Lody, suspecting that his life was aimed at, drew his dagger; and his

two sons, placing themselves on either side of their father, with

their weapons bared, produced a scene of general consternation. Many

of the Omrahs unsheathed their swords, but the known valour of Chan

Lody kept them in awe. The Emperor leaped from his throne, and ordered

the refractory noble to be seized, together with his sons. One of the

mace-bearers, who happened to be near Azmut, laid hold of him, but the

youth instantly buried a crease in his throat. The confusion increased.

Two Omrahs fell beneath the arm of Chan Lody, who, rushing from the

presence, followed by his sons, sought refuge in his own house, and

ordered the gates to be instantly closed. He was proclaimed a rebel,

and orders issued for his immediate apprehension; but the house to

which he had repaired was so strongly fortified, that the fulfilment of

the royal mandate was anything but an easy matter.

The Emperor’s rage was now at its height; all his former hostility

revived in full force, and he determined that the refractory Omrah

should pay the extreme penalty of his rashness. He commanded Morad to

besiege him in his castle. The latter, though he had scarcely recovered

from the mortification to which he had been subjected by the beautiful

but haughty daughter of the refractory noble, nevertheless undertook

the command with some reluctance, respecting the virtues of the man

whom, though he certainly did not love, he nevertheless could not

despise.

The house was invested; and the rebel, as Chan Lody was pronounced

to be, summoned to surrender. He returned an answer of defiance. In

reply to Morad’s summons, he appeared with his sons and daughter upon

the walls, and said, pointing to the latter, “You shall receive our

answer from the lips of a woman, but that woman the daughter of Chan

Lody.”--“Prince Morad,” said Jahanira, advancing to the very edge of

the wall, “the brave never succumb to tyranny. Life is really only

enjoyed by the free; and tyrants grant not liberty when they can

exercise their power upon those who do not acknowledge it. We are

resolved never to yield, Prince Morad; and even if your legions should

overwhelm us, I need not remind you that the brave have a certain

refuge in death.”

The siege was pursued by Morad with such vigour for several days,

that it was evident the besieged must shortly capitulate. Lody was

embarrassed. He saw that there remained only one course--to cut his way

through the enemy, and escape to Malwa. Desperate as the attempt was,

he resolved to make it on the following morning. His sons and daughter

determined to accompany him in his perilous flight. He communicated his

intention to his women and the various members of his family, most of

whom, he said, he must leave to the imperial mercy. Tears and groans

followed the communication, but there was no alternative betwixt death

and captivity. He endeavoured to persuade his women that they, at

least, would be treated with clemency. They answered with him renewed

tears. He turned from them in an agony of grief; but his determination

was taken, and, retiring to his apartment, he gave vent to the overflow

of his feelings. Calling his three sons, he arranged with them the time

for the desperate sally which was to be made on the following morning.

His daughter, whom he loved as a son, and perfectly adored for the

elevated heroism of her character, was present at this arrangement, and

they finally separated for the night.

Lody could not sleep, and quitted his chamber to break the gloomy train

of his thoughts. He passed into a large court, which was flanked by

the women’s apartments. The night was dark, the sky overcast, and the

whole aspect of nature seemed to suit the gloomy habit of his soul.

The dew fell heavily, but it cooled his fevered brow. As he passed by

the apartments of his women, he heard groans as of persons in agony.

He stopped to listen--they were repeated; there could be no mistaking

the sound. His heart throbbed audibly. He entered--listened--all

was still; every light had been extinguished. He passed through the

different chambers, but there was no sound. He called upon several, who

were wont to answer his summons with a ready alacrity; there was no

reply. What could be the cause? Horrible, but indefinite, suspicions

crowded upon his mind. He at length entered into an inner apartment,

and, stumbling over some obstacle, fell upon his face. He arose, and,

in a small ante-chamber, perceived a light glimmering faintly behind

a curtain. Upon removing the drapery, he perceived the dead body of a

female favourite. He raised the lamp from the floor, and saw that his

hands and dress were stained with blood. Returning to the chamber in

which he had fallen, a sad revelation of the mystery of the groans and

succeeding silence was made horribly manifest. The floor was covered

with gore, which still feebly welled from the bosoms of several women,

in whom life was yet scarcely extinct. Every member of his harem was

dead, or in the last pangs of dissolution. They had considered suicide

as the preferable alternative to falling into the power of those who

were enemies to Chan Lody.

The sight was overpowering. The sacrifice had been noble, but it poured

a tide of agony through the bosom of him for whom it was so unanimously

made. The mothers of his children lay dead among the lifeless forms

before him. He looked upon them, and, after the first terrible burst of

grief had subsided, he uttered a vow of deep and implacable revenge.

Summoning his children, they joined in his vow. Jahanira embraced her

mother’s corpse, and supplicated vengeance upon the heads of those who

had forced her to self-immolation.

Tears rolled over Lody’s cheeks, but he dashed them off, and called

upon his children to assist him in performing the obsequies of the

dead. His eye dilated with an expression of energetic resolution as he

raised the bodies from their gory beds, wrapped them in clean linen,

and, assisted by his sons, carried them into a garden beyond the court,

where, having hastily dug a large hole, they buried them in one common

grave. There was no prayer uttered--no ritual form observed--but

the fervent aspiration of earnest and sorrowful hearts went up as a

memorial to God.

As they quitted the garden, the young dawn began to glimmer in the

east. Lody summoned his followers; though few, they were determined. It

was a desperate cast, but the late scene had given an impulse to the

spirits of each and all. The danger of the enterprise vanished before

the daring which impelled him, and those who were so dear to him, to

brave the peril, and either secure their escape or perish.

On a sudden, the gates were thrown open. Lody rushed out, followed by

his three sons and his daughter, who spurred their horses towards the

city walls. The imperial troops were struck with awe at the daring of

this small but determined band. They swept onward like the whirlwind;

all who opposed them were cut down. The light was still so imperfect,

that the imperial troops, being suddenly roused by this unexpected

assault, were confused, and fell before the swords of Lody and his

followers, who finally succeeded in cutting their way through their

foes, and escaping by the city gates.

CHAPTER III.

The conflict between the followers of Chan Lody and the imperial troops

had been short but desperate. Many of the latter, taken by surprise,

were slain, whilst scarcely one of the assailants lost his life.

Jahanira, upon a small roan Arab, rode immediately behind her father,

through the thickest of the enemy. She dyed her virgin sword in blood.

Just as she had reached the gate, Morad intercepted her passage.

“You have no further chance of escape,” he cried, attempting to seized

the reins of her steed; but she, striking her heels into the animal’s

side, caused it to rear, and thus prevented Morad’s intention.

By this time the whole of her party had escaped, and she alone remained

within the walls. A soldier now grasping the reins of her horse, she

instantly severed his arm at the wrist with a single stroke of her

keen Damascus sabre. The man, exasperated, urged a comrade to cut her

down. The latter sprang forward, but she met him as he advanced, and

buried her weapon in his throat. Morad commanded that the troops should

retire, and urged his charger towards Jahanira.

“Lady, you are our prisoner.”

“Never!” cried Jahanira, drawing a dagger. “I will not survive

captivity. Open yonder gates, and allow me to follow my father, or I

will leave you only my body for the gratification of your revenge. You

shall never take me alive!”

“Nay, this intemperance ill befits a daughter of the illustrious house

of Lody. None but cowards die to escape the shocks of destiny.”

“And none but cowards submit to the caprices of tyrants. You once

preserved my life; but if you intend to inthral the life you saved,

all obligation is cancelled between us, and I now dare you to mortal

combat; for, woman as I am, you shall find me no contemptible

competitor.”

She spurred her Arab towards Morad and made a stroke at his head; but

he suddenly reined back his horse and avoided the blow, which fell

upon the animal’s neck. It plunged violently, and the prince had great

difficulty in evading the fierce onset of his beautiful antagonist, who

at length wounded him in the arm; and seeing several horsemen approach

to the aid of their general, she urged her little roan charger towards

the gate. Morad, charmed with her heroism, ordered it to be opened;

when, bounding through the portal with the swiftness of an arrow, she

soon joined her father and brothers about four leagues from the city.

The Emperor having been roused by the sudden shouts of the fugitive and

his followers, as they made their unexpected eruption from the castle,

started from his bed, and seizing a sword, sent messengers to ascertain

the cause; apprehending an insurrection of the citizens in favour of

Chan Lody, who was extremely popular among them. On ascertaining that

the Omrah had escaped, he despatched a large body of troops, headed

by Perist, the usher, who was accompanied by several other nobles of

distinction, and ordered to bring back the fugitives to the city either

dead or alive.

Perist, eager to punish Azmut for the attack made upon him by that

young warrior in the Emperor’s presence, readily undertook the command,

and promised that before the waning of another moon the heads of his

master’s enemies should either be blackening on the walls of Agra, or

their bodies bound in chains within the state prisons. This empty boast

satisfied Shah Jehan, who well knew the usher’s hostility to the family

of Lody, which he would have been willing to exterminate, even at the

sacrifice of his own life.

Perist was a Calmuc Tartar, of amazing power of body, and no less

intrepidity of spirit, who had raised himself to distinction in the

imperial army by his gigantic strength and desperate valour. He had

risen from a low station in the army to one of high distinction in the

state, and this had emboldened him to seek an alliance that should

perpetuate his name. The lovely Jahanira had long been the theme of

public panegyric, and the reputation of her beauty, together with

her illustrious descent, made him desire to become united with this

distinguished maiden.

Without having seen the object of his ambitious aspiring, but relying

upon the reports of her high qualities, he sent his proposals, which

were rejected with scorn. This roused the malignity of the Tartar. To

be contemned by a woman was an injury never to be forgotten; and he

meditated a distant but signal revenge. He expected that his treatment

of the fiery young Azmut would rouse the indignation of his family,

and most probably excite them to acts of violence. It had happened

precisely as he had foreseen, and he now gladly seized the opportunity

of following up to its issue the plan of retribution which he had so

warily laid. He was not a man to let his resolution lie in abeyance

until chance concurred to elicit the desired result; but he had that

energy of malice which tries every hazard, however desperate, to

realize the consummation of its most atrocious purposes.

Lody had well weighed the chances of pursuit; and knowing the fierce

hostility with which the usher regarded him, had calculated the

probability of being followed by his ancient foe. He urged forward his

little band for fifteen leagues without halting, and was then stopped

by a river. It was broad and rapid, and so swollen by recent rains,

that to cross it seemed utterly impracticable. It flowed onward in

a wide turbid stream, broken every now and then into small whirling

eddies by the rapidity of its progress, and thus became so agitated,

that there appeared no chance of stemming its tumultuous current. There

was not a boat to be seen; all had been carried down the stream by the

impetuosity of the torrent: and a wooden bridge was swept away by the

extraordinary pressure of its augmented waters, which in several places

overflowed their banks and inundated the country, except upon the

higher grounds, to a distance of several miles.

This was a melancholy impediment. Here was a check which bid fair to

frustrate their escape, but there was no choice; and with a foreboding

heart Chan Lody and his faithful adherents encamped for the night upon

the banks of the river. He threw himself upon a rug to snatch a short

repose after the bodily fatigue and mental excitement of the last

twenty-four hours. His reflections were sad and harassing. The scene

of the past night recurred to his mind with sickening vividness, and

painful recollections swept over it with the might and suddenness of

the whirlwind. The perilous situation in which he stood, perplexed and

agitated him. He had but a few followers to oppose to the large body

of troops which he was certain would be sent against him. The swollen

state of the river forbad the possibility of flight, and the small

number of his adherents banished every chance of successful resistance.

For himself he entertained no apprehensions; but when he thought of his

children, an involuntary pang, which he could not repress, shook his

frame.

In proportion, however, as his reflections magnified the dangers by

which he was surrounded, his spirit rose, and finally settled into a

determination of resistance which nothing could disturb. Prepared to

meet the worst emergencies of the morrow, he at length sank into a

profound slumber, which was increased by that reaction of repose after

excitement, which invariably follows the tension of mind produced by

extreme mental disturbance.

He awoke with the dawn: and upon quitting his tent was informed

that the imperial troops were in full march towards him. He

immediately summoned his sons and daughter; and representing the

utter impossibility of escape, asked them if they would wish to throw

themselves upon the enemy’s clemency?--that for himself he was resolved

to die in arms. Hussein, the eldest son, swore he would follow his

father’s fortune, and perish rather than fall into the hands of a

conqueror. Azmut made the same solemn vow.

“And you, my child,” said Chan Lody, addressing his daughter, “what

reason is there that you should not live to form an alliance, which

might perpetuate the race of Lody, with a man, perhaps, that would

vindicate thy father’s wrong?”

“Because,” replied the noble girl, throwing herself upon her parent’s

bosom, “I am from a stock that has ever preferred death to captivity.

There is no sex in soul; and I feel mine to be as capable of those

deeds which will excite unborn ages to noble emulation as they who

exclusively claim the privilege of performing them. I am resolved to

perish with the enemy’s blood upon my sword, and will dye this dagger

with my own rather than accept the clemency of tyrants.”

The father embraced her: and having summoned his small but resolute

band, declared to them his determination of dying in arms rather than

yield to the approaching foe. This resolution was hailed with a cheer,

and the troops prepared for action. There was a pass between two hills

in their rear which opened into a narrow plain. Of this pass Chan Lody

took possession, and he had scarcely disposed his order of battle, when

the van of the imperialists appeared advancing along a rising valley.

His position was a very strong one, being accessible only in front;

the river, which so effectually cut off his retreat, as effectually

covering his rear.

The imperial army amounted to upwards of eight thousand men; Chan

Lody’s did not exceed as many hundreds. The enemy advanced leisurely

onward, and halted within about two furlongs from the pass where the

fugitives were so advantageously posted. A message was immediately

despatched to Chan Lody, summoning him to surrender. He returned

a reply of haughty defiance, and the Emperor’s troops advanced to

the charge. They were so warmly received that, after a short but

vigorous struggle, they were obliged to fall back. Though considerably

dispirited by this repulse, relying upon their numbers, they again

advanced to the charge with like success.

These attacks were several times repeated with a similar result, until

evening terminated the conflict, when the imperialists retired within

their camp on the slope of a neighbouring hill. They had suffered

severely; upwards of twelve hundred men having been slain, and nearly

double that number wounded. Chan Lody’s band had likewise suffered

severely. Not more than a hundred and fifty remained unhurt. Three

hundred were killed, and many more desperately wounded; so that he

had nothing more consolatory to look forward to than their utter

extermination, as soon as the sanguinary conflict should be renewed.

It was a gloomy prospect. A council was held among the survivors, who

unanimously declared their resolution to fight to the last extremity;

but Hussein and Azmut both proposed that their father should attempt

the river, and they would secure his retreat.

“My father,” said Hussein, “you may still live to avenge your wrongs.

Besides, you have been severely wounded in the action of to-day, and

your death will therefore be rather a suicide than a sacrifice, if

you expose yourself merely to court destruction. You cannot, in your

present state, endure the exertion of another conflict. Try the river;

your steed is stout, and may bear you to the shore in safety; we will

cover your retreat.”

“The danger is equal,” replied Lody; “but it is more honourable to die

on the field than in the river.”

Still they urged his retreat. “But can I fly and leave my children? No!

I will perish on this field. I will never leave my brave sons to meet

an honourable death and live to become a mere man of sorrows.”

It was at length agreed, after considerable difficulty, that Chan Lody

and one of his sons and daughter should try the river, and the other

remain behind to keep the enemy in check until the fugitives had gained

the opposite shore.

When this was determined, they separated for the night. With early dawn

the brothers were at their posts. As the light was gradually stretching

over the distant plain in a broad grey stream, a dispute arose between

them which should attack the enemy. Whilst, however, the generous

altercation was going on, Perist, who had struck Azmut in the Emperor’s

presence, appeared at the head of the imperialists.

“It is decided,” said Azmut; “there is my enemy,--especially and

personally mine. Hussein, you would not interfere with your brother’s

privilege to redress his own wrongs. Fly with my father, and leave me

to my revenge.”

Saying this, he spurred his horse forward; and his father, joined by

Hussein, plunged into the river.

CHAPTER IV.

Chan Lody and his son Hussein had great difficulty in stemming the

rapid current. Their horses were carried a considerable distance down

the stream, and almost exhausted before they reached the opposite bank;

fortunately, the channel was so full that the water was on a level

with the land. When they had made good their transit, they shouted to

apprise the generous Azmut of their safety, whom, however, they did not

see; for he was engaged in that perilous onset of destruction to which

he had so heroically devoted himself.

The father’s distress was great when he perceived that Jahanira had not

followed them. He concluded that, fearing to encounter the peril of

crossing the river, she had resolved to throw herself upon the clemency

of the conquerors; for the defeat of her brother and his small band was

certain. Such a resolution, however, was so contrary to her nature that

he rejected the supposition almost as soon as he had formed it, and

came to the final conclusion that she had determined to share the fate

of Azmut. The anxious father hoped, that, should they hear his shouts

of safety, they would immediately fly from the unequal contest, and

attempt the passage of the river, as he and his elder son had done with

unexpected success.

He was not far from right in his judgment concerning Jahanira; she had

remained with Azmut, resolved either to perish or escape with them. No

sooner had Chan Lody and Hussein plunged into the stream than Azmut

spurred towards the imperialists, who were advancing slowly towards the

pass. Seeing him approach, Perist ordered his army to halt, determined

to have the satisfaction of slaying him with his own arm. Jahanira had

armed herself with a bow and arrows. Following her brother, she paused

when she saw his foe singly advance to meet him. The hardy Calmuc,

confiding in his own strength, awaited with a smile of anticipated

triumph the coming onset of his impatient enemy.

Azmut was rejoiced to see the halt of the imperial army, as it would

render secure the retreat of his father and brother, provided the

current of the river did not prove too strong for them. Being upon

a light active horse, he passed the usher at speed, and striking at

him in full career, inflicted a deep gash on his knee. The Tartar

turned, and Azmut wheeling at the same moment, their horses met with

a tremendous shock, and the light charger of the latter rolled upon

the plain. Its rider was upon his feet in an instant. Perist spurred

towards him, but he parried a furious stroke, at the same time

springing actively on one side, as his huge adversary attempted to ride

him down. His danger, however, was imminent, and the moment critical.

Jahanira beheld the peril of her beloved brother. She placed an arrow

upon the string of her bow. The Tartar had again advanced upon Azmut,

and as he raised his heavy sabre to bury it in the body of his youthful

opponent, a shaft, sped with unerring aim, entered his temple, and he

dropped dead at his horse’s feet.

Azmut saw from whence the succour came, waved his arm in token of

acknowledgment, and retreated towards the pass; but being on foot, he

was overtaken by a party of the enemy’s cavalry before he could reach

his followers. The latter, however, rushed forward to his rescue, and

for some time a desperate struggle ensued; it was short and decisive.

Overwhelmed by numbers, the fugitives were cut off to a man. Azmut slew

two Omrahs with his own hands, but was transfixed by a lance as he was

in the act of bringing his sword upon the crest of a third. An arrow

from the bow of his heroic sister entered the bosom of his destroyer,

and she had the satisfaction of witnessing his death-pang while she

beheld that of her brother.

Seeing that all was lost, and hearing her father’s shouts, she spurred

her horse towards the river, discharging several arrows in her

flight at the pursuing squadron: the enemy expected that the water

would arrest her flight, and therefore slackened their speed as they

approached; but to their amazement she dashed fearlessly in, and pushed

bravely for the opposite shore, upon which stood her father and only

surviving brother.

The enemy halted upon the bank in amazement, not daring to attempt the

passage. The turbid waters rolled rapidly on, foaming and hissing in

their way, as they were occasionally interrupted in their course by

the partial sinuosities of the channel. Her horse was slight, but full

of fire, and pawed the turbulent stream with an impatient but resolute

spirit. The undaunted girl was frequently sucked down by the eddies,

but she maintained her seat and rose above them with an intrepidity

that amazed while it mortified her hostile spectators. Vexed that she

should have eluded them, several archers discharged their arrows at her

as she was struggling amidst the perilous element. One shaft hit her on

the turban; this being saturated, repelled it; but such was the force

with which the arrow had been urged, that the turban was struck from

her head, exposing it to the cowardly aim of her incensed foes.

By this time she had passed the middle of the channel where the current

was strongest, and thus somewhat abated the chances of perishing amidst

the troubled waters. Her enemies still continuing to discharge their

arrows, as if in derision of their impotent malice, she raised herself

in her stirrup, threw back her long raven hair which streamed around

her like a fine sable fringe, and waved her arm, bidding them a mute

defiance. Her father and brother cheered her from the shore, but her

safety was still doubtful. Her horse was fast sinking. Its nose was

scarcely perceptible above the agitated surface of the stream. There

was but one resource--she flung herself from its back, and the noble

animal almost immediately sank.

She was yet a considerable distance from the bank, and the current was

still strong. She breasted it, however, with fearless energy, straining

every nerve to reach the shore. The foe had ceased to impel their

arrows, as she was by this time beyond the reach of anything like a

certain aim. She flung her sandals from her feet as they embarrassed

her movements, and in spite of the fierce rush of the stream, she rose

above it and gradually advanced towards the bank. It was evident that

she would not be able much longer to continue her exertions, and her

anxious parent was beginning to entertain his doubts of her eventual

escape, when she caught the branch of a tree which was just underneath

the surface, and sustained herself until she had recovered her breath.

Just below, the bank had given way and formed a sort of frith, in which

she finally landed, and was welcomed by her father with a transport of

emotion.

When she had sufficiently recovered, Chan Lody could no longer subdue

his anxiety to know the fate of his brave son. “And Azmut,” he said,

“has become a sacrifice to his father’s safety, for I see him not.”

“Yes,” said Jahanira, solemnly, “he has met a soldier’s doom. He is

gone to the inheritance of the brave.”

“God is just; he did not perish unrevenged.”

“No, the man who offered him an indignity in the imperial presence has

paid the penalty of his daring. I slew him, father.”

“My child!” the parent fell upon his daughter’s neck and wept.

“Azmut died with his sword in his hand, reeking with the slaughter of

his enemies. His was a noble death,--how much better than an inglorious

life!”

Of Chan Lody’s followers, three only survived,--the whole had been

slain, except five who had plunged into the river a short time before

Jahanira. Two had perished in attempting the passage, and three had

succeeded in gaining the shore. With this wretched remnant of his

little army, he proceeded towards Malwa, halting for the night at a

small village about ten leagues from the river. His misfortunes had

been severe, but they rather tended to render him resolute than to

subdue his unbending spirit. His march into this province was speedy,

but sorrowful. The loss of Azmut was a bitter grief. He was the pride

of his father’s house;--a mere child in years, he had shown the wisdom

of the sage, and the skill in arms of an accomplished warrior. Chan

Lody lived but to avenge his early and premature fate, and the idea of

vengeance was a solace to his lacerated spirit.

When he reached Malwa, to the government of which he had been appointed

by Shah Jehan, he began to levy troops, and soon found himself at the

head of a small but well-disciplined force. His name was formidable

throughout the empire, and the late events had obtained for him an

almost universal sympathy. He was not, however, permitted to remain

long unmolested. Within three weeks after he had crossed the river

to avoid the imperial army, the waters had subsided, and his enemies

having recruited their forces, advanced to Malwa. He met them in the

field, but was defeated, and obliged to retire to the mountains, where

he maintained a successful defence, until the monsoon obliged the enemy

to retire. Lody had harassed them by frequent surprises, by cutting off

their supplies, and by reducing them to such straits that they were

finally obliged to leave him in undisturbed possession of the province

which the Emperor had placed under his government. They were glad at

length to escape the difficulties which he raised around them.

The Emperor was extremely perplexed at Chan Lody’s escape. He knew the

abilities of that Omrah, and the estimation in which his principles and

talents were almost universally held. So long as he lived, the Mogul

throne was a contingency. Nothing but the death of Chan Lody could

give security to the reign of Shah Jehan. With these impressions, the

Emperor determined to destroy that noble, as a maxim of state policy;

and therefore, so soon as the monsoon had passed, he despatched a

numerous army to drive him from his stronghold in the mountains, and

bring him to Agra, alive or dead.

The imperial general was a noble of distinguished reputation, and

commanded a numerous and well-appointed army. He encamped within a

day’s march from the mountains to which Chan Lody had retired for

security. Conscious of his numerical superiority, he affected to

despise his enemy. On the evening after he had encamped, a nautch-girl

entered his presence, soliciting permission to dance before him. Struck

with her singular beauty, she was allowed to exhibit her professional

skill in his presence after the evening meal. He did not long enjoy the

exhibition of her evolutions. He was taken ill shortly after having

swallowed a copious draught of sherbert, and before the morning was

a corpse. His mysterious death provoking inquiry, it was immediately

ascertained that he had been poisoned. The sudden disappearance of

the nautch-girl excited suspicion. She was nowhere to be found. The

death of the imperial general soon reached Lody’s ears, and all the

mysterious circumstances attending it. “I can explain the mystery,”

said the Omrah’s daughter; “I entered the hostile camp in disguise, and

poison has removed a foe whose place will not be easily supplied.”

The death of their general rendered the imperial army inactive for some

time, and gave an opportunity to Lody to escape into the Deccan, where

he had powerful friends.

CHAPTER V.

Shah Jehan was alarmed at the successful resistance which Chan Lody

had made against his armies; but, being determined to crush him, he

despatched for this purpose an exterminating force under Eradit,

a commander of reputation. The talents of the imperial general,

however, could not for a moment stand in competition with those of his

adversary. In his flight from Malwa, with a few brave adherents, who

continued attached to his fortunes, Lody foiled all the attempts of

the Mogul troops, which pursued him to the number of twelve thousand.

He harassed them by night attacks--cut off their supplies--fortified

himself in the passes of the hills--until the enemy, wearied by long

and difficult marches, roads almost impracticable, and constant

watching to escape the assaults of a vigilant enemy, at length gave up

the pursuit, and allowed the rebel, as they styled him, to continue his

journey unmolested; after which he passed into Golconda, and presented

himself before the Nizam at Dowlatabad.

The Nizam granted him protection, which was a source of extreme

mortification to the Emperor, who, knowing the abilities of Lody, was

fearful that he might offer a successful resistance to the imperial

arms with the resources which his powerful ally would place at his

disposal. He saw that there was no time to be lost, as delay would only

enable his foe to unite the jarring interests of the Deccan princes,

who were all avowed enemies to the house of Timour. He determined,

therefore, to follow Eradit in person, with a numerous reinforcement.

The Emperor’s arrival in the Deccan had a sinister influence upon

the cause of the magnanimous Lody. The refractory princes knew their

sovereign’s abilities, and dreaded his power. As they saw a storm

impending, each fearing that it might fall upon himself, withdrew his

aid from him to whom they had promised assistance, and all returned to

their allegiance.

Shah Jehan, enraged with the Nizam for having received his enemy,

determined to humble that haughty prince. He therefore despatched three

armies against Dowlatabad: one under Eradit, amounting to twenty-five

thousand men, and two others, of the same strength, under the separate

commands of Raja Gop Singh and Shaista Chan.

For some time, through the talents of Chan Lody, the Nizam’s troops

baffled every attempt against his capital. According to his former

policy, Lody had secured the passes of the mountains, and upon one

occasion, rushing down upon Eradit, at the head of twelve thousand men,

he defeated him with great slaughter, and obliged him to retire out of

the province. This so exasperated Shah Jehan, that he suspended Eradit

from the command, and put the army under that of his Vizier, whose

reputation as a general considerably damped the ardour of the Nizam’s

forces. Lody still retained possession of the passes, from which every

effort hitherto made to dislodge him had proved ineffectual.

Prince Morad accompanied the Vizier. His love for the heroic daughter

of the refractory Omrah had not abated. Her beauty had at first forged

a fetter round his heart, and her heroism riveted the chain.

One night, after a day of severe skirmishing with the enemy, Jahanira,

who always followed her father to the field, had quitted her tent to

breathe the fresh air of heaven. The night dews fell upon her burning

brow and cooled her brain, which ached with the concurring excitement

of bodily exertion and mental anxiety.

She saw that the arm of destiny was raised to smite. She wept. Her

father’s wrongs were not yet half avenged. That very day the Nizam had

withdrawn his forces, and abandoned his brave ally, with whom there

remained only a few hundred followers, to contend with an army of

above eighty thousand men. The Nizam had submitted to the Vizier, and

Lody was left without a single friend. Jahanira perceiving that his

determination to die in arms was shortly to be realised, resolved to go

with him to the peace of a less distracted world.

Absorbed in the intensity of these reflections, she had wandered beyond

the boundary of the camp. The night was still and balmy; fresh dews

descended from the hills, and moistened her blanched cheek, which was

fanned by the passing breeze. The distant cries of jackals interrupted

at intervals the repose of this solemn scene; and the lulling gush

of a stream, which flowed through a neighbouring ravine, suited the

melancholy temper of her spirit at this hour of darkness and of

silence. She strolled onward thoughtfully. Raising her eyes to the side

of a hill, where a narrow path diverged from the main road, she saw

a figure emerge from a clump of trees, and stand in complete relief

against the sky. She drew her dagger, and, approaching cautiously,

cried, “Who’s there?” at the same moment springing forward, and

standing with her drawn crease within a few yards of the intruder.

“Jahanira!” exclaimed a voice, which she instantly recognised to be

that of Morad.

“Why this intrusion, prince? Are you come a spy upon our path? Can the

foe so fear to approach the bayed lion, that he is obliged to resort to

stratagem? Locusts, prince, will desolate a country by the mere force

of numbers: your armies may likewise overwhelm Chan Lody, but you will

not subdue him.”

“I come not as a spy, lady,” replied Morad earnestly, “but to renew my

vows of eternal attachment to the noblest woman in the universe. If the

lovely Jahanira will accept an alliance with the family of Timour, and

become the wife of Morad, her father may be restored to his honours and

influence in the state. All that is past will be forgotten.”

“Nay, prince, what is past can never be forgotten. The death of Azmut,

and the degradation of my parent, are scored with a fiery brand upon

my heart, and cannot be erased. I have seen my brother slain--I have

seen my father wronged. In this world, but one object remains to me

and mine--revenge! We are a doomed family, Prince Morad; we shall

perish together. There is no alternative between that and yielding our

allegiance to a tyrant. The latter we shall never do; the former must

be our destiny. We are prepared; but they who die desperately, with

weapons in their hands, are to be dreaded. Let the oppressor tremble.”

“Jahanira! why should this be? I come to offer you freedom--to raise

you to a dignity which you were born to adorn.”

“Freedom! Prince Morad? I have been free--I am free--I will be

free--and there is no dignity higher than being the daughter of Chan

Lody. Retire! this secret communication neither befits you to make,

nor me to encourage. Why skulk under the cover of night to an enemy’s

tents? Leave me, or I shall be compelled to treat you as a foe.”

“I came under the cover of night to avoid suspicion of treachery in the

imperial camp. I have incurred some hazard, lady, in coming hither to

declare myself, to release you and your family from certain death, and

to offer you the heart of an Emperor’s son.”

“Which I reject, prince; for however I might respect the son of a

tyrant, I never could wed him. My resolve is immutable. To-morrow, in

the battle, remember that the daughter of Chan Lody has dared to reject

the son of Shah Jehan!”

Morad was in the act of speaking, when she turned from him, waved her

hand with an air of haughty courtesy, and ascended the hill towards her

tent. Upon reaching it, she threw herself on her couch, agitated by a

tumult of conflicting feelings. Prince Morad’s affection for her was

not to be thought of without emotion; she had rejected him--even with

bitterness, yet he had twice saved her life; but every other feeling

was merged in her filial obligations.

“He is the son of my parent’s worst foe,” she said mentally; “I am

therefore bound to withhold all feelings towards him but those of

enmity.”

Morad was deeply mortified at the issue of his adventure. He had run

the risk of incurring a base suspicion from his own party, and of

being seized as a spy by the enemy, only to meet a cold and bitter

repulse. He could not, however, withhold his admiration from the woman

whose affections he sought to win, though she had met his advances

with uniform haughtiness. He saw that hers was, in truth, as she had

characterized it, a doomed family, and it grieved him that he could not

rescue them from destruction.

Chan Lody’s followers were reduced to a mere troop; and, however strong

his position, it was evident that he must eventually yield to such an

immense majority of numbers. Morad dreaded the approaching onslaught.

By daybreak the pass was to be stormed by the imperial army, and there

could be no doubt of the issue. He would have laid down his life to

rescue Jahanira from the impending doom, but this could not be.

Day dawned: the pass was attacked, and the imperialists were repulsed

with great slaughter. Jahanira appeared among the combatants, fighting

with a hero’s energy. The pass was again attacked; repulse followed

as before, with immense loss on the side of the assailants. Lody’s

small band, however, was diminished by every fresh attack, and he was

at length obliged to abandon the pass, with only a few followers.

Descending into the plain on the other side of the mountain, he

resolved there to await the coming of the foe, and fulfil his

resolution of dying in arms. He was not allowed long to pause after he

had quitted the hills. The imperial troops appeared in sight, and he

prepared himself for the sacrifice.

Summoning his brave adherents, now amounting only to thirty-two, in

which number was included his son Hussein and his daughter Jahanira, he

addressed them with much earnestness, suggesting that they would seek

their own safety in flight, and leave him to die alone by the hand of

an implacable enemy. When he had concluded his pathetic address, there

was a general murmur of sorrow. Not a man would stir. All expressed

their determination to die in arms with their beloved leader. “Then be

it so,” said Lody; “our enemies shall still find that a few valiant men

are formidable even to the last, and their destruction a dear-bought

triumph.”

The imperialists advanced in a large body towards the devoted band, who

suffered them to approach within a hundred paces, when they discharged

their matchlocks, which, being directed with deadly aim, did signal

execution. The moment after the discharge, veiled for a moment by the

smoke, Jahanira spurred her horse towards the advancing host. As she

rode, she fixed an arrow in the string of her bow, and discharged it

at the officer who led the detachment. It struck upon a small conical

buckler with which he was armed, and the reed quivered as the head

of the shaft pierced the tough buffalo hide that covered it. At this

moment a ball from a matchlock entered the heroine’s breast. She fell

from her horse. The blood trickled from the wound. Morad rushed forward

to raise her. She opened her languid eyes as he lifted her to his knee,

fixed them on him with a look of stern despair, heaved a deep-felt

sigh, and fell upon his shoulder--dead.

Chan Lody saw what passed. He gave the word to advance. His followers

spurred their horses onward, and in a few moments came in contact with

their foes. The onset was short but desperate. Hussein was struck to

the earth by a stroke from Morad’s sword, who felt no tender mercy for

the brother of her whom he would have saved at the sacrifice of his own

life. Her death had roused the fiercer energies of his spirit. Hussein

fell beneath his arm.

The valour of Chan Lody’s followers astonished their enemies. They

scattered death and dismay around them. Chan Lody slew no less than six

officers with his own hand. He was at length disabled by a sabre-cut

on the shoulder; he dropped his sword, and was instantly surrounded

and slain. He died with his eyes fixed upon the broad heavens--a smile

was on his lips--the left arm grasped a dagger. His adherents fought

to the last man--not one survived; but the victors purchased a dear

victory--the death of Chan Lody was signally avenged.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

Heg. 1068 (A. D. 1658).--Aurungzebe ascended the imperial throne of the

Moguls. He was alarmed by the approach of his nephew, Soliman Sheko,

who was finally deserted by his army, and obliged to take refuge in

Serinagur. Soliman despatched a messenger to his father Dara, with the

news of his ill-fortune. Dara, distressed at his son’s misfortunes and

his own, retreated from the banks of the Suttulege, on which he was

encamped, and shortly after retired to Lahore, whence he was obliged

to fly before the imperial army. Several of his nobles, perceiving his

desperate circumstances, submitted to Aurungzebe. The Vizier, Meer

Jumla, having arrived at court, Aurungzebe marched to Moultan; but

finding his presence necessary in the capital, immediately returned to

prepare against the invasion of his brother Suja.

Heg. 1069 (1659).--Suja approached with a considerable army, but was

met near Allahabad by the Emperor. In consequence of the treachery of

Jesswint Singh, Suja was defeated with great slaughter; and taking

flight, was pursued by the Emperor’s son Mahomed, who followed him to

Patna, whither he had fled in disguise. Upon the news of Suja’s defeat,

Dara retired to Bicker beyond the Indus. Having changed his course to

Tatta, he crossed the desert, and after reaching Guzarat, gained over

the governor to his interests. He here contrived to raise an army,

and marched towards Agra; but was deceived by Jesswint Singh, who had

promised to join him with a numerous body of forces, but treacherously

deserted Dara, and joined Aurungzebe. Dara fortified himself in Ajmere.

Hither the Emperor marched and offered him battle, and deceived his

unfortunate brother by a stratagem; after which he routed his army,

and reduced him to the most pitiable distress. Dara fled to the desert

accompanied by his wife, who died under circumstances of dreadful

privation on the march. The unhappy prince in his extremity sought

the protection of Jihon Chan, an Omrah of great power, whose life

had been twice saved during the sovereignty of Shah Jehan through

the influence of Dara; Jihon delivered him into the hands of the

conqueror; he was paraded with every mark of ignominy through Delhi,

confined in a neighbouring village, and eventually put to death by

order of Aurungzebe. Suja took the field after the death of his brother

Dara, and was joined by the Emperor’s son, Mahomed, who had conceived

a passion for one of his daughters. Suja was finally defeated by

the Vizier Jumla, and the prince Mahomed detached from him by the

artifices of his father, who ordered the unfortunate Suja to be seized

and imprisoned.

Heg. 1070 (1660).--Suja was obliged to take refuge in Arracan, where he

was murdered, and his family reduced to the greatest extremity.

Heg. 1071 (1661).--Soliman, the son of Dara, was seized through the

artifices of Aurungzebe, and sent to Delhi. He was imprisoned in the

fortress of Gualior, and, like his unfortunate father, shortly after

murdered. During this year a dreadful famine raged throughout the

empire.

Heg. 1072 (1662).--The imperial general, Shaista Chan, took one of

Sevajee’s hill-forts by flying a kite which concealed a blind match

over the fort just at the moment the garrison were taking powder from

the magazine. The kite was allowed to drop upon the powder, which was

kindled by the match, and an explosion took place; the greater part of

the fort was thrown down, and nearly the whole garrison buried in the

ruins.

Heg. 1073 (1663).--An attempt was made by the Marajah to assassinate

Shaista Chan, who escaped with the loss of three fingers; but his son

was slain.

Heg. 1074 (1664).--Aurungzebe fell sick, and his son Shah Allum

began to intrigue for the throne; but his efforts were foiled by the

Emperor’s unexpected recovery. Shah Allum was appointed to a command in

the Deccan, in order to remove him from the capital.

Heg. 1075 (1665).--A dangerous insurrection broke out in Guzarat, and

was quelled with difficulty. This year was distinguished by the death

of Jumla, who had been appointed to the government of Bengal. Jumla

was a man of great talent, having risen from a very low station to the

highest offices in the state. He was much esteemed by Aurungzebe for

his abilities, but still more dreaded than esteemed. During this year

also there was an insurrection of Fakeers, who, under the influence

of a very wealthy old woman, committed dreadful ravages, and marched

to the number of twenty thousand towards the capital. Their march

was marked by the most horrible cruelties. They totally defeated the

imperial troops commanded by the collector of the revenue. At length

the Emperor subdued them with their own weapons: employing the juggles

of pretended enchantment, the insurrection was quelled, but not until

almost every one of the enthusiasts had been slain.

Heg. 1076 (1666).--This year was remarkable for the death of Shah

Jehan, and the capture of Sevajee, chief of the Mahrattas, who from

the seventeenth year of his age had been pursuing a career of success

almost unparalleled in the history of potentates. From commanding a

small band of mountain robbers, he had raised himself to be the leader

of a formidable army, with which he awed the surrounding provinces.

He was at length taken prisoner by the imperial general, and confined

at Delhi, whence he contrived to escape disguised in the dress of

a man who had been admitted into his apartment with a basket of

flowers. After enduring unparalleled hardships, he reached his native

mountains, where he was crowned sovereign of the Mahrattas, who from

that period gradually increased in political importance, till they

became the most numerous and influential of the native powers in India.

They produced several distinguished warriors, among whom the names

of Scindia and Holcar will be remembered so long as history has its

records, and man the capacity to peruse them.

The Revolt of the Fakeers.

CHAPTER I.

About noon, under the scorching beams of a tropical sun, a young

Mussulman was on his way towards the Mewat hills, accompanied by a

party of fakeers. His hands were bound behind him with his turban, and

he had nothing on his head but a silk skull-cap to resist the intense

rays which shot from the cloudless heavens in an uninterrupted stream

of glowing light. His black hair, which was long and bushy, fell over

his shoulders and temples; thus supplying a natural protection against

the influence of the solar fires, which were almost insupportable. He

was urged onward by his companions at a rate which the excessive heat

rendered extremely distressing, though to them it appeared mere matter

of pastime. Accustomed as they were to undergo the severest bodily

inflictions, what to him was positive torture was to them a relaxation

from it.

Every one of his companions was perfectly naked, and each bore the

marks of having submitted to the torturing process of some dreadful

penance. Their limbs were sunken and fleshless, the skin shrivelled and

discoloured by the severity of those torments to which their bodies

had been exposed. Their nails protruded and curved into a point over

the fingers and toes, like the claws of a beast of prey. Their hair,

matted with the filthy accumulations of years, hung over the backs of

these Mahomedan Nazarites, like the locks from a Medusa’s head, and was

frequently so thick as to shroud them in a capillary veil, revolting

to more than one sense, and agreeable to none. They were armed with

huge clubs, the heads of which were charged with iron. These they used

with considerable dexterity, being in the habit of employing them in

the jungles for the purpose of destroying small game, upon which they

frequently feasted with a gluttonous zest that would have shamed even

the Roman Apicius.

“Ay,” said one, eyeing their prisoner with a look of Satanic triumph,

“naked men know how to fight. Devotion is their shield, which all the

outcasts from Paradise shall never be able to pierce.”

“I am in your power,” replied the captive; “but beware how you

exercise your momentary ascendancy. Your foul revolt will not escape

its due punishment: in spite of your devotion you will suffer the

penalty--torture me for a false prophet else. Success has turned your

brains. The war waged by enthusiasm is like a sudden burst of the

tempest, which crushes the oak in its impetuous sweep, but quickly

passes away; the surrounding plain springs out into renewed luxuriance

and beauty, and thus smiles at the impotence of the hurricane.”

“Hold, blasphemer!” cried a huge gaunt devotee, the bones of whose

joints were heard to clatter as he wielded his fleshless arms with the

most extravagant gesticulations; “bend the knee to those holy men who

have defeated the sons of darkness, and are about to place upon the

throne of the Moguls a queen who shall close the dynasty of Timour,

and fill the world with the children of the faithful,--for you are all

aliens from the true stock.”

The prisoner turned from this filthy saint with an expression of

disgust, and allowed him to rail at the Emperor and all his faithful

subjects till he foamed like a gored bull with the frantic energy of

his vociferations.

They now entered upon a scene of desolation not to be witnessed

without deep emotion, which naturally follows wherever the melancholy

consciousness arises that a vast addition has been made to the sum

of human misery. For leagues, as they proceeded onward, nothing was

to be seen but deserted villages; the whole country having been laid

waste, and bearing the appearance of “a land not inhabited.” The

jungles had been fired; and for miles the ashes left by the devouring

element, and the charred trunks of trees, which had for centuries

lifted their sturdy limbs amid the feebler growth of the forest, showed

how terrific had been the conflagration. Not a shrub, not a blade of

grass, not a single trace of vegetation, was anywhere visible; and as

the stranger cast his eyes over the scene of devastation, he could not

help expressing his indignation against the perpetrators of such wanton

outrage.

“Ay,” said one of the enthusiasts; “we take care not to provide forage

for enemies; they who visit the stronghold of the fakeers, must make

up their minds to take a hungry journey. If ever you live to see your

friends, you will have strange news to tell them, believe me. When

holy men seize the sword, and fight in carnal battles, no mortal arm

can resist them. We have taught your sovereign what it is to oppose

Heaven’s vicegerents. He is already tottering on his throne. You shall

see and know more anon.”

The ogre-like being who spoke had taken so much opium during the

journey thus far, as to have reached that pitch of excitement to which,

when a fakeer arrives, he can submit to bodily tortures altogether

incredible. His eyes glared with the glassy radiance of incipient

madness. Though the heat was intolerable, and the earth steamed with

the intensity of the sun’s rays, like exhalations from a caldron, he

leaped about, and threw himself into a thousand contortions, until his

body was covered with a tawny scum from the severity of his exercise.

After he had fatigued himself by these violent antics, he took a

number of large needles, and having passed them through the flesh in

several parts of his body, threaded them with silks of various colours,

and then strutted before the party with the pride and bearing of one

conscious of having performed an act for which he should receive the

homage of his companions, who treated him with a reverence evidently

very flattering to the spiritual vanity of this mad visionary.

Having at length relieved himself from the needles, he drew the

silken strings through the wounds, and then attaching to each a small

pointed instrument, exceedingly sharp, turned himself round until the

rotation became so violent that the outline of his figure was scarcely

distinguishable. When he ceased, his body was covered with gashes and

reeking with blood.

After six hours of continued travelling, with scarcely a pause, the

party arrived at the foot of a small hill, which had evidently been

spared from the devastation that exhibited so sad a prospect in the

surrounding country. The prisoner, though overcome by the excessive

fatigue of so arduous a journey, was not allowed to pause, but

compelled to proceed up the ascent. About midway a considerable ruin

was disclosed, upon which the last rays of the sun slanted, as it

was sinking behind the low hills that skirted the distant plain. The

entrance was lofty, and encumbered with fragments of pillars, which

time or violence had thrown down. Within was an extensive area; on

every side of it were gigantic sculptures, representing the history of

some Hindoo superstition, which had been greatly mutilated by the zeal

of pious Mahomedans. This building was a dilapidated choultry, and had

been converted into the vestibule of the abode of an old crone, bending

beneath the weight of years, and mistress of inexhaustible treasures.

In this hall, Bistamia, which was the hag’s name, was engaged in

preparing the evening meal for her beggarly dependants--a thing she

invariably did with her own hands. During the culinary process she

appeared to mutter certain incantations over the smoking viands, which

consisted of the most revolting ingredients.

When the stranger was brought before her, she eyed him with that

haggard, feeble scowl peculiar to wicked old age, in which is exhibited

the will, but not the power, of the demon. Her deformed and decrepit

body was bare to the waist, and presented a loathsome image of living

mortality.

What an antidote to the vanity of youth and the pride of beauty! Her

white locks streamed over her brown, withered shoulders, exhibiting

one of those repelling contrasts which the eye cannot gaze upon without

instinctively closing. Her skin hung from her like the dewlap of a

sacred bull, but flaccid and bloodless, as if the principle of life

were withdrawn from it. The nails of her fingers had grown into claws,

and seemed as if they could distil poison, like those of the Egyptian

lizard.[40]

“Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red,”

and her whole appearance seemed to speak “variety of wretchedness.” She

approached the stranger, eyed him with a look of intense malice, and

said--

“Who are you, son of a dog? How came you within these walls?”

“I am,” replied the stranger, “an officer of the imperial army, who,

upon the issue of an unsuccessful encounter with your insurgent

fanatics, have fallen into their hands. How I came within these walls,

they will best explain to you.”

“Hah! an enemy! You shall soon learn how we treat enemies when they

profane our sanctuary. Would you save your life!”

“I have no desire to die.”

“Ay, the burden of every coward’s song. Fall down, then, at our feet,

and hail us Queen of the Moguls.”

“The Moguls were never ruled by women.”

“Say you so? We shall see. Bind him to yonder statue.”

Her order was speedily executed, and the hag began to prepare the

last dish of the evening’s refection. This was a medley, fit only

for the stomachs of ghoules or devils. It happened to be a certain

day of the moon, and on this day the same mixture was always placed

before her retainers. The first thing she ordered to be brought, when

about to make her infernal stew, was the trunk of a human body, which

had been conveyed for this very purpose from the scene of slaughter.

She deliberately cut large pieces from the fleshy parts; these she

divided into small squares, with slow, calculating precision, and

then placed them severally in a human skull that stood beside her.

Having covered them with a layer of herbs that had been gathered under

certain influences of the moon, she took from a covered basket a hooded

snake, from the jaws of which the poisonous fangs had been previously

extracted, and placed it alive in the skull. To this she added the

legs of a frog, the tail of a lizard, the head of a bat, and the claws

of an owl. Having placed the skull, with its contents, in a capacious

earthen vessel, in which there was a sufficient quantity of water to

complete the dressing, she put it upon the fire, and watched it with

eager anxiety, muttering to herself a sort of mystical chant during the

entire period of the cooking. The smoke ascended in volumes from the

flame over which this disgusting mess was hanging, and soon filled the

whole chamber with a thick and suffocating cloud.

The mode of hanging the earthenware vessel over the blaze was as

remarkable as any part of the singular process. Two fakeers stood on

either side of the fire, an iron bar resting upon the shoulders of

each, from which the mysterious stew was suspended above the flame.

When sufficiently dressed, the skull was taken from the earthenware

receptacle; its contents were put upon square pieces of plantain leaf,

and the portions placed before each fakeer present, who devoured them

with a greediness that made the prisoner’s heart leap up to his throat.

The idea of those wretched enthusiasts was, that this abominable meal

would have the surprising effect not only of rendering them fearless in

the day of battle, but of inspiring their enemies with such terror that

they would not dare to approach them; that, moreover, it would cause

them to become invisible when engaged with their foes, who would thus

fall an easy prey to persons so supernaturally endowed.

A portion of a mess which had been previously prepared was offered to

the prisoner; but he rejected it with disgust, and partook only of

some plain boiled rice, which somewhat refreshed him after so long and

toilsome a journey.

When they had concluded their evening’s repast, Bistamia retired from

the scene of this extraordinary carousal, and the fakeers, flinging

themselves upon the bare ground, without the slightest covering, were

soon hushed in profound repose. The opium, in which they had indulged

to excess, rendered their sleep so heavy that it seemed like the deep

slumber of death. The flames, by which the chamber had been illumined,

subsided by degrees, and the gloom of silence and darkness gradually

succeeded.

FOOTNOTES:

[40] The Gecco.

CHAPTER II.

The Mogul was left chained to one of the statues on the side-wall, when

the fakeers betook themselves to their night’s repose: the chain by

which he was fastened only enabled him to seat himself upon the floor.

He could not lay his body at full length, and was therefore obliged

to lean his back against the figure to which he was attached. In that

position he tried for some time to sleep, but without effect; feverish

and distracting thoughts obtruded. His reflections were of the most

melancholy character. He was surrounded by a body of enthusiasts, into

whose power he had fallen, and who would very probably doom him to

some cruel death, by way of celebrating the orgies of their sanguinary

superstition. Fanatics are the worst of tyrants; who, alas! too often

do the work of the devil, whilst they fancy themselves working in the

service of their God. In proportion as the infatuation takes possession

of their minds, they become cruel towards all such as they imagine

seceders from the worship of that deity of whom they claim to be

vicegerents, and see no virtue but in those who, like themselves, have

been inoculated with the rabies of spiritual enthusiasm. In every age

of the world, in every country, and among all communities, that sort of

enthusiasm which claims exclusive spiritual endowment, and pretends to

supernatural communications, is the greatest bane against which pure

Religion has ever had to contend. It invests her in a factitious garb

that conceals while it arrays her. False zeal has driven more from the

true fold than have fallen victims to the slaughter of war, the inroads

of pestilence, or the devastations of famine. No one is driven into the

paths of peace, or scourged into the embrace of virtue. All men are won

to good by its own sweet suggestions, by gentle implorations, by the

light and fragrant blessings which it offers to those who properly seek

to possess them; not by those terrible denunciations which scare the

timid, offend the proud, and provoke the contempt of the reckless.

The prisoner was pursuing these reflections with a melancholy sense of

his present condition. He gazed round the apartment to see if he might

encourage any hopes of escape. The embers yet glowing upon the stone

floor, threw a sickly light around, which only rendered the remote

gloom of the chamber still more murky. The fakeers, who were stretched

at length near the smouldering fire, looked like so many semi-monsters

under the power of enchantment. Their hard breathing, the only symptom

of life which they exhibited, sufficiently indicated the intensity

of their slumber, that seemed to have been rendered more profound by

the horrible meal of which they had partaken just before they gave

themselves up to the enjoyments of “nature’s sweet restorer.”

The prisoner, closing his eyes, tried to conjure up images before the

speculum of his mind more agreeable than those realities upon which it

was an agony to gaze;--finally overcome by bodily fatigue and mental

exhaustion, he fell into an unquiet sleep.

His slumber was at length disturbed by the pressure of a gentle grasp

upon his arm. He opened his eyes and perceived that there was an object

standing between him and the light, which had already begun to dispel

the gloom of the capacious apartment in which he lay. Unable to guess

what such a visit could portend, he remained motionless, though not

entirely without some painful apprehensions of mischief. After an

interval of a few moments, the hand was removed from his arm and placed

upon his brow. The tender pressure, the smoothness of the palm, the

feminine texture and delicate movement of the fingers, convinced him

in an instant that it was the hand of woman, but not of her whom he had

looked upon the previous evening with a loathing so absolute that his

very blood curdled, and whose fingers would have rather pressed upon

his forehead like the hard-pointed talons of a harpy, than with the

soft and thrilling impress of an angel’s touch.

That touch made every nerve thrill with emotion. The stranger leaned

over him as if to hear from his breathing whether he slept profoundly

or not. Her breath was as the air of Paradise. He could not be

mistaken. There was an inexplicable but infallible sympathy which

assured him,--with that mysterious power of conviction communicated how

we know not, but still more powerful than any arising from positive

testimony,--that the being before him was something far above the

ordinary level of human nature. He listened instinctively to catch the

music of her voice; his breath was for the moment suspended lest the

least sound from her lips should escape his ear. He was in a waking

trance, the more delicious from its succeeding to reflections which had

so painfully harassed him.

“Stranger!” at length said a soft voice in a tone that seemed to come

from the throat of a Peri.

“Who is it that calls me?” asked the prisoner, in a scarcely audible

whisper.

“One who has compassion upon your condition, and would give you the

means of freedom if you are disposed to embrace them.”

“Shall we not be overheard by those holy sleepers who are lying round

yonder embers?”

“No; they are lapped in too profound a slumber to be easily roused.”

“To whom do I address myself?”

“To the granddaughter of Bistamia, who would escape with you the most

odious of all slaveries. You will, no doubt, be surprised that I speak

thus freely to a stranger, but mine is a desperate position, and I

seek its alleviation under any circumstances. To-morrow, when the

fakeers shall have quitted these walls, which they will do to engage

the Emperor’s troops, I may see you again. I have sought you now to

apprise you that a friend is at hand, bent upon your release. To-morrow

we meet--farewell!” And her aërial figure glided through the gloom,

without leaving the faintest echo of her footsteps, like a bright

mist in a summer eve over the surface of a calm lake, upon which the

mountains have projected their gigantic shadows.

Shortly after the morning had cast its fresh light into the gloomy hall

the fakeers awoke, and rising from their hard bed, each with a sudden

motion of the different limbs, caused the joints to snap with a sound

like the cracking of nuts in rapid succession; after which they seated

themselves, crossed their legs, and began to smoke, passing the tube

from mouth to mouth, every one inhaling the luxurious narcotic from the

same instrument. After a while Bistamia entered.

“Come,” said she, “’tis time you were on your way. The Emperor’s troops

were encamped last night beyond the country over which we have passed

with the scourge of our power. They will be on their march by this

time. You must all fight, and wrap the souls of your foes in the black

veil of terror. Who undergoes the penance this morning?”

Without uttering a word, one of the fakeers who had accompanied the

Mogul on the day of his capture, and rendered himself conspicuous by

passing needles through his flesh, rose from his recumbent position,

and, with an expression of callous indifference, advanced towards the

spot where the flame had brightly blazed on the preceding evening.

Rubbing two smooth pieces of a black-grained wood rapidly together, he

kindled a tuft of dry grass on which some brushwood had been placed,

and upon this several dry logs. A strong fire was soon burning, into

which the devotee placed a long cylindrical rod of iron. In the course

of a few moments it became red hot. When in this state he placed

the point of the rod against his cheek, and deliberately pressed it

until it had passed through his tongue, and was visible on the other

side. It was then bent down on either cheek, towards the shoulder,

forming three sides of a square, to prevent the possibility of its

being withdrawn. The stern composure of his countenance did not relax

a single instant during the revolting infliction. His companions

looked upon him with fatuitous admiration, making him the most solemn

obeisance after the odious penance had been concluded.

The man next deliberately opened the wounds which he had made on the

previous day, and passed different coloured strings through them. Thus

adorned, he declared himself ready to go forth in his own invincible

might, and crush the enemies of his venerable patron. Bistamia placed

a golden boon within his half-closed hand, upon which he grinned as

well as his locked jaws would permit, and was about to quit the place

accompanied by his companions, when the hag said with a savage laugh:

“On your return you shall enjoy a rare pastime with yonder son of

a scurvy dog: I will reserve him for your merriment. A little easy

blood-spilling without labour will be a relaxation, after the fatigue

of making carrion in the gross. Go and prosper--slay and spare not!”

They made their salaam, departed, and the prisoner was once more left

to his own solitary reflections.

About noon, his visitor of the night approached him. As she advanced,

the lightness of her step, and the buoyant elasticity of every motion

of her frame, proclaimed the beauty which he had already anticipated.

In a few moments, a lovely girl, in the very birth and freshness of

womanhood, stood before him. She was young and beautiful as the morning

stars when they sang together at the birth of creation. Her breath

seemed impregnated with spicy perfume wafted on gentlest airs from the

shores of Arabia the Happy. It invested her in an atmosphere of its own.

Her eyes were dark--of the deepest hue, but brilliant as gems, and soft

as the soul of which they were eloquent interpreters. Her hair was

raised in a cone on the top of her head, and confined by a long silver

pin, giving increased altitude to her majestic figure, and exposing the

whole of her finely-arched forehead to the rapturous gaze of the Mogul.

“I would not have escaped this captivity for worlds!” he cried, as she

stood beside him in the plenitude of her almost unearthly beauty.

“Stranger,” she replied, “have you the courage to bear me from the

house of bondage, if I free you from your chains?”

“Try me; and if I fail to realise your wishes, cast me back again to

my prison, and gall my limbs with the fetters from which I should no

longer deserve to be free.”

She bent over him, and released his hands from the manacles that

confined them, and he stood before her disencumbered of his bonds.

“Listen,” cried the beautiful girl, “while I unfold to you the

miserable position in which I stand. My grandmother has given me as a

concubine to the fakeer who this morning underwent the penance which

you witnessed. On his return from the battle he will claim me. I need

scarcely tell you that I entertain towards him a disgust so intrinsical

and unconquerable, that I am determined to die by my own hands rather

than become the instrument of that man’s pleasures. Upon you my hopes

are fixed to release me from this horrible alternative. To-night, when

the fakeers shall be hushed in sleep after their debauch, in which they

are sure to indulge, we may fly from these detested walls. Meanwhile,

you must resume your chains. You will now have the power of casting

them off when you please. At midnight I will again visit you, prepared

to fly with you from the most odious persecution to that freedom which

I shall rely upon your honour for securing to me.”

The sound of footsteps induced her to depart; and Bistamia entered,

followed by several fakeers, who announced another defeat of the

imperial troops by the naked army of an old woman.

“’Tis well,” she cried; “to-morrow I shall place myself at the head of

my brave followers for a final victory, and the imperial sceptre shall

shortly be swayed by a wiser head than ever surmounted the shoulders of

an Emperor.”

In the course of that evening, the abode of Bistamia was filled with

her victorious enthusiasts, who encouraged her absurd pretensions to

the Mogul throne.

CHAPTER III.

At midnight the granddaughter of Bistamia entered the dreary vestibule,

and approaching the prisoner, he immediately released himself from his

bonds. Several fakeers were sleeping in a distant part of the chamber,

and among them the fanatic who had passed the red-hot iron through his

cheek. The captive had scarcely cast aside his chains, when the fakeer

started to his feet, and rushed forward like a demon. His appearance

was beyond description hideous. The wound in his tongue, in which the

iron rod was still fixed, prevented him from articulating; thus his

efforts to speak were followed by unintelligible sounds, so discordant,

that they seemed to come from the throat of some monstrous wild beast

yet unknown to man. His eyes flashed with the lurid glow of a live

coal, dimmed by the cold air, and the fires of which are fast fading.

Some half-consumed logs still burnt upon the floor, where they had

been kindled to prepare the evening’s meal as before, and afforded

sufficient light to show the ferocious aspect of this truculent

visionary. He seized the trembling girl in his arms, for this was the

monster to whose embraces she was to be devoted by her grandmother,

and was about to bear her off, when the Mogul raised his chain, and,

hitting him with all his force upon the temple, struck him to the

earth. The wretched man gave a horrible howl as he fell; this was

accompanied with a smothered groan, and all was still. The floor was

almost instantly covered with his blood. The temporal artery had been

divided with the force of the blow, and he lay dead before his intended

victims.

The other fakeers had by this time advanced and seized the prisoner,

who prostrated two of the fanatics with his chain before they could

succeed in binding him. Bistamia was summoned. When she saw her

favourite dead, she shrieked like a maniac, and staggering towards her

granddaughter, laid her skinny fingers upon the latter’s shoulders, and

looking into her eyes as if she would work a demon’s spell upon her,

cursed her with a loud and bitter imprecation.

“Thou shalt die before to-morrow’s sun goes to his rest, and thy

accomplice with thee. The expiring groans of both shall swell the song

of to-morrow’s triumph. Chain them to yonder wall.”

This order was instantly obeyed; they were each chained to a figure

in recesses of the wall, about twelve feet apart. They could just see

each other. A guard of fakeers was placed over them. They were not

allowed to converse. Those ferocious bigots took delight in dwelling

upon the horrible tortures to which the Mogul was to be exposed, by way

of signalising their contemplated victory on the morrow. They felt a

savage joy in exciting their prisoner’s terrors; and the tears of the

beautiful girl, who had become the companion of his captivity, only

excited their stony hearts to fresh insults.

Next morning, just as Bistamia was prepared to quit the vestibule for

the purpose of heading her army of fanatics, a messenger entered,

informing her that the Emperor had employed magical incantations, in

order to secure her defeat.

She was startled at this intelligence: Aurungzebe’s known sanctity led

her to fear that a spiritual warfare pursued by him would be likely to

turn the tide of success against her.

“What are the methods of the enemy’s sorcery?” asked the hag.

“He has delivered to each soldier in his army a small billet, written

with his own hand, and, as it is supposed, with his own blood,

containing magical incantations. He has moreover ordered similar

billets to be carried upon the point of a spear before each squadron,

which the soldiers are persuaded will counteract the enchantments of

their enemies; so that they are advancing with a degree of enthusiasm

which I fear will be irresistible.”

Bistamia was perplexed, for she had sagacity enough to perceive that

the same credulity which had induced Aurungzebe’s troops to believe

in the witchcraft of an old woman, would give them at least equal

confidence in the pretended charm of their Emperor.

“Well, should they drive us to the foot of this mountain, the

stronghold behind will defy them: a few resolute spirits may defend the

hill from a host; and success has given courage to the army of the

fakeers. They will protect their potentate to the last drop of their

blood.”

“But where is our leader?”

“Dead.”

“A bad omen of success!”

“Will not the presence of Bistamia inspirit the naked armies of

Paradise, for thither they are on their way through a pilgrimage of

warfare, to crush the outcasts? We shall teach them yet a terrible

lesson. Come--to the field, and mind”--turning to the fakeers who had

charge of the captives--“you look with a vigilant eye upon those doomed

offenders who shall expiate their crimes with their blood. This night

their death-pangs shall record our triumph.”

Dashing her long pale locks from her withered forehead, she seized a

dagger and staggered from the spot.

She had some reason for the confidence she expressed in the strength of

the place selected for her abode. The hill was steep, and accessible

only by a single path. By rolling down huge stones upon the heads of

a besieging force, a few resolute men might defend the ascent against

multitudes. This had been already done with fatal success. Beyond the

vestibule, in which the two prisoners were confined, was an extensive

range of apartments, hollowed out of the living rock. The entrance was

from the ruin, through a long passage only fifteen inches wide and

thirty feet in length, cut through the solid stone, and protected by a

sort of massive iron portcullis, which was let down about the centre,

and raised or lowered by means of heavy chains. The dimensions of the

excavations beyond were prodigious; there being cavern after cavern,

in which were deposited immense treasures of various descriptions, but

how realised has remained a mystery, though considered to have been the

produce of sorcery.

The neighbourhood of this spot was shunned as an enchanted region; and

the desolation spread by the inexorable Bistamia around her dwelling,

only tended to increase the superstitious horror with which she was

universally regarded.

The Mogul’s situation was now far more distressing than it had been

since his captivity among the fakeers. He could not behold his lovely

companion suffering on his account without the keenest emotions. But

for him she would be at that moment free; and yet the bitterness of

these reflections was, in some measure, qualified by the knowledge

that her liberty was worse than bondage, exposed as she had been to

the loathsome advances of a man whom she could not look upon without

abhorrence, and to whose detestable passions her innocence might have

been eventually sacrificed. He felt, therefore, some consolation, amid

the harassing thoughts which poured like a turbid flood upon his mind.

He was forbidden to hold any conversation with his fellow-captive;

so that, although they could see each other’s misery, they were not

allowed the sad consolation of reciprocating their thoughts. The moment

he made an effort of this kind, one of his naked guards stood before

him, and drowned his voice with horrible imprecations.

Four of these wretches were left as a guard over him and the partner

of his captivity. They indulged in that loose freedom of conversation

peculiar to the lowest and most depraved natures. Seated upon the bare

stones of the apartment they smoked and chewed bhang[41] until they

were nearly stupified. One of them then brought a leathern bottle

full of arrack, from a hole underneath one of the pillars; and this

strong spirit they continued to drink until they were all in a state

of disgusting intoxication. They then danced before their prisoners,

raving like maniacs, and flourishing their clubs over their heads with

terrifying violence. Fatigued at length with these exertions, they

threw themselves prostrate, and were soon in a swinish sleep.

The dead body of the fakeer still lay where it had fallen when the soul

quitted its deformed tabernacle for a brighter or a darker destiny.

The odours which exhaled from it were becoming extremely offensive;

and the prospect of soon breathing an atmosphere teeming with the

foul particles of corruption, was anything but a promising subject of

contemplation to the wretched captives.

The thoughts of escape now took entire possession of the Mogul’s mind.

His guards were powerless, and he began to try the strength of his

chains. He was fastened to the leg of a gigantic figure which stood in

a niche, and which, therefore, the darkness of the place had hitherto

prevented him from examining. It happened that the sun, being at this

moment opposite to a small aperture in the roof of the building, poured

a narrow but strong stream of light upon the figure. On examining

minutely the limb to which he was fastened, the prisoner observed a

large crack in the stone, just above the ankle; this opened in the

slightest degree when he pulled the chain. He felt confident that, by

a great effort, he could break off the stone limb; though even then he

would only free himself in a degree, for his wrists were bound together

by a handcuff, to which the chain was attached that fastened him to

the statue. The discovery, however, gave him some hope of eventually

being able to take advantage of it; and his mind became considerably

calmed. He dreaded Bistamia’s return, remembering her horrible menaces,

and having good reason to believe that she would not fail to put them

into execution, if something did not intervene to cross her sanguinary

purpose.

The fakeers still slept. Except their loud breathings, nothing was

heard to disturb the gloomy silence that reigned around. It was already

long past noon, and no tidings had been received of the hostile armies.

At length distant shouts came suddenly upon the ear. They sounded

like the acclamations of triumph, mingled with those frantic yells

peculiar to the fakeers when under a state of violent excitement. The

sounds gradually approached, and it soon became evident that victory

had favoured the Moguls. The clash of arms was now heard, cries of the

pursuing and pursued were distinctly perceptible, and at length rose to

a tumult.

In a few moments, Bistamia entered the vestibule, spotted with gore.

The whole upper part of her bronzed fleshless body was uncovered. Her

appearance was positively hideous. There was a deep gash in her neck,

whence the blood bubbled. She staggered towards her granddaughter--a

dagger glimmered in her bony fingers. She raised it over the head of

the trembling girl, who sat mute and motionless under her harpy clutch,

blanched with terror. The old crone gave a gasp; a guttural chuckle

followed, and her arm fell; she fixed her teeth, whilst her eyes glared

on those of her victim.

The Mogul, in a paroxysm of alarm for the safety of one who had put

her life in jeopardy for him, threw his whole weight on the chain

which attached him to the statue. The cracked limb gave way. He rushed

towards the hag, raised his chained hands to strike, but perceived that

she was motionless. Her arm had not force to impel the dagger which had

fallen from her feeble grasp, and the wretched creature lay dead on the

bosom of her grandchild.

A party of Moguls entered. The drunken fakeers were instantly put

to death, and the two captives released. The apartments beyond the

vestibule were searched, and vast hoards of wealth discovered, which

were seized, and ultimately deposited in the imperial treasury. The

lovely Zulima was received with flattering courtesy by the Emperor,

and shortly after became the wife of her late companion in chains, who

proved to be the son of Shaista, one of Aurungzebe’s favourite generals.

FOOTNOTES:

[41] An intoxicating leaf.

The Mahratta Chief.

CHAPTER I.

A cavalcade was on its way to Madura through one of those deep gorges

with which the Western Ghauts abound. Evening had already set in, and

thickened by the dense shadows of the mountains which intercept the

sun’s rays as he verges towards the horizon, the darkness was intense.

The evening hour had been chosen by the travellers for the renewal of

their journey, in order to escape the scorching heat of the sun, which

in the daytime, when reflected from the bare sides of the hills, is

so great as to be scarcely endurable. The night was lovely. The glen

through which the party were passing was a profound hollow; above the

mountains rose on either side, sloping upwards from the base, and thus

presenting the form of a funnel. The sky, seen from this pitchy glen,

appeared of uncommon brilliancy, and was so thickly studded with stars,

that the light seemed to percolate through the entire expanse: but it

reached not the bosom of the ravine through which the travellers were

passing, being repelled by the ponderous shadows of the surrounding

hills.

In the midst of the cavalcade was a palankeen of costly construction,

borne upon the shoulders of four sturdy Hindoos. Round it hung a rich

silk drapery which entirely enclosed and concealed the person within.

Whining a dull monotonous chant, the hamauls[42] proceeded at a slow

but steady pace, on account of the inequalities of the ground. A guard

of a hundred and fifty soldiers followed close behind them. The murmurs

of their voices as they chatted to beguile the tediousness of their

journey was multiplied by the slumbering echoes of the hills, which

were awakened at their approach, and appeared to mock them with their

own hilarity.

They came at length to a gloomy pass between two huge masses of

rock that seemed to have been cast there by some mighty convulsion

of the earth. Here the strait was so exceedingly narrow that there

was scarcely room to force the palankeen through. Two men could not

go abreast. When the hamauls were just about to emerge from this

mountain gorge, they found their progress opposed by a troop of armed

men. Cowardly at all times, and rendered doubly so by their confined

position, they would have cast down their burthen and fled; but as this

was impossible from the nature of the passage, they fell upon their

knees with the palankeen still resting on their shoulders, and implored

mercy of the armed strangers.

Little ceremony was used in reply to their supplications. The palankeen

was lifted from their shoulders and taken possession of, together with

its burthen, and the bearers were ordered to make the best of their

way back through the passage, upon pain of summary chastisement. This

was no easy matter to accomplish, as the troops followed so closely

behind that several were already in the gorge. With some difficulty the

passage was at length cleared; but when the guards learned what had

taken place, they pushed forward to recover their charge, and in a few

moments the strait was again filled. The foremost man, however, was

thrust through the body with a lance the moment he reached the end of

the strait.

“Advance another step,” said a voice, in a tone that showed it had

been practised in command, “and you die. We are in force sufficient to

slaughter you like so many wild conies coming out of a burrow. Remain

patiently where you are for a few minutes, and your march shall be no

further impeded.”

“Where is the palankeen?” demanded the guard.

“Where it and its gentle occupant will be well attended to. We know

our prize. She must lack refreshment amid the rugged passes of these

hills, and we are prepared to afford her a specimen of our hospitality.”

“To whom will she be indebted for this compulsive courtesy?”

“To Sevagee, the Mahratta. The Princess Rochinara will be safe in his

custody. Tell the Emperor, on your return, that his daughter is with

those whom he contemptuously calls ‘The Robbers of the Hills:’ but

Sevajee may live to dispute with him the throne of Delhi; he therefore

need not deem an alliance with the Chief of the Mahrattas a disgrace.”

By this time the party who had attacked the palankeen had dispersed,

leaving only their leader, and a few followers. These, when sufficient

time had been given to secure their captive, suddenly plunged into the

recesses of the mountains, with most of which they were familiar, and

left the troops of Aurungzebe to pursue their march, with nothing to

protect but their own lives. They emerged from the glen, and in their

rage at losing their sovereign’s daughter, who had been committed to

their custody, they sacrificed the hamauls on the spot, determined to

represent to the Emperor that the treacherous Hindoos had purposely

led them into the pass, in order to betray them into the power of

Sevajee. They knew Aurungzebe to be an inexorable man, and feared the

consequences of making known to him the loss of his daughter, whilst

under their protection. He made no allowance either for accident or

contingencies. Whenever anything happened contrary to his expectations,

the presumed instruments of failure were generally punished, and too

frequently with the loss of life. Like all tyrants, he was without

pity; and his sympathies might really be said never to be excited,

save where they received their impulse from something either directly

bearing upon, or collaterally allied to, his own interests.

The soldiers dreaded an interview with their sovereign, who was at

that time encamped near Madura, where he daily expected his daughter

to join him. She had left the Deccan for that purpose, and was passing

the Ghauts, when she was captured by the daring Mahratta, as already

related.

The princess was borne from her guards, and carried for some hours

through the intricate windings of the hills, until at length the

bearers stopped before a small mountain fortress. It was still dark,

but having emerged from the lower regions of this elevated range, the

gloom had considerably diminished, and near objects were sufficiently

visible to render the progress of travelling tolerably certain.

The princess was desired to alight from her palankeen, and being

respectfully placed in a sort of basket, ingeniously woven from the

husk of the cocoa-nut, was drawn up into the fortress, the entrance

of which was through a low portal, terminating a narrow landing-place

upon the naked side of the hill. Through this, after traversing a short

passage, there was an ascent by steps into the fort, which was not

extensive, containing a garrison of only sixty men.

The Princess Rochinara was ushered into a small but airy chamber; and

two of her women, who had been taken with her, were allowed to attend

upon their captive mistress. The princess was at this time only in her

seventeenth year, of an agreeable rather than handsome person, finely

formed, showy, of a healthy, vigorous constitution, and sprightly

countenance. She was a great favourite of her father, and therefore not

under much apprehension from her present captivity, knowing that he

would immediately make an effort to rescue her from bondage, and the

warlike efforts of Aurungzebe had seldom failed of being crowned with

success. She knew not into whose power she had fallen, but imagined

that a band of mountain robbers had captured her, and intended to

retain her, merely for the sake of a liberal ransom, which she was

satisfied her parent would never pay, but release her at the point of

the sword.

For a day or two she saw no one but her attendants, and, having

been accustomed to the seclusion of the harem, she did not find her

solitude at all insupportable. One of her women, who was an adept

at story-telling, and had made herself acquainted with many of the

singular legends of Hindoo history, entertained her mistress by

relating some of those monstrous fictions which abound in those two

poetical depositories of the marvellous, the Mahabarat and Ramayana.

Thus the time was agreeably beguiled, until the princess became, at

length, impatient to know something about her captivity, and into whose

hands she had fallen. No information was to be obtained upon this

interesting question. A pretty female slave daily brought the gentle

captive her food, consisting of the most delicate viands and delicious

fruits, but did not utter a word in reply to her questions, which only

imparted a keener edge to her anxiety.

On the fourth morning after Rochinara had become an occupant of the

mountain fortress, an unusual bustle announced an arrival; but nothing

could be drawn from the slave when she paid her usual periodical visit;

her lips appeared hermetically sealed, for not even the offer of a

liberal bribe could tempt her to unclose them. Patience, therefore,

was the only alternative left; and in all cases of captivity it is a

cardinal virtue. The princess, however, was becoming restless;--she

rejected her food--she grew petulant, and no longer listened with

any relish to the tales of her favourite woman. Her eyes were often

suffused with tears; but during a rather strong burst of emotion,

occasioned more from the idea of being neglected than of being a

captive, the door of her prison was opened, and to her surprise, not

unmingled with pleasure, her captor stood before her. He was a short,

compactly built man, apparently under thirty years of age. His face was

round and “full-orbed,” but every feature small and highly expressive.

His eye was intensely brilliant, and seemed to possess a concentration

of power that could pierce through anything opposed to its gaze. Its

expression was somewhat severe--restless, quick, and scrutinising;

but that of every other feature was bland even to playfulness. The

forehead was both high and broad, and as smooth as the surface of a

mirror. There was no hair on his face, except rather a strong moustache

on the upper lip, which was in perfect harmony with the true Oriental

cast of his countenance. His neck, bare to the shoulder, was rather

short, and as thick as that of a Thessalian bull; whilst his ample

expanse of chest denoted that strength and hardihood with which he

was particularly endowed. His legs were uncovered to the knee, and

modelled with a neatness and upon such an exact scale of proportion as

to combine masculine beauty with that physical vigour to which true

symmetry is invariably allied.

The stranger stood with his arms folded before the princess, after

having made her a courteous salaam. She gazed upon him at first only

without displeasure; but it was evident, by the gradual brightening

of her countenance, that a more minute scrutiny produced something

the very opposite of dissatisfaction. She waited several moments for

the visitor to address her; but he remained silent, keeping his eyes

steadily fixed upon the interesting Rochinara, as if awaiting her

commands. An arch smile danced in his eye, and an occasional undulation

of the upper lip showed that he was not about to play the ruffian.

“To whom,” said the princess at length, in a gentle voice, “am I

indebted for the constrained hospitality to which I am forced to

submit?”

“To Servajee, Chief of the Mahrattas.”

“But why is the daughter of the Emperor Aurungzebe arrested in her

journey, and forced to become an occupant of this fortress?”

“Because, lady, the Mahratta chief desires to be upon a better footing

with the Emperor of the Moguls, and would make the daughter a medium of

alliance with the father.”

“The Princess Rochinara could never stoop to so low a degradation as to

become the wife of a mountain robber.”

“You mistake lady; I am a sovereign in these mountain solitudes, and

all monarchs are equal in moral rights. The name of Sevajee will

be heard of among the heads of nations: for who so renowned as the

founders of kingdoms? You are in my power; but I shall not use that

power to win you to my purpose. I am content to woo; and assure

yourself, that no woman who can look upon the sun would be degraded by

becoming the wife of the Mahratta chief. Whatever you desire, express

it, and your command in all things, save quitting this fortress, will

be obeyed. We shall be better acquainted; and when you know me, you

may think me something nobler than a robber. We shall meet daily.

Farewell!”

Making a low obeisance, with a calm smile he quitted the apartment.

FOOTNOTES:

[42] Palankeen bearers.

CHAPTER II.