of Shah Jehan. From that moment the Sultana retired from the
world, devoting the rest of her days to study, and the quiet enjoyments
of domestic life. As her power ceased with the death of Jehangire,
her haughty spirit could not brook the public mortification of seeing
herself holding a secondary rank in the empire. She never henceforward
spoke upon state affairs, or allowed the subject to be mentioned in
her presence. The singular beauty of her person continued almost to
the last moment of her life; nor was the structure of her mind less
remarkable. She was a woman of transcendent abilities; she rendered
herself absolute in a government in which women were held to be both
incapable and unworthy of holding the slightest share. It was not
merely by the permissive weakness of Jehangire that she acquired such a
political dominancy in the state; but by the pre-eminent superiority of
her own mental endowments, and the indomitable energy of her character,
before which the inferior mind and spirit of her royal husband shrank
into comparative insignificance. She had as well the resolution to
achieve as the intellects to project, and kept a mighty nation in awe
by the extreme vigour of her administration. Though her passions were
violent, her chastity was never impeached, and she lived an eminent
pattern conjugal fidelity. To her, the world are indebted for that
delicious perfume so well-known by the name of atar of roses, which she
discovered during her retirement from public life. She died in the city
of Lahore eighteen years after the death of Jehangire.
HISTORICAL SUMMARY.
A.D. 1628.--In the year of the Hegira 1037, Shah Jehan ascended the
Imperial throne of the Moguls. The Rajah of Bundelcund was taken
prisoner by Mohabet, who was shortly afterwards removed from the head
of the army. The Usbeck Tartars made a successful irruption into the
imperial dominions, laid siege to the fort of Bamia in the mountains of
Cabul, and made themselves masters of it.
Heg. 1038 (1629).--Chan Jehan Lody escaped from Agra. Having opposed
the accession of the reigning Emperor, he had been publicly disgraced.
He was pursued and overtaken; but his retreat was secured by the
gallantry of his son, Azmut, who engaged the imperial army, and thus
enabled his father to get beyond the reach of his enemies. The noble
Azmut, however, fell a sacrifice to his filial intrepidity; he was
slain gallantly fighting against a host of foes. Lody having effected
his escape, found an asylum at the court of the Nizam at Dowlatabad.
This year died Shah Abbas, Sovereign of Persia.
Heg. 1040 (1631).--Shah Jehan sent a large army into the Deccan to
oppose Chan Lody, who had induced the princes of that extensive
district to take up arms against the house of Timur. For a while Lody
was successful against the imperial general, Eradit, whom he prevented
from penetrating into Golconda, by throwing himself into the passes of
the mountains before his march, and thus repelling his advance. He was
finally obliged to retreat; and being attacked by Lody, was defeated
with great slaughter. Six Omrahs of the imperial army were slain. After
this defeat, Eradit was superseded, and the Vizier appointed to command
the army. This struck the confederates with dismay, and they abandoned
their brave friend. The Nizam proposed terms; and Lody, being at length
left without support, was pursued by a detachment of the Vizier’s
forces, and slain, with thirty followers only, who had resolved to
participate in his fallen fortunes. During this year Shah Jehan’s
favourite Sultana died in childbed. She was the daughter of Asiph Jah,
the Vizier, and niece of the celebrated Noor Jehan. The magnificent
Taje Mahal was raised at Agra as a tribute of respect for her memory.
Heg. 1044 (1633).--Prince Dara, the Emperor’s eldest son, married the
daughter of his uncle Purvez. About the same time, Suja, the second
son, espoused the daughter of Rustum Suffavi, of the royal line of
Persia.
Heg. 1044 (1634).--Mohabet died. He was the greatest general of his
time.
Heg 1045 (1635).--A new throne of solid gold was erected at Agra.
It was seven years in finishing, and the value of the jewels alone
amounted to twelve hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling. Among
the ornaments was a parrot, the size of life, cut out of a single
emerald.
Heg. 1046 (1636).--The Emperor again sent an army into the Deccan,
reduced the refractory Rajahs to obedience, and concluded a peace with
Persia.
Heg. 1049 (1639).--The capital of Bengal was destroyed by fire.
Heg. 1051 (1641).--Asiph Jah, the Vizier, died, in the seventy-second
year of his age.
Heg. 1052 (1642).--Shah Jehan removed his court from Lahore to Agra,
and completed the Taje Mahal, a splendid mausoleum, raised at vast
expense, to the memory of his favourite Sultana, Mumtaza Zemani, niece
to Noor Jehan.
Heg. 1053 (1643).--The Usbeck Tartars, who had made incursions into the
Emperor’s territories, were defeated by Ali Murdan, governor of Cabul.
Heg. 1054 (1644).--Aurungzebe was removed from the government of the
Deccan.
Heg. 1055 (1645).--The Sultana, Noor Jehan, died at Lahore.
Heg. 1056 (1646).--By an imperial edict Prince Morad was banished to
the mountains of Peshâwir.
Heg. 1057 (1647).--Aurungzebe defeated the Usbecks, and took their camp.
Heg. 1058 (1648).--The repairs of Delhi were finished, and the Emperor
mounted the throne of his ancestors in this city, which afterwards
became the capital of the Mogul empire.
Heg. 1059 (1649).--Aurungzebe defeated the Persians, who had become
masters of Candahar.
Heg. 1062 (1652).--Dara was appointed successor to the empire, under
the title of Shah Belind Akbal--the Emperor of exalted fortune.
Heg. 1066 (1656).--Mahommed, the son of Aurungzebe, took Hyderabad, and
defeated the King of Golconda.
Heg. 1067 (1657).--Shah Jehan was seized with a paralysis, and his life
despaired of; the management of public affairs consequently fell into
the hands of Dara.
Heg. 1068 (1658).--Aurungzebe, secretly aspiring to the throne, induced
his brother Morad to join him, and defeated the imperial army, under
the command of Dara, who retired to Delhi. Having raised fresh forces,
they were corrupted by the wily conqueror. The confederate princes
appeared before the capital with the combined army. Aurungzebe sent
a message to his father, who commissioned his daughter, Jehanara, to
visit him: she was deceived by his duplicity, and incautiously betrayed
to him the resources of her brother Dara. He intercepted his father’s
letter to that prince; and shortly after Mahommed, Aurangzebe’s son,
seized within the citadel at Agra, Shah Jehan, who offered him the
crown of the Moguls as the price of his release. It was declined by
Mahommed. Morad having discovered the duplicity of Aurungzebe, in
attempting to defeat it was seized by his crafty brother, and sent
prisoner to Agra. The ambitious conqueror advanced to Delhi, and
mounted the imperial throne. Dara fled to Lahore.
The Prince and the Fakeer.
CHAPTER I.
On the crest of a lofty hill in the province of Delhi, towards
the north, was a fortress of impregnable strength, which had been
frequently converted by the Mogul emperors into a state prison. The
hill was inaccessible on all sides, presenting, to a height of two
hundred and thirty feet from the base, sheer walls of rocks, upon the
scarped summit of which a light parapet surrounded one of the most
extraordinary fortresses ever constructed by the art of man. Within the
parapet it consisted of a shaft, sixty feet deep, sunk into the living
stone. At the bottom of this shaft, chambers of considerable dimensions
had been hollowed out, lighted by narrow loopholes, perforated through
the mountain to the light, of which they admitted just sufficient to
render “darkness visible,” and cast a sepulchral gloom through the
apartments of this cavernous retreat.
The entrance of this stronghold was a circular aperture at the top of
the rock, like the mouth of a well, four feet in diameter; through
which the garrison, captives, provisions, and all things in short
necessary to be deposited below, were lowered by means of a rope
attached to a windlass.
In one of the chambers of this mountain fortress a prisoner was
confined whose youth and accomplishments appeared to deserve a better
fate. He was in the beautiful dawning of his manhood, when the blood
bounds from the heart with a pulse of joy, and flows back again with an
untroubled current. He had just passed his nineteenth year. The breeze
of the mountain had fanned his cheek, and spread over it the glow of
pure but delicate health. The down upon his upper lip had strengthened
into a sleek dark curl. His limbs were rounded to their full
proportions; and his whole form was one of a symmetry better adapted
for the rich woofs from the looms of Cashmere than for the helmet or
cuirass. The languid expression of his dark, restless eye, showed that
he was unhappy. The only furniture in his prison was a rug upon which
he slept, a hookah, a lamp, and a few utensils employed at his meals.
Notwithstanding the severity of his captivity, the prisoner kept up a
sort of state in his solitary cell: he treated those attendants who had
been appointed to wait upon him with a dignity which commanded respect,
and at the same time with an amenity which won obedience. His dress,
though of ordinary materials, except that portion of it which covered
his brows, was disposed with a taste which at once bespoke refinement
of mind and a consciousness of personal elevation. His turban, composed
of a fine, thin white muslin, worked in gold, was folded round his head
with a care that evidently showed an attention to what was becoming;
its numerous convolutions being precisely defined, and managed with
almost geometrical precision. A common Cashmere shawl, loosely twisted,
encircled his waist, the ends hanging on one side with that peculiar
air of elegance which Orientals, whether Mussulman or Hindoo, know so
well how to exhibit.
The prisoner had just thrown himself upon his rug to take his rest
for the night, when an unusual stir upon the ramparts above roused
him. He rose to listen. A parley was evidently going on with some one
beneath the fortress. He repaired to a small ante-chamber, in which
was a loophole that looked into a deep glen, whence the mountain rose
within the bosom of which the place of his painful captivity had been
hollowed. The night was calm: not a breeze stirred the thick foliage
of the valley. The heavens were starred and radiant, though the moon’s
lamp was not yet hung out upon the battlements of heaven. The faint
beams of the stars, though they scattered the radiance of their glories
over the whole azure surface of the skies, did not penetrate the
depths of the ravine formed by the mountain, down the sides of which
the prisoner strained his eye from one of the narrow apertures that
admitted light and air into his prison. The whole valley was immersed
in that equivocal gloom, the more perceptible from contrast with the
sparkling heaven, that seemed to smile in its beauty at the dull and
torpid earth.
The captive, placing his ear against the artificial fissure in the
rock, heard the following dialogue:
“I am the Prophet’s messenger,” said a voice below. “I have a
commission to the prisoner: refuse me admittance, and the curse of
God’s vicegerent be upon you!”
“If the Prophet’s curse is breathed from the lips of one of his holy
messengers, say who that messenger is.”
“The fakeer of the valley, over whose reverend head ninety-six years
have rolled; whose fasts and penances have gained him one of the high
stations in Paradise, to which he will be exalted when the angel of
death shall waft him from the shores of time to that unknown land where
the harvest of eternal joys shall be reaped.”
“I know that voice, and shall heed the injunctions of so holy a man;
but you must ascend alone: and I have no choice but to obey the orders
imposed upon me, which are, to examine the person of every one admitted
into this fortress. If it were the Prophet himself, I should be obliged
to subject him to the scrutiny.”
“Examine me as you will, but let me see your prisoner. I come a
messenger to him from God’s Prophet, and must perform my mission.
Obedience is man’s heritage; resist the divine will at your peril.
Lower the rope, that I may ascend.”
The prisoner was amazed at this announcement of a visitor--an
accredited minister of the Prophet too; but, upon reflection, he
thought it might be the friendly interposition of some one who wished
to break his bonds, and release him from a captivity as odious as it
was undeserved.
The reverence formerly entertained for some of the fakeers was
sufficient to prevent any surprise at the readiness with which the
soldier upon guard consented to admit him into the fortress. The
man who demanded admittance was well known to all the country as
a troglodyte saint, inhabiting a cavern hollowed out of the earth
in the valley immediately beneath the fortress, and whose severe
mortifications had elevated him to such a degree of sanctity as to
render his intercession with the Divinity a sure pledge of pardon. He
was held to have immediate communion with Heaven; no one, therefore,
ventured to gainsay anything insisted upon by this holy man. He always
bore about him the sacred filth of his long penance; and the very
odours from his body, which was foul with the unwashed incrustations
of years, were supposed to be redolent of that paradise where, as he
maintained, a place was reserved for him at the right hand of Allah’s
inspired minister.
Shortly after the dialogue just mentioned, the door of our captive’s
chamber was unclosed, and the fakeer stood before him, accompanied by
one of the garrison. The holy man was quite naked, so that nothing
could be concealed about him. Although the skin hung loose upon his
long narrow countenance, like shrivelled parchment drawn over the
bones of a skeleton, nevertheless there gleamed from underneath his
sharp projecting brows a pair of eyes which appeared as if they had
concentrated the rays of the midday sun, lancing them at intervals from
orbs that seemed to glare with the intense lustre of those potential
fires which light the throne of Eblis. He was perfectly straight; but
his head had sunk upon the shoulders, where it seemed to rest, giving
to the upper part of his figure an aspect of hideous deformity. His
arms were long, fleshless, and so stiff that he could not bring the
joints even to a curve. He was a living skeleton.
The prisoner gazed upon him in silence, but did not utter a word. The
fakeer stood still for a moment; then opening wide his gaunt, bony
jaws, which displayed a black toothless chasm, and giving a sudden
jerk of the head, a ring dropped from his mouth upon the floor. He now
shook from his long bushy hair a single blossom of the rhododendron,
and a small bit of panel, upon which was rudely scratched the form of
a dove escaping from the talons of a hawk. They both fell beside the
ring. Pointing emphatically to the three several objects he quitted
the cell, and immediately gave the signal to be drawn up. The soldier
who had accompanied him remained behind, gathered up the things which
the holy visitor had cast upon the floor, showed them severally to the
prisoner, though he held them at a distance, and asked him what was the
communication intended to be conveyed?
“I am not read in the lore of sages,” replied the youth; “neither do
I understand the mysteries of vaticination. You would probably make a
better interpreter.”
“I fear this will only increase the rigours of your confinement, unless
you can explain why the holy man of the valley has made you this
strange visit.”
“In truth, I know not. I never saw him until this night; and how should
I be able to expound what you, who are familiar with the stranger,
cannot comprehend?”
“He would not have visited you without a motive.”
“But I may be unacquainted with that motive.”
“He is not a man to act without calculating results.”
“Nevertheless his calculations may prove erroneous.”
“Then you do not understand the nature of his communication?”
“I do not.”
“These symbols will be shown to those who are quick at expounding
riddles. Yet it is scarcely to be conceived that so worthy a minister
of the Prophet should have addressed his symbols to one who cannot read
their meaning.”
“He is but a man, and all men are alike prone to error.”
“True;--you may soon look for confinement in a deeper and darker
chamber.”
When the soldier quitted the prisoner’s cell, the latter began to
muse upon the communication intended to be conveyed by his unexpected
visitor. He knew the fakeer to be a man eminent for his piety
throughout the country, and therefore held in the greatest reverence.
He was supposed to have supernatural communication with members of
another world, and, consequently, was as much feared as reverenced;
which accounts for the respect and forbearance shown to him by the
garrison of the mountain-fortress during his mysterious visit to their
prisoner.
After the fakeer’s departure, the unhappy captive began to reflect
upon the signification of those symbols which had been dropped upon
the floor before him. It was evident they were intended to convey some
information, which it was expected his wit would be quick enough to
comprehend. Although he had obtained but an imperfect glance at the
ring which the soldier who had accompanied the stranger held in his
own hand and at a distance, yet he fancied it was familiar to him. He
had, however, only a vague and indefinite recollection of it; still it
occurred to him that it was not the first time he had seen the golden
trinket. Upon considering the matter further, it struck him that the
ring must be a pledge sent from some one interested in his welfare: it
implied confidence in the messenger, and a religious man could only be
a messenger of peace.
The more he thought, the more satisfied he felt that he had received a
message which warranted the expectation of liberty. The rhododendron
was a flower which grew upon the far mountains, where the genius of
Liberty abides; it was therefore an emblem of that freedom which
his heart panted to secure. In this symbol, then, he recognised the
suggestion that his liberty might be obtained: but how? The third
symbol was a sufficient corollary to the two first problems: a dove
flying from a hawk told him, in terms sufficiently clear, that he must
attempt his escape. It was by no means evident how this was to be
accomplished; and the difficulties which presented themselves, as he
calculated the probable chance of success, staggered his resolution,
and almost crushed his hopes. It occurred to him, notwithstanding,
that means would be supplied. That the fakeer had visited him for some
especial purpose there could be no doubt; and he resolved to await the
issue, satisfied it would not end where it had begun.
CHAPTER II.
Next morning the prisoner was confined to the ante room, and told that
on the following day his cell would be changed for one deeper in the
heart of the mountain. He knew that the lower he descended, the more
cheerless would be his habitation. About sunset an arrow was shot
through the loophole of his cell, to the shaft of which was attached
a strip of the palmyra leaf: upon this was scratched with a stylus
the following words: “Unfasten the twisted thread at the head of this
arrow; break off the steel barb, attach it to the end of the thread,
and lower it into the valley as soon as darkness shall render it
invisible to your guards.”
Soon after the sun had sunk behind the ocean, with a palpitating heart
the captive obeyed this injunction, and drew up a strong silken rope,
about the size of his fore-finger; attached to which was another strip
of palmyra leaf, with the following direction: “Conceal this, and take
the first seasonable opportunity to lower yourself from the rock.
Despair not--you have friends; be vigilant and cautious--but despise
difficulties.” On that night the sky became overcast, and the heat
oppressive to such a degree that the air of the prisoners cell was
scarcely respirable. There was no star visible throughout the whole
expanse of the heavens. The sun had set behind vast masses of clouds,
the skirts of which caught his rays, and reflected them in infinitely
varied tints upon the summits of the hills. They were of an intensely
opaque purple, but fringed with a fiery glow, as if the trains were
already fired that communicated with the magazines concealed within
their dark bosoms, and about to be ignited to a fearful explosion. The
aspect of the skies had been lowering throughout the day. As evening
advanced, the gloom had increased; and as the sun was withdrawing
his light, which faded from the deepening volumes that hung around
his disc, he seemed to glare ominously. He bade this world a sullen
good-night, as he descended behind the grey waters to enlighten other
spheres, and leave this to its repose; but the elements were too busy
to allow that repose to be universal.
The hurricane roared over the sleepers’ heads, and roused them from
their dreams to witness the strife of nature in one of her sublimest
conflicts. Long before midnight the tempest howled fearfully above the
fortress. The sentinels upon the walls were drenched, and the clouds
projected their fires, as if commencing the final conflagration. This
was supposed to be the work of the fakeer, who had quitted the fort,
muttering menaces of mischief. The storm was appalling. The soldiers
shrank from the conflux of excited elements, and sought shelter within
the shaft from their pitiless fury. The thunder burst with an explosion
that appeared to convulse the whole expanse above. A peal shook the
fortress to its foundation. The entire mountain seemed to stagger as if
reeling over the chasm of an earthquake: a flash of lightning followed;
the bolt struck the rock, and split it almost to the base. The thunder
again rolled above, and the immediate silence which succeeded was like
the intense silence of death.
The mischief had taken place upon that side of the mountain inhabited
by the prisoner. He started from his couch; and so sudden was the
effect produced by the thunderbolt, that, upon reaching the loophole,
he perceived a huge mass had been struck down by the electric fire,
and the side of the mountain so shattered, that by pushing against
the fractured body, a large portion of rock which formed the wall of
his cell gave way, and rolled with a hideous crash into the valley
beneath. The cries of the monkeys inhabiting the trees succeeded to
the dull booming sound of the falling rock, and mingled strangely with
the furious collision of the elements above. The prisoner stood still
awhile, amazed at the awful violence of the tempest, when the soldier
who had attended the fakeer again abruptly entered his cell. He started
at seeing the opening made by the lightning, and cautiously closed the
door behind him.
“You must change your apartment this night; there is too much of
heaven’s light here for a state captive.”
“I cannot well exchange for a worse,” said the youth calmly: “conduct
me whither you please; I am resigned to my destiny. Paradise hereafter
is for the wretched here, but not for those who make them wretched.”
“God is merciful!” ejaculated the soldier; “we are his instruments; he
ratifies the punishment of those we doom to trial, and will reward his
own instruments who perform their duty conscientiously. I have sworn
allegiance to the Emperor, and if he were to command me to cut your
throat, I should not only be justified in my obedience, but should
receive the divine sanction for doing my duty.”
“This is the casuistry of tyrants; and with such a plea for murder,
who can wonder that so many souls are freed from the incumbrance of
mortal flesh amid the dark and secret recesses of the dungeon, where no
eye can behold the horrible deed, but His to whose vision there is no
limit, and to whose knowledge there is no boundary.”
“You say well, but you are too clever to be free. In these perilous
times, princes who have wise heads upon their shoulders may be
dangerous subjects; therefore, ’tis the policy of courts to keep them
from plotting. The hand of Heaven has been here to-night,” said he,
approaching the loophole, and surveying the opening which had been left
by the thunderbolt: “the whole side of the mountain seems to have been
splintered,” he continued, running his hand along the side of the cell
where the mischief appeared. “We must try what stone and mortar can do
in the morning. But the leap is too high to apprehend escape.”
By this time he had placed himself within the rift made by the
lightning. His head was projected forward, and his eyes strained
to pierce into the gloomy ravine beneath. This was too tempting an
opportunity to be lost. The captive sprang forward, thrust his hands
suddenly against the soldier’s shoulders, who with a scream of agony
bounded from the edge of the opening, and fell like a plummet into
the hideous gloom below. His body dashed through the branches; the
chattering of the monkeys was heard for a few moments, and then all was
still.
Happily for him who had thus opportunely got rid of a foe, the storm
continued so violent that none of the garrison heard the cry uttered
by the man as he was propelled from the rock, nor the crash which
followed; and as he did not return to his comrades, it was naturally
enough surmised by them that he was keeping watch over the prisoner, of
whom suspicions of an unfavourable nature had been entertained since
the visit of the fakeer.
About two hours after midnight the storm abated. The clouds rolled from
the heavens, and left its blue plains studded with stars, which cast a
dun dingy light upon the objects around. The air was fresh and balmy.
A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, from which it tenderly shook
the spray gathered there by the recent tempest. The breath of heaven
fanned the prisoner’s cheek, and he felt as if it was kissed by the
airs of paradise. He looked through the chasm which the lightning had
formed in the mountain’s side upon the far-spreading sky, and his heart
leaped with an effervescent and holy joy. The aspirations of freedom
went up from his bosom on the wings of gratitude. He saw the means of
escape before him, and the flush of hope radiated upon his brow like
the moon’s light upon a calm solitary lake, in which its beauty is
enshrined as flowers in amber. His thoughts were now free as the breeze
which played upon his temples, and seemed as if imbued with the spirit
of life. How the soul was tossed within him! but it was in a tumult of
the most exquisite fruition.
He took the cord from a nook in which he had secreted it from the
prying gaze of intruders. It was slight, but strong; and the hope
of freedom subdued his fears of trusting to so slender a security.
The difficulties of descending by so thin a rope were not easy to be
overcome. The height from the ground on the side of the hill was at
least ninety feet; and it would be all but impossible to slide from
such an elevation by a rope scarcely more than the third of an inch in
diameter, and which, being of silk, was so slippery that a firm hold of
it could not be secured.
About twenty feet below the rift grew a thick bush from a fissure in
the rock. The prisoner having secured his cord to a large iron ring in
the door which closed upon his prison, fastened the silver mouthpiece
of his hookah between the twistings, so that it crossed at right
angles, and thus gave him a resting-place for his foot. Having made
all secure, he slid down, tore the bush from the cleft, and with great
difficulty regained his prison. He now continued to place, at intervals
of about ten feet, small lengths of the stem and branches of the shrub,
as he had already done the mouthpiece of his hookah, thus forming a
kind of ladder.
Having prepared his frail instrument, he commenced his descent. He
had passed the rope over a projecting crag above, in order to keep it
clear from the face of the precipice. When he had descended midway, one
of the steps broke, and he was left for a few moments clinging with
desperate tenacity to the cord. He could not sustain himself--it flew
through his hand; but his progress was fortunately arrested by the next
step, which happened to be stronger, and sustained his footing. The
shock, however, of his rapid descent gave increased momentum to the
rope, which began to turn round with considerable velocity; and this
was increased by every effort made to still it.
The prisoner was becoming dizzy with the fearful whirl. He was afraid
to move, expecting every moment that he should be obliged to relinquish
his hold, and commit himself to the abyss beneath; when happily the
cord slipped from the projecting buttress above, and dashed him with
considerable violence against the stony face of the mountain. Though
severely bruised, he managed to retain his hold of the silken ladder,
now no longer agitated; and after pausing a moment to recover his
self-possession, he continued to lower himself until his progress was
arrested by the branches of a large tree. Upon these he rested, and
determined to remain till dawn.
As soon as the first beam of day slanted over the valley in which the
escaped prisoner had taken refuge, he perceived that he was in the
heart of a thickly-wooded glen, surrounded by a family of monkeys,
which began to announce their dissatisfaction at his unwelcome
intrusion by the most discordant chattering. Fearing that their din
might give warning of his escape to the garrison above, he descended
the tree with all possible despatch; when his joy was only equalled
by his astonishment at beholding before him the unsightly form of the
fakeer.
“Welcome to liberty! God is merciful! Your enemies shall be scattered,
and the captive prince enthroned! Retire with me to my dwelling, and
you shall know further.”
Saying this, the holy man led the way, followed by the grandson of
Jehangire: for he who had just escaped from captivity was no less a
personage than Dawir Buxsh, son of Sultan Chusero, and heir to the
imperial throne. Beneath the root of a large forest tree, a hole had
been dug to the depth of seven feet, which led into a small cavern
scarcely two yards square. The mode of entrance and egress was by means
of the notched trunk of a small tree, that served as a ladder.
Before he entered the subterranean retreat of his venerable companion,
the young prince, aided by the old man, twisted round a tree the cord
by which he had escaped from the fortress, and with a stick tightened
it until it gave way above, just where it had been chafed by the
rough ledge over which it had been thrown to prevent contact with the
mountain side. Having taken this precaution, he entered the sacred
dwelling of the fakeer.
CHAPTER III.
“Welcome,” said the venerable man, “to the abode of the free! You
interpreted the symbols as I had anticipated, and your liberty is
secured. The Emperor is dead, and the Vizier seeks to place you upon
the throne as legitimate heir of the empire. You must repair instantly
to the capital, and the crown will be placed upon your head.”
“May not this be a device,” asked the prince musingly, “to seduce me
into the power of new enemies? Is not Shah Jehan in arms? What forces
can I oppose to so powerful a rival?”
“The kingdom is divided. Your uncle Sheriar, at the Sultana’s
instigation, claims the succession, and is prepared to substantiate
his claims by force of arms; but the Vizier is determined to place
the sceptre in your grasp; and backed by the imperial army under the
conduct of such a leader, no one can be in a condition to dispute your
lawful inheritance with any chance of success. Your father’s rebellion
is forgotten, and the people shout your name with enthusiasm.”
“But how,” inquired the prince, with a keen glance at the venerable
minister of the Prophet,--“how have all these facts reached this lone
retreat?”
“My son,” replied the old man solemnly, “this lone retreat is
celebrated from one extremity of Hindostan to the other, and princes
visit the cavern of the fakeer. I am consulted by the wisest
legislators, as well as by the ignorant vagrant whose only abode is the
forest jungle, and his bed the dry turf. I am respected, but I am also
feared. My friendship has been won in your behalf: do not despise it,
for my enmity can reach you even upon the throne, though surrounded by
armies and directed by the wisest counsellors.”
“Well, father, it is certain that I cannot be in a worse position than
I was, confined in the dark bowels of yonder mountain. Liberty is a
cheap purchase almost at any price. Your good-will assures me I can
scarcely fail of success, supported by the alliance and directed by the
counsels of so holy a man. But suppose the garrison should seek me in
this retreat; am I secure from their search?”
“They have too much respect for the old man of the valley to desecrate
the sanctuary which he has rendered sacred by an occupation of more
than fifty years. But even should they be so bold as to forget what is
due to the character of one whose life has been devoted to God, their
efforts to recapture you will not avail:--there is succour at hand.”
“Who is advancing to my rescue?”
“One, my son, little accustomed to mount the war-horse: but when the
heart once rouses the spirit to action, the meek dove becomes an eagle
in all things--save in a thirst for blood.”
By this time the sound of voices was heard in various directions round
the fakeer’s abode. The wood grew so thickly in the valley, that in
many parts it was impossible to penetrate; and the fakeer’s retreat
was in the most inaccessible part of the jungle. There was, however, a
narrow path leading to it from the plain, which happened to be known to
one of the garrison, who undertook to conduct his comrades to the spot.
Not anticipating any interruption in their search after the fugitive, a
very small party had undertaken the pursuit.
The prince was alarmed as the voices approached, but his venerable
companion endeavoured to assure him.
“Young man,” said he, “this is not a moment for idle fears. Remember
that the success of human endeavour is permitted only where it answers
the wise ends of Him who is the source of all wisdom. I have heard that
you once escaped the tiger’s deadly spring: but know, that He who could
pluck thee from the jaws of the tiger can likewise rescue thee from the
arm of man. Bear this, moreover, in mind, that the prince who has no
confidence in God cannot be fit to reign; for no man can rule an empire
wisely except God be with him.”
The party in search of the prince had now surrounded the cavern in
which he lay concealed.
“Father,” said one of the soldiers, who seemed to be their leader,
“our prisoner has escaped, and we must seek for him in your burrow.
He would, no doubt, prefer being buried alive here, with such holy
company, to occupying a more spacious abode higher up the hill, without
any merrier companions than his own thoughts.”
“Soldier!” said the fakeer, rising from his underground dwelling, and
standing before the party with an aspect of stern indignation, “search
where you list: profane the sanctuary of the Prophet’s vicegerent by
your unhallowed intrusion, and be the consequences upon your own head.”
“My head for the consequences!” said the man, and leaped down into the
subterraneous abode of sanctity.
At this moment the fakeer stepped behind a tree--struck rapidly upon a
gong three blows, which resounded through the valley The soldier now
hailed his companions from below, announcing to them that he had found
their prisoner. The party consisted of ten men, nine of whom had by
this time surrounded the entrance of the cavern to assist their comrade
in securing the captive: they had, however, no sooner done this, than
each man fell to the earth transfixed with an arrow. A party of twenty
Bheels, rushing from their ambush, instantly despatched and stripped
the wounded soldiers.
“Now,” said the fakeer, addressing the prince, who had ascended
from his place of sanctuary, “you see how little cause there was
for distrust. Those who have been instrumental to your escape had
calculated the probabilities of a recapture too nicely not to provide
against such a contingency. You must follow your rescuers, who will
conduct you to a place of security.”
“But shall I not leave you in jeopardy? Will it not be surmised that
you have been privy to my escape, and will not my enemies wreak their
vengeance upon you?”
“Should they do their worst, they can only cut off the ragged remnant
of an existence now well nigh spun to its last thread. Let them do
what they list--I fear them not. I have fulfilled the purposes of my
vocation, and am ready to enter upon the consummation of my destiny.
Still, while I live, the benefits of my experience are at your command.”
The prince now quitted the spot with the old man’s blessing, and
followed the Bheels into the thickest of the jungle. These half-savage
mountaineers threaded the thicket with surprising facility, clearing
the way before their royal charge, and treating him with a rude
courtesy which showed that they were less barbarians by nature than by
circumstance. They were almost entirely naked, having only a narrow
strip of cloth round the loins, and another round the head, meant to
represent a turban, or rather a skull-cap. They were armed with bows
and arrows of the rudest construction, but which they used with a skill
perfectly amazing. During their progress through the forest, several
of them took occasion to display their dexterity before the royal
stranger. A partridge rose from some long grass in an open vista in
the wood, and, while on the wing, was transfixed with an arrow by one
of the Bheels. A pigeon was killed in a similar manner. A hare fell a
victim to the dexterity of a third archer.
After travelling about six hours, they reached a rude village, nearly
on the summit of a hill, in the gorge of a deep glen. The prince was
here shown into the best habitation the village afforded; which was a
small hovel thatched with dried plantain-leaves, the walls consisting
of thin bamboos interlaced with jungle-grass, the floor of mud being
overlaid with a compost of cow-dung and straw. A coarse rug was
spread in one corner, and this constituted the whole furniture of the
apartment.
The soldier who had sprung into the fakeer’s cave, and thus escaped
the arrows of the Bheels, they took prisoner, and made him accompany
them to the village. On their arrival, a consultation being held, they
determined to put him to death. He was accordingly hung with his own
turban upon the branch of a tree; and while struggling in the agonies
of strangulation, six arrows were discharged at him. His body was
afterwards cut down, stripped, and thrown into a well.
Dismal as the hovel was into which the prince was obliged to creep,
the consciousness of freedom imparted to it an air of comfort which he
had never yet enjoyed so sensibly even in his father’s palace. Before
evening closed in, a bustle was heard in the village, which was almost
immediately followed by a palankeen and two hackeries,[39] accompanied
by about twenty attendants. Such a circumstance having probably never
before occurred in a village of poor Bheels, excited a considerable
sensation among the inhabitants; some of whom, however, were evidently
so little overcome by surprise, as to render it more than probable
that the arrival had not been altogether unexpected. The prince could
not help feeling surprise when the fact was announced to him; and on
quitting the hut, in which he had flung himself upon the rug, in
order to snatch a brief repose after the fatigues of his journey,
his astonishment was only surpassed by his delight at meeting in the
stranger, whose arrival had just been announced to him, the daughter of
Sultan Shariar, who, immediately upon the death of Jehangire, had set
up his claim to the imperial throne.
An attachment had long subsisted between the daughter of Shariar and
the heir of Chusero, his eldest brother, who had been murdered by Shah
Jehan, third son of the deceased monarch Jehangire. This attachment was
originally encouraged by the parents; but Sultan Shariar had lately
withheld his approbation upon the most futile pleas, his motives
becoming sufficiently evident upon the death of his father, the late
Emperor, whom he sought to succeed as sovereign of the Moguls. Prince
Dawir Buxsh, son of Chusero, and consequently the lawful successor
of his grandfather, had been imprisoned through the intrigues of
his uncle, Shariar, who had persuaded the credulous Emperor that
the young prince was engaged in a conspiracy against his life. When
Jehangire died, Shariar immediately resolved to assert his title to the
sovereignty of the Mogul empire. His daughter, whose affection for her
cousin had not abated, in spite of her parent’s hostility, effected
the escape of Dawir Buxsh, through the intervention of the fakeer, who
hired a body of Bheels, whom he placed in ambush near his underground
dwelling, and accomplished the prince’s retreat, as has been already
described. The princess had for some days taken up her abode in the
neighbourhood, and had been apprised about noon of the success of those
measures she had employed for the prince’s release. Upon receiving this
information, she immediately set out for the village, where she arrived
about the close of day.
The prince was overjoyed at so unexpected a meeting; he could scarcely
control the excess of his rapture. Blessings seemed so to accumulate
upon him, that he already began to fancy he had swallowed the last
bitter in the draught of life, which had been sweetened by a medicament
that had either expelled or spiritualized the minutest dross, and that
there now remained nothing but a residuum of joy. He recollected the
rebukes of the holy man to whom he was so signally indebted for his
release from an odious bondage, and readily persuaded himself that
there was something prophetic in his solemn homily.
“Welcome,” said he, “sweet lady,” as he handed the princess from her
palankeen: “this is, indeed, an unexpected but welcome meeting. To what
am I indebted for so signal a gratification?”
“To a woman’s affection, prince, which, like the lightning of Heaven,
overcomes all obstacles; and, though it sometimes blasts that on which
it falls, is nevertheless a light and a glory: love throws a beam of
gladness over the dark lines of human destiny, as lightning gilds the
storm.”
“The comparison is somewhat ominous. I would rather feel the warm glow
of a woman’s love than the bright shaft which flies before the thunder.
It has a deadly gleam, when one knows that death may be in its flash.
The fires of true love harm not. But welcome, lady, to the retreat of a
poor fugitive, whose only abode is the wretched hovel of the mountain
robber.”
“You will make but a short sojourn here among these rude though
friendly mountaineers. To-morrow you may expect to meet friends ready
to place you upon that throne which you were born to honour. I have had
a hard struggle between filial love and the obligations of a plighted
affection, but the latter have prevailed. As your affianced bride, I
quitted my father’s roof to join you, when I saw he would deprive you
of your lawful inheritance. The Vizier has armed in your cause, and the
imperial army under his command is now encamped in the neighbourhood
of Lahore, where he is expecting you to join him, having been apprised
of the measures to be adopted for your escape. My father’s army is on
its march towards the capital, and when the adverse forces meet, the
struggle will no doubt be desperate.”
The prince resigned his hut to the princess, who ordered in her
palankeen, within which she determined to pass the night. Meanwhile,
Dawir Buxsh was conducted to another hut, much less clean and
commodious than that he had quitted, as a Bheel family had vacated
it in order to accommodate him. The attendants of the princess were
dispersed about the village, most of them spreading their rugs under
trees, satisfied with that sort of accommodation which, though no
hardship in eastern climes, would be considered among the severest
in countries where excess of refinement has almost given a new
interpretation to privation.
FOOTNOTES:
[39] A hackery is a covered carriage, drawn by bullocks.
CHAPTER IV.
The royal fugitive now thought that he was beyond the reach of pursuit,
and, in a state of enviable tranquillity, threw himself upon a rug in
a corner of his hovel. He was too happy to sleep, and lay thinking
upon the splendid prospects opening before him, and which appeared on
the eve of consummation. The first man in the empire had armed in his
cause; the whole imperial army appeared favourable to his pretentions,
and few or none of the principal Omrahs, so far as he could ascertain,
had declared against him. He was secure in the affections of the most
beautiful princess of her age. Being young, in high health, and in the
vigour of early manhood, he foresaw nothing but enjoyment.
As he lay pondering the happiness which his full and joyous heart
flattered itself was in store for him, he seemed to be carried
into a new but delightful world, where the visionary was not to be
distinguished from the true, but where there was nothing of the one or
the other to arrest that full tide of fruition which was flowing in
upon him. His very body appeared to be lifted above this gross earth,
and though it was reclined upon a coarse rug, within the small dirty
sty of a Bheel, it was at that moment alive to sensations of thrilling
delight. The soul was too buoyant to be tied down to the material
pleasures of this gross world, but soared with the imagination into a
new field of bliss, where, though it was entranced in a delusive dream
of the moment, this was nevertheless one of those exquisite fictions
which have all the glow and vividness of the most distinct reality.
These happy visions at length gave way to a profound sleep; his senses
were steeped in an unconsciousness so absolute that no perceptible
image passed over the fine speculum of the brain, which the heavy
breath of slumber had rendered too dull for reflection. In the midst
of his stubborn repose he was roused by sounds that portended evil.
He listened; the clash of arms was distinguishable, and presently
blended with the shouts of conflict. Morning had not yet dawned,
but the stars were bright above, and there was sufficient light to
distinguish objects not very remote. The prince was staggered, he knew
not what to think. It occurred to him that part of the garrison, from
whose custody he had escaped, must have traced him to his retreat, and
were in the act of attempting a rescue. Impelled by his apprehension
for the princess, he rushed towards the hut which she occupied, but
to his consternation found it deserted. None of her attendants were
at hand. The shouts of battle still sounded in his ears; he bounded
forward, but was almost immediately surrounded. Being unarmed, he could
offer no resistance. How suddenly was the beautiful fabric raised by
the enthusiastic ardour of hope subverted! His hands were instantly
secured, and he was ordered to proceed between two soldiers, two
preceding and two following.
Light streaks of grey were beginning to dapple the horizon. The prince
was now made acquainted with the nature of the late conflict, which he
already partly suspected. Sultan Shariar, having been apprized, just
before the princess quitted her home, that she had projected a plan
for the delivery of Dawir Buxsh, had ordered a strong party of troops
to follow in her track, suspecting that she was about to proceed to
the place where his competitor for the throne of the Moguls would lie
concealed, if he should succeed in effecting his escape. The princess,
the better to cover her design, quitted her home under pretence of
making a pilgrimage to an ancient mosque raised by one of the early
Mahomedan conquerers. Her intention was no secret to her father, who
ordered her to be followed at a convenient distance, and brought
back when she should have reached the place of her destination, with
the Prince Dawir Buxsh, if he should be discovered there. This order
had been executed with such success that both the princess and her
affianced husband fell into the hands of the detachment from Shariar’s
army, as has been already detailed.
As the dawn advanced the troops were galled by arrows from the Bheels,
who lay in ambush in the various thickets of the jungle. Not an enemy
was to be seen, and yet the frequent wounds received by the Sultan’s
soldiers as they descended the hill told with a forcible eloquence
how deadly were the foes by whom they were surrounded. In order to
keep their body as compact as possible, that it might present less
surface to the arrows of the foe, they marched in close column of
six deep, dividing in the centre, where the princess was borne in
her palankeen, and the prince, guarded by six soldiers, brought up
the rear. The column was dreadfully galled as it proceeded. Several
soldiers fell dead from the arrows of their secret foes. There was no
evading the peril, and no possibility of reaching the bowmen, who were
so intimately acquainted with every intricacy of the jungle that the
moment they were pursued they disappeared among the thickets, where it
was impossible to follow them.
The prince was vigilantly guarded; but in passing through a dark hollow
of the wood, the two soldiers on either side of him received at the
same moment an arrow in their temples, and expired on the spot, the
four others being likewise wounded, though not mortally. A party of
Bheels darted from the covert in an instant and seized the captive,
but were impeded by the brave resistance of the four wounded soldiers,
until a party of the main body came up and put those bold mountaineers
to flight. In the struggle, their royal prisoner received a severe
sabre-cut on the back part of his arm, which was bound up tightly
with his turban to prevent the effusion of blood. Happily for Sultan
Shariar’s troops, their march through the jungle was not a long one, or
they would have been more than probably cut off to a man.
Upon gaining the bottom of the hill, the detachment entered a naked
plain, in which, after a short march, they halted near a village,
under a tope or grove of mango trees. Such however was the severe
execution done among them in their progress through the forest, that
upon numbering their force, they discovered that fifteen out of a
hundred had been killed, and thirty-two wounded, nine of whom they were
obliged to leave behind them at the village, to the care of the native
surgeons. The prince’s arm was here examined, but the hurt, though
severe, was found to be only a flesh wound; which being dressed, the
detachment proceeded on its march after taking a slight repast, and
halted a second time at another village, about two hours before noon.
Here the prince began to suffer considerable pain from his wound. He
became feverish and depressed. He requested to be allowed an interview
with the princess, which was refused. The reaction of disappointment
soon increased his feverish symptoms to an alarming extent. He was now
as despondent as he had been previously exhilarated, and saw nothing
in the future but gigantic miseries, or the shadows of departed joys.
His heart sickened; he gave way to unmanly sorrow. His ardent spirit,
which had been elevated to the highest pinnacle of hope, sank at once
into the very lowest depths of despair. He felt as if the stroke of
death would be a blessing. His fever increased to such a degree that
he was unable to proceed, for he had hitherto been forced to march
like a common soldier. In consequence of his illness a rude litter was
provided, upon which he was placed, a coarse cloth being thrown over
it, to exclude the scorching rays of the sun, and he thus proceeded,
borne upon the shoulders of six men. No entreaties could induce the
officer commanding the detachment to allow him to hold a moment’s
conversation with Shariar’s daughter, who was guarded with a vigilance
that defied evasion. She was, however, treated with the greatest
respect, and every attention paid to her comfort; while her cousin, on
the contrary, had not only been treated with marked disrespect, but
subjected to many painful indignities. Of this his companion in sorrow
was ignorant. Still, although every wish she expressed consistent with
her security was immediately granted, yet her earnest solicitations to
see the prince were refused. She therefore proceeded in silence and in
sadness under this bitterest privation of her captivity.
The illness of Dawir Buxsh was studiously kept from her knowledge, nor
until they reached their destination was the circumstance of his having
been wounded made known to her.
Upon their arrival at Shariar’s camp, the prince was consigned to a
tent which was rigidly guarded; and the father having upbraided his
daughter with treachery, gave her into the custody of some of the
female attendants of the harem, who took her to a tent in the rear
of the encampment, likewise surrounded by a numerous and vigilant
guard. Her ordinary attendants were withdrawn; the men distributed in
different divisions of the army, and the women sent to other services.
The royal prisoner was kept in rigid confinement; and though his
fever became high and threatened to be fatal, not even a servant was
permitted to wait upon him. He was deeply galled at this indignity;
but the guards derided his expostulations, and he was left to struggle
against his malady as he best might. The strength of his constitution
prevailed. On the third day the violence of his fever abated, and his
wound began rapidly to heal.
Shariar, hearing that the Vizier was advancing towards him with the
imperial army, which, though less in number than his own, was composed
of choicer troops, was afraid of proceeding to extremities against his
prisoner, lest it should weaken his own cause by casting upon him the
slur of having murdered a nephew and lawful heir to the throne. He was
nevertheless in hopes that harsh treatment might aggravate the fever
which the prince’s wound had induced, and thus, by removing out of his
way a dangerous competitor, leave the road to empire comparatively
clear before him.
The Vizier had now advanced within two coss of Shariar’s army, which
was encamped on the opposite side of a narrow but deep stream, that
divided the hostile forces. Shariar had taken up a strong position on
the slope of a hill, flanked on one side by the stream, and on the
other by a thick jungle. The Vizier crossed this stream during the
night, at a ford about two miles below the enemy’s encampment, and
appeared next morning drawn up in battle array upon the plain. His army
was formed into three divisions; the right wing being commanded by
Mohabet Chan, the second by an Omrah, who had distinguished himself in
the Deccan, under Shah Jehan, and the centre by the Vizier in person.
As the army of Shariar was in too strong a position to render an attack
prudent on the part of the imperialists, the Vizier, suspecting that
the enemy, confiding in superior numbers, would rush down upon him from
the height which they occupied, warily awaited the expected onset.
He was not deceived in this conjecture. Shariar, conceiving that the
impetuosity of a charge from the elevation of his position would give
him considerable advantage, commanded a vigorous onset to be made
against the enemy’s centre, where the Vizier commanded. The shock was
so great that the imperialists recoiled; but Mohabet Chan immediately
brought up his men, who, attacking the Sultan’s troops with great
energy upon the left flank, soon checked the momentary advantage which
they had obtained, and the battle raged for some time with a pretty
near equality of success.
The raw forces of Shariar were several times repulsed by the
well-disciplined valour of the imperial soldiers; but fresh troops
rushed to the charge as their comrades gave way, and the balance
of victory hung for some time doubtful. The Vizier’s elephant was
killed under him, but he leaped from the howdah, and fought on foot
with a spirit which infused new courage into his army, and baffled
the repeated assaults of the enemy. Whilst the right wing, under the
command of Mohabet, and the centre, at the head of which the Vizier
still fought in person, were maintaining a desperate conflict against
superior numbers, with slow but manifest advantage, the left wing was
repulsed, and obliged to retreat before the impetuous charge of its
foes, headed by their princes. At this critical moment, Dawir Buxsh,
who had managed during the confusion of the battle to escape from his
guards, was seen in full career towards the contending armies. He had
mounted a charger which had galloped from the battle on the death
of its rider. Reaching the left wing of the imperial army as it was
retreating before its victors, he shouted to the soldiers to support
their sovereign. The enemy paused for an instant in their career of
pursuit, unable to comprehend the arrival of a foe from their own camp.
During that pause the imperialists rallied. Dawir Buxsh placed himself
at their head, charged and drove back the insurgents, who, becoming
dispirited by so unexpected a check, faltered, retreated, and their
retreat was soon converted into a total rout. The centre and right
wing, commanded by the Vizier and Mohabet Chan, had already obtained so
decided an advantage over the main body of the army to which they were
opposed, that the rout of the enemy’s right wing almost immediately
decided the fortune of the day. The army of Shariar was totally
defeated, and he fell into the hands of the Vizier. The slaughter was
dreadful, the victory decisive.
CHAPTER V.
Prince Dawir Buxsh was received with loud acclamation by the troops.
His late exploit gave them hopes of an emperor that would lead them on
to conquest. He was borne in triumph to the imperial camp, and next
day the army proceeded to Agra. Sultan Shariar’s daughter had fallen
into the victor’s hands. The youthful sovereign desired that she might
be brought into his presence; she accordingly appeared before him,
her bosom agitated by conflicting emotions. She was at once elated by
joy at her lover’s release, and depressed by sorrow at her father’s
captivity. Her beauty was heightened by the singular variety of feeling
which her countenance expressed. She fell at the prince’s feet: he
affectionately raised her, and said, with earnest but tender passion,
“Let not my preserver kneel to one who is indebted to her for his
liberty--perhaps his life; for the dungeon soon puts an end to earthly
captivities. The star of our destinies has risen--may it ascend in
glory to its meridian! As soon as I am placed upon the musnud, our
marriage shall be solemnized, and we will enjoy the consummation of our
happiness, which adverse chances have so long delayed.”
“But my father!” exclaimed the princess with a suffused eye and
quivering lip.
“He will, for the present, remain a prisoner. He has sought to usurp
the crown. The sovereign of the Moguls must perform his duty to his
people as well as to himself.”
This was said with a tone of grave determination, which strikingly
contrasted with the warm glow of tenderness that had preceded it. There
was an expression of almost stern resolution in the calm but brilliant
gleam of the speaker’s eye. The princess burst into tears.
“Be composed, lady,” said the prince, resuming his former tenderness,
“and confide in my justice, which I trust will never neutralize my
clemency. Your father has erred; and if he may not be forgiven, for
your sake his life is sacred.”
The daughter gave an hysteric sob, threw herself upon the prince’s
neck, and yielded to an irrepressible burst of emotion. She was
relieved by the promise: a smile dilated her brow; her dark full
eye expanded with a strong impulse of gratitude; and a single tear
trickled slowly down her cheek, upon which a delicate smile quivered,
like sunshine following the shower. The attendants were moved at
the scene; the prince was subdued, still his determination relative
to the prisoner, which had not yet transpired, remained unaltered.
His attachment towards his daughter was strong and fervent, but he
could not forget that he had been grossly wronged. The indignities
so wantonly heaped upon him during his march to Shariar’s camp, when
suffering from the pain of his wound, did not pass from his mind, and
it is not the character of despotic princes to suffer injury to escape
retribution.
The princess retired from the royal tent with a joyous satisfaction
arising from the assurance that her father’s life should be spared. She
could not for a moment suppose that the man by whom she was evidently
beloved, would allow himself long to entertain feelings of hostility
towards her parent, however great the provocation. But she knew not
the heart of him upon whose clemency she relied. Revenge is the most
difficult passion of our nature to subdue; and its indulgence, among
absolute princes, is one of the greatest evils of despotism.
Dawir Buxsh proceeded to Agra, accompanied by the Vizier and Mohabet
Chan, and was hailed as their Emperor by the universal acclamation
of the citizens. He was immediately seated upon the musnud, and a
proclamation issued for the celebration of the royal nuptials with the
daughter of Sultan Shariar.
On the following day the prisoner was summoned into the presence of
his imperial nephew. He appeared with an emaciated countenance and a
dejected mien. He had been long suffering from a dreadful malady, which
had almost reduced him to a shadow. His daughter was present when her
parent entered, and seeing his bitter dejection, she threw herself upon
his bosom in a paroxysm of filial grief. She was gently removed by the
attendants.
“What does the man deserve,” asked Dawir Buxsh sternly, turning towards
the disconsolate prisoner, “who has rebelled against his lawful
sovereign, cast him into prison, treated him with indignity, and
exposed his life to jeopardy?”
Shariar was silent.
“Silence is the most eloquent confession of guilt,” continued the
Emperor; “dost thou not deserve that death, which, had your ambitious
arms succeeded, you had no doubt in reserve for me?”
“I am in your power,” replied Shariar firmly; “you can exercise that
power as your discretion may prompt. I may be your victim, but nothing
shall force me to disclose my intentions. I acted as I felt justified
in acting; it has ended in failure, and I am prepared to pay the
penalty.”
The indignation of the young Emperor was kindled, and he said fiercely,
“Hoary traitors must not escape punishment, however nearly allied to
the throne. I have promised to spare your life,” said he, “but the
light of heaven shall never more beam upon those eyes.”
Saying this he rose, and gave the signal to a soldier, who advanced
and seized the unhappy Shariar. His daughter, with a wild scream of
agony, threw herself between the ruffian and his victim; but she was
instantly torn from the embraces of her parent, who stood with patient
resignation, awaiting the execution of his dreadful sentence. The
soldier advanced, and plunged the point of his crease into both eyes
of the unfortunate Sultan. With the blood trickling down his cheeks,
mingled with tears, he implored to be once more permitted to embrace
his child. She rushed into his arms.
“Tyrant!” said she, addressing the young Emperor, “this heart shall
never be united with that of one whose hand is stained with my parent’s
blood. I have no longer anything to render this world desirable, and
quit it imprecating the malediction of a dying woman upon thy head!”
Saying this, she seized a crease which was stuck in the girdle of one
of the guards, drew it suddenly before he was aware of her purpose,
and plunging it into her bosom, fell dead at the soldier’s feet. The
prince was staggered at the dreadful but unexpected issue of his own
severity. He had never for a moment contemplated such a consummation.
His attachment to the princess had been ardent, but he could not forget
the wrongs received at the hands of her father.
From this moment a cloud of gloom hung upon his brow. He saw no one;
and his seclusion gave umbrage to his subjects, who began to murmur
at the want of enterprise in their new Sovereign. Rumours were daily
spreading of Shah Jehan’s approach to avenge the indignity offered
to his brother Shariar, and the death of that prince’s daughter; but
the Emperor disregarded these rumours, fancying himself secure in the
affections of his people, and in the support of the Vizier and Mohabet
Chan.
Shortly after the decease of his affianced bride, the venerable fakeer
stood before Dawir Buxsh, and with undaunted severity upbraided him
with his cruel rigour towards his uncle.
“Your throne totters,” he said solemnly; “the sceptre which a tyrant
sways is ever held in a feeble grasp, and by a precarious tenure.
Justice can never sanction cruelty; and you should have remembered that
you were indebted for liberty, most probably for life, to the daughter
of that prince whom you have so wantonly mutilated. The blood of that
daughter will cry from the earth against you. Heaven has its punishment
for guilty sovereigns, and your doom has gone forth.”
The youthful monarch was subdued by the solemn earnestness of the holy
man, and quailed before him.
“Father,” he said, “I have but visited a rebel with merited
retribution. His cruelties towards me have been repaid with cruelty,
which the laws of justice sanction.”
“But which,” fervently exclaimed the fakeer, “the laws of religion
forbid. The justice of tyrants is not the justice of the great and good
God, who so tempers it with mercy that repentance converts it into a
blessing both to the receiver and the giver. Justice becomes a bane
where mercy is defied and scorned. Retribution is an attribute which
belongs alone to Omnipotence; man knows not how to exercise it. You
have attempted to grasp the thunder; beware that it does not recoil
upon your own head with that terrible energy which leaves behind the
fearful impress of destruction.”
Bold as was the rebuke of this venerable man, and even insolent as was
his intrusion and bearing, yet such was his character for sanctity,
and so universal the awe in which he was held, that no one attempted
to resent the indignity offered to their sovereign, and the fakeer
quitted the imperial presence with a smile of calm defiance, as he
tottered out of the palace. The Emperor called to mind his visit while
he was a captive, and remembered that to him he was chiefly indebted
for the success of the princess’s plan for his escape, which had been
eventually crowned with such complete success; he therefore permitted
him to pass from the palace without molestation. The old man’s words,
however, had sunk deep into the heart of Dawir Buxsh, and harrowed him
to the quick. There was a fearful import in them which troubled him
sorely; they sounded like the dark presage of doom.
The rumours of his uncle Shah Jehan’s approach daily strengthened,
and he already began to fancy that he saw his own speedy downfall.
Those nobles who were more immediately about his person, whispered
doubts of the Vizier’s sincerity, and these doubts were but too soon
confirmed. The report of Shah Jehan’s march towards the capital was
shortly verified. He reached Lahore at the head of a numerous army,
and encamped a few miles from the city. The young Emperor had taken no
measures to interrupt his passage, relying upon the fidelity of the
Vizier and Mohabet Chan, both of whom, as he found out, too late, had
favoured his uncle’s designs upon the throne. He received a summons,
which was communicated by the Vizier, to resign the sceptre into older
and abler hands. When the unhappy sovereign upbraided his minister with
treachery, the latter did not hesitate to confess that he had simply
favoured his accession, in order to give time for Shah Jehan to collect
an army and put himself in a condition to dispute his rights. “The
Moguls,” continued the Vizier, “do not like to be governed either by
boys or by women, both of whom ought to yield to the natural supremacy
of men.”
This was not the time to dispute a doctrine subversive of all
legitimate rights, with one who had the power to illustrate it in his
own hands. Dawir Buxsh, without a moment’s hesitation, seeing that
opposition would be mere fatuity, consented to relinquish the imperial
sceptre provided his life were spared, and a competent maintenance
assured to him. No answer was returned to these stipulations, but on
the following day the deposed Emperor was confined to one of the lower
apartments of the Seraglio, and Shah Jehan proclaimed Emperor, with
almost universal consent; such is human tergiversation! The people have
no lasting affection for sovereigns. The favourite of to-day is an
object of hatred to-morrow--
Within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Death keeps his court.
Dawir Buxsh, who had been lately raised to a throne amid popular
acclamation, was now hurled from his elevation, and more an object of
pity than the meanest among those whom he had so lately governed. His
cruelty to the unhappy Shariar too late filled him with remorse. The
death of that Sultan’s daughter tortured his memory with a thousand
bitter pangs. He saw that his fate was determined on, and the lingering
desire of life made him look forward to death with horror.
On the morning after his uncle’s accession to the throne of the Moguls,
two eunuchs entered the prison of Dawir Buxsh; he immediately knew
that he was to die, and throwing himself upon his knees, was strangled
whilst in the act of putting up a prayer to Heaven. The aspiration was
cut short by the bow-string, and Multan Shariar and his daughter were
both fully avenged.
The Omrah’s Daughter
CHAPTER I.
Lody Chan was seated in the veranda of his palace, smoking his hookah,
and enjoying the luxury of repose which that exquisite instrument is
so admirably calculated to induce. Behind him stood a tall attendant
dressed in a tunic of green cloth, his waist encircled by a red
cummerbund, his head surmounted with a bright yellow turban, undulating
a yak’s tail over his master, to prevent mosquitos from sounding in his
ears their little note of warning, or fixing their fine taper antennæ
into those rich conduits through which the currents of life meander in
ten thousand winding avenues to and from the heart. Beside this man
stood another attendant, somewhat differently clad as to colour, but
precisely similar in costume, waving a punka beside the Chan, in order
to break the stagnation of the hot air of noon, in a shade where the
thermometer would stand at ninety-eight degrees.
Lody was seated upon a carpet from the valued looms of Persia; beside
him stood a goblet of Shiraz wine, and at his right hand a matchlock,
its stock richly inlaid with gold. From the eaves of the veranda fell
a silk awning, which was lowered when the sun slanted its level rays
above the horizon in its early rising, or flooded the plain with its
departing glories, ere it sank behind the broad ocean. This awning
was brocaded with the precious metals from the celebrated bazaars
of Ispahan, unrivalled throughout the East for the richness of its
tissues. The walls were panelled with polished steel, which multiplied
the reflection of every object near, and seemed to give an almost
interminable space to the balconies by which the palace was surrounded.
Arms, burnished with a care that showed how highly they were prized,
hung from the pilasters which supported the projecting roof of the
veranda, and various emblems of war were distributed around, with a
profusion and an attention to effect, which sufficiently evinced how
familiar the lord of this palace was with that bane of peace upon earth
of which it has been too truly said, and but too little heeded, that
War’s a game
Which, were their subjects wise, kings would not play at.
Everything around the palace of Chan Lody attested his predilection for
this most desperate game of chance that man can engage in. He was one
of the greatest warriors of his day. Being a descendant of the imperial
family of Lody, he felt anxious to maintain the dignity of his house;
but though glory was the fierce aim of his ambition, he never tarnished
it by an act of dishonour. He was indeed an ambitious prince, but a
generous soldier and a virtuous man.
Whilst he sat drawing through the golden mouthpiece of his beautifully
embossed hookah the exhalations of a richly aromatic chillam, a
stranger was announced desiring to have an interview with the Chan.
“Admit him,” said Lody to the attendant, who instantly withdrew, and
shortly returned, ushering in the stranger.
The latter appeared to be a youth of noble deportment and gallant
bearing. He was evidently in the dawn of manhood, but had all its best
attributes legibly recorded on his clear open brow and small decided
features. Lody’s eye relaxed into a faint yet bright smile as he bent
it upon the noble stranger, whose salutation he returned with much
courtesy.
“Chan Lody,” said the youth, “you are aware that the Emperor Jehangire
is in paradise; a usurper, aided by the influence of the Sultana, is
upon the throne: the Sultan, Shah Jehan, now lawful sovereign of the
Moguls, is on his march to vindicate his rights and seize the imperial
sceptre: his route lies through your territories, through which he
demands your permission to pass, and a safe conduct. What answer shall
I return, Chan Lody?”
Lody’s brow became suddenly overcast; and he said bitterly, “Princes
who solicit favours should know how to bestow them.”
“Is this the answer I am to return to the Sultan?”
“No; when you have refreshed yourself with food and rest, I will give
you my answer at length.”
“Is it hostile or peaceable?”
“You will know when you receive it.”
“Chan Lody, I accept not the hospitality of an enemy. If you deny what
I come to solicit, I quit your presence with a full and unqualified
defiance; if you grant it, I will eat your salt with joy, and the
Prophet’s blessing will requite you for the boon.”
“Young man, your defiance or your blessing is to me alike indifferent.
I have no desire that you should either eat my salt or make my palace a
place of rest. Bear my answer to your master. I grant no safe conduct
to rebels. A rebellious son cannot be a just prince. I would rather see
the enemy at my gates, than Shah Jehan Emperor of the Moguls.”
“A time may come when Chan Lody will be glad to forget that he has
dared to insult his sovereign.”
Saying this, the youthful messenger turned upon his heel and was about
to depart, but the Chan ordered him to be detained; then, by way of
adding contempt to his refusal, the indignant Omrah commanded the dress
of a menial to be brought, and filling a small bag with rupees, he
charged the sultan’s envoy to deliver them, together with an old lean
horse, to his master.
The young man departed; and meeting a shepherd at some short distance
from Burhampoor, gave him the dress, the rupees, and the horse, bidding
him deliver them to Chan Lody with this message:--that Prince Morad,
son of the Emperor Shah Jehan, returned the gift designed for his
royal parent, as the giver might one day need a beggar’s boon, since
adversity was generally the lot of insolent nobles and disaffected
subjects.
The shepherd, not considering himself bound by the laws of honour,
and not being harassed by delicate scruples, appropriated the dress,
rupees, and horse to his own purposes. What to one man was an offence,
was to another a blessing.
Morad, galled by the indignity which had been so wantonly offered to
him, proceeded towards his father’s encampment. On emerging from a
thick forest upon an extensive plain, he saw a party at some distance
advancing in the direction of the jungle. As they approached nearer, he
perceived a palankeen accompanied by a numerous train of attendants.
Before they had reached the path which led into the forest, a wild
elephant started from the thicket, and rushed with a short shrill cry
towards the approaching cavalcade. Terrified at the sight of such a
huge foe, the attendants dispersed; and the bearers laying down the
palankeen, fled in different directions. The elephant advanced with
an aspect of deadly hostility towards the palankeen, which, as Morad
perceived, from the curtains being closely drawn round it, contained a
female; and, from the number of her attendants, it was evident that she
was a female of rank. Unappalled by the danger, he darted forward; and
being nearer the palankeen than the elephant, came up with the animal
before it could reach its victim. Striking it with his sword just above
the knee joint of the right leg behind, he at once disabled it, and
diverted its attention from the object of attack. The huge creature
immediately uttered a scream of agony, and turned upon Morad but unable
to use the wounded limb, its movements were slow and embarrassed:
Morad, therefore, had no difficulty in evading its assault by actively
running behind it, and seizing his opportunity, he inflicted another
wound on the other hind leg, which rendered the elephant unable to
do mischief. It rolled upon the earth: and Morad calling upon his
attendants to approach, took a matchlock, and placing the muzzle to the
ear of the huge beast, sent a bullet into its brain. The animal uttered
a short loud roar, and died.
Meanwhile the lady had quitted her palankeen, and stood before her
youthful deliverer in the beaming lustre of her beauty. Her countenance
was calm and unruffled, and her dark eye was fixed upon the dead
elephant with an expression of resolute satisfaction that showed how
little she had been disturbed by the past danger. She made a graceful
salaam of acknowledgment; and, beckoning with an air of haughty
command to her attendants, thanked her deliverer with a somewhat lofty
courtesy, and, inviting him to return to her father’s palace, entered
her palankeen. Morad, who had been struck with her beauty, learned in
a few words that she was the daughter of Chan Lody. Notwithstanding
the late discourtesies which had passed between them, and the insult
offered to his parent, he determined to escort the lovely girl to her
father’s dwelling. He had been charmed with the beautiful countenance
and magnanimous bearing of the Chan’s daughter, and now felt really
anxious that a better understanding should exist between her parent and
his own. He therefore returned with her to Burhampoor. On reaching Chan
Lody’s palace, the lady wished Morad to enter, in order that he might
receive her father’s acknowledgments for the signal service he had
rendered his child.
“Lady,” said the prince, “I am the son of Shah Jehan, to whom your
father refuses a passage through his dominions. I cannot again enter
the presence of one who has denied my parent and his sovereign so poor
a boon.”
“Life, prince, is a valueless possession, unless we hold it on those
terms which make it worth the prizing; and, believe me, I would rather
mine were forfeited than be indebted for its preservation to a scion
of Chan Lody’s foe. You, however, have conferred the obligation nobly,
at the risk of your own; my courtesy, therefore, is the least I can
offer you. Enter, and I will take upon me to secure for you my father’s
hospitality, who could not but be happy to entertain his daughter’s
deliverer.”
“I should be sorry to test the hospitality of a man whose heart would
be at variance with his urbanity. For what I have done, the approbation
of my own conscience is a sufficient reward; and your courtesy has
cancelled whatever obligation you may have considered yourself under to
me. But perhaps you will do me the favour to tell Chan Lody that he is
indebted for his daughter’s life to the son of Shah Jehan.”
The lovely Jahanira a moment bent her piercing eye upon Morad, and
said, in a tone of proud dignity, “Our acquaintance then will end
here, since you refuse the hospitality which has been at least
courteously offered; but I am your debtor, and shall, I trust, live to
cancel my debt. Farewell!”
She entered the palace, and Morad retraced his steps. As he pursued his
journey towards his father’s tents, he could not help reflecting on the
sublime beauty of Chan Lody’s daughter. She was evidently a woman of
a lofty and indomitable spirit. Her parent’s dauntless soul beamed in
her full black eyes, and her small budding mouth, the lips of which met
each other with a firm compression that seemed to mock the tenderness
of a more gentle contact, showed there was a high resolve within her
which nothing short of death could subdue. Morad was young and ardent.
His whole soul quivered like a sunbeam at the bare thought of an
enterprise that should cast a halo of glory around it and his bosom
glowed with germane sympathy, where he beheld any symptom of feeling
congenial with his own. The stern refusal of Chan Lody had roused his
indignation; the proud spirit of his daughter had won him to a gentler
mood, and her beauty ratified what her lofty bearing had expressed.
When he entered his father’s presence, he reported the Omrah’s refusal,
but withheld the indignities with which it had been accompanied. Shah
Jehan was mortified and indignant at this issue of his embassy to the
haughty noble of Burhampoor; and, breaking up his camp, he proceeded to
the capital by another route.
CHAPTER II.
Within a few weeks after the events related in the preceding chapter,
Chan Lody was apprised of Shah Jehan’s accession to the imperial
throne. He was too powerful an Omrah not to be conciliated; the
Emperor, therefore, despatched his son Morad with a message to
invite Lody to visit the capital, promising him oblivion of all past
indignities, with assurances of future favour. The Chan, trusting to
the dignity of his own character, and his influence among the nobles,
who honoured him as a man of lofty courage and impregnable integrity,
consented at once to repair to Agra with his family, considering that
his presence at the seat of government might be of some advantage to
the state, as he was determined to watch with jealous scrutiny the
motions of the reigning sovereign, to whose accession he had always
been vehemently hostile. He, however, received Morad with courteous
hospitality, as the saviour of his daughter’s life; and the young
prince, remembering the impression which the lovely Jahanira had made
upon him, offered himself to the father as her suitor. This was an
alliance not at all coveted by Chan Lody, who, though he was by no
means wanting in ambition, bore nevertheless too great an antipathy to
the reigning Emperor to be desirous of a family connexion with him.
“My daughter,” said he to Morad, “is the person most concerned in this
matter. You must consult her. She knows my wishes and her own. Whatever
her choice may be, I shall not obstruct it. When you have gained her
consent, I shall not withhold mine.”
Morad obtained an interview, and made his proposals. Jahanira paused,
and surveyed him with a calm countenance, yet every feature radiant
with that mind of which they were all most eloquent interpreters. After
an earnest, but still respectful, scrutiny, she replied, “Prince,
you are of noble birth, and therefore an alliance with you could not
dishonour me; you are of a manly and agreeable person; you have the
reputation of being brave, generous, just, and, in short, of possessing
all the best qualities that belong to great and good men; personally,
therefore, I cannot object to you as the disposer of my future life.
Moreover, you have saved that life; gratitude, consequently, would
induce me to accede to any honourable proposal which you could make me:
but my father and yours bear a deep enmity against each other, and this
is an impassable bar to such an alliance as you seek between the house
of Timour and that of Lody.”
Morad was mortified at this rejection, and returned to Agra with
the poison of disappointment rankling in his bosom. He kept the
matter secret from his royal parent, who, he knew, would have felt
the greatest indignation at his having made such a proposal to the
daughter of a man who had treated him with offensive indignity.
Shortly after this, Chan Lody arrived with his family at Agra, and took
up his abode in a large house surrounded by strong and lofty walls,
not far from the palace. A few days after his arrival, he appeared at
court, attended by his two sons. He was received by the Emperor with
constrained courtesy, which satisfied him that the royal forgiveness
so solemnly pledged to him was hollow and unsound. He was obliged to
perform certain ceremonies which he considered not consistent with his
rank and influence in the state; but seeing the impolicy of resistance
at that moment, he patiently submitted to the indignity, though he
clearly perceived that it was meant as a tacit retaliation. His son
Azmut, a fine spirited youth of sixteen, followed his father into the
hall of audience. The usher Perist, keeping him prostrate before the
sovereign longer than the customary ceremony required, Azmut started up
from the ground, sprang upon his feet, and was about to turn his back
upon the royal presence when Perist struck him smartly upon the head
with his rod, and ordered him in a peremptory tone, again to prostrate
himself. The boy’s spirit was kindled; with sparkling eyes and flushed
cheeks he drew his sword, and made a stroke at the usher’s head, which
would have proved fatal, had not his weapon been struck down by some of
the guards, who, on state occasions, were always in attendance in the
courts of Mogul potentates.