Now morning breathed: the scented air was mild,
Each meadow blossomed, and each valley smiled;
On every shrub the pearly dew-drops hung,
On every branch a feathered warbler sung;
The cheerful spring her flowery chaplets wove,
And incense-breathing gales perfumed the grove.
INDIAN TALE.
Kazim remained no longer at Kabul than was absolutely necessary to
repair the disasters of the journey over the desert, and to provide
for that which he had still to perform across the mountains to Lahore.
Having sold his stock of horses to considerable advantage, reserving
a pair of the tamest for himself and Mangeli, he took an affectionate
leave of his Ferghanese friends, and set out for India. Mangeli, by
this time, had become an excellent traveller. Wrapping her infant in a
large shawl, which was passed over her right shoulder, and tied firmly
round her waist, she either nursed the babe, or hushed it to sleep,
without alighting from the beautiful animal on which she was mounted.
The heat of noon-tide compelled them, indeed, frequently to shelter
themselves beneath the spreading plane-trees, or in the recesses of
such rocks as afforded at once the convenience of a friendly shade and
a crystal spring. But the genial atmosphere of the mountains enabled
them, in general, to make long journeys from day to day through the
passes and roads, of which Kazim had received abundant information at
Kabul.
Their first resting-place was at the village of Istalif, where Kazim
thought that if he had not been already engaged in pursuit of a higher
destiny, he should have been well contented to spend the remainder
of his life. He was charmed by its situation on the brow of a hill
overlooking a valley, rich in every fruit and flower of that genial
climate. In the middle of the valley he drank of the fountain of the
“Three Friends,” so called from the different species of trees planted
round the spring by three holy men, who thus celebrated the friendship
which they entertained for each other, and which they renewed by
meeting at the fountain for many a year, though they had to travel from
remote points of Thibet, Hindostan, and Persia. On one side, palm-trees
formed an umbrageous grove, in which a thousand pilgrims might easily
find coolness and repose. On another was a group of spreading oaks,
the only specimens of the kind to be met with through a vast tract of
that country; and on the third, the flowering Arghwan put forth its
red and yellow blossoms, impregnating the air with a delicious odour.
“Ah!” said one of the natives to Kazim, who was admiring the beauty of
the landscape, “when the Arghwan is in full flower, there is not a spot
in all the world to be compared to the valley of Istalif!” And when
Kazim, after entwining in Mangeli’s hair a rose-scented tulip, beheld
her resting in the shade, answering by her rapturous smiles those by
which her infant already began to recognise its mother, he was disposed
to think that the villager scarcely exaggerated the attractions of that
happy valley.
The toils of their journey were easily borne, so long as the travellers
remained within the district of Kabul, where the mountains are so many
mounds, with rich vales and wide level plains expanding between them,
on which hamlets are usually found dispersed in the most picturesque
irregularity. If Kazim were at any time doubtful of the way which he
was pursuing, he was seldom long without being able to make inquiry at
a cottage, or from hunters who crossed his course in pursuit of the
red deer and the wild ass, or from fowlers in quest of the game that
abounds all along the banks of the river Baran, the principal pass up
the Hindukush. On entering this grand defile, he was astonished at the
size and number of the birds that rushed thither from all quarters.
He observed that, during the night especially, the larger game kept
constantly flying low over the running water, as its brightness
afforded them a sense of security from the beasts of prey, which they
would have encountered had they remained stationary on the banks. Here
also he beheld vast flights of the begla heron, whose feathers supply
the plumes which the Turkish and Persian warriors wear on their caps or
in their turbans on state occasions.
After quitting the Baran, Kazim and Mangeli found themselves emerging
on a new world, in which the grasses, the trees, the wild animals and
birds, as well as the manners of the people, seemed to be altogether
different from any thing of the kind they had ever observed before.
They now rarely met with running streams, and had to make their way
frequently over the dry channels of former rivers. But Kazim soon
discovered, that whenever he was in want of water for himself and his
horses, he had only to turn up a part of the bed, when the cavity was
filled immediately with a limpid spring. After pursuing their way for
some days among the higher ridges of the mountains, which were still
covered partially with snow, the travellers arrived at the edge of
an immense sheet of water, that seemed, at the extreme distance, to
mingle with the sky. The remote mountains, at either side, appeared
completely inverted in the water, while those nearer at hand looked
in the majestic mirror as if they were suspended between earth and
heaven. They afterwards learned that this was the celebrated lake of
Abistadeh, in which are collected all the waters that descend from the
neighbouring mountains, on the melting of the snows. As they gazed
with wonder upon the vast expanse before them, they beheld from time
to time between the water and the azure canopy above, a ruddy blush,
which, had it not been noon, might have been taken for the Aurora,
stretching across the horizon, occasionally flashing and disappearing
like the lightning playing over the mountain-tops. As the cloud came
nearer, it resolved itself into an innumerable flock of flamingoes,
whose red feathers sometimes glittered in the sun, and sometimes were
hid again as they waved their wings, or soared in their flight towards
Cashmere.
While Kazim and Mangeli were still admiring the scenery that was spread
before them, a young man called out, from the mouth of a cave at which
he stood, inquiring whether it was their intention to cross the lake.
Kazim replied, that he had missed the road to Jellalabad, and asked if
he could regain it by embarking on the lake? The ferryman replied in
the affirmative; and unmooring his raft, composed of timber supported
on reeds, which had been hitherto concealed behind a small promontory,
he assured the travellers that they might expect, under his guidance, a
perfectly safe passage both for themselves and their horses.
The raft being directed into the current, which flowed through the
middle of the lake, was speedily borne along to the opposite shore,
when Kazim, having rewarded the ferryman for his trouble, proceeded
to the town he had mentioned. Hence they floated in a similar manner
down the river to Peshawer; and crossing the Indus at Attok, entered
the kingdom of Lahore. A few days’ journey conducted the travellers at
length within view of the city of that name, whose lofty towers and
domes, shining in the distance, and surrounded by buildings extending
over an immense space, realised all the visions that had long haunted
Kazim’s fancy, when he attempted to picture in his mind the grandeur of
the capital in which the renowned Acbar then held his imperial court.
But although he had now arrived at the very gates of the paradise, so
long the object of his thoughts and his dreams, Kazim ventured not to
express to Mangeli the feeling, bordering on despair, that succeeded
the momentary exultation with which he viewed the accomplishment of his
journey. His heart sunk within him, as he beheld the numerous groups
of peasantry, who were on their way to the capital with the varied
produce of their fields, rice, indigo, opium, poultry, and a thousand
other articles; or returning from the bazaars, with the money or the
manufactures which they had received in exchange. “These people,” he
thought to himself, with a sense of deep sadness, as he heard them
discoursing over their affairs, “have their friends at Lahore, to whom
they repair when they go thither--they have their own cottages not far
off; but we enter the vast capital, without knowing a single individual
of the countless population which it contains--without possessing the
means of judging where we are to find a home--without kindred--without
the hope even of beholding a solitary countenance we had ever seen
before!”
These reflections became still more painful, when, on entering the
city, Kazim looked at the apparently endless rows of houses, shops
and bazaars, all strange to his eye, containing not a creature who
expected his arrival, or sympathised in his fortunes. Of the multitude
of foreign faces that thronged the streets, in all directions, to whom
was he to look for that patronage, without which he might eventually
perish? It was true that the liberality of his Ferghanese friends had
supplied him with the present means of support; but when those means
were exhausted, as they soon must be, in order to provide for the wants
of an increasing family, whither could he fly for assistance? He had
staked his fortunes upon a single cast of the dice; but whether he lost
or won, was a question still undecided.
The travellers, happy to escape from the tumult of the streets, which
frightened Mangeli excessively, rode into the yard of the first
caravanserai that could afford them accommodation. Here they remained
for some days, until Kazim discovered a small house in the suburbs,
which he was enabled to hire at a moderate expence. With Mangeli’s
experience and assistance, their humble residence was speedily supplied
with the few articles of furniture which their wants required. This
done, Kazim had no further occupation for his time than wandering
through the streets of Lahore, and exploring the temples and other
public buildings, with which the capital abounded.
One day, as he was standing in the courtyard of the palace amongst a
crowd of spectators, gazing at a troop of cavalry, which were going
through some evolutions in presence of their commander, a group of
officers, with heron plumes waving in their caps, and golden cuirasses
on their breasts, rode rapidly into the square, and stopping before the
entrance into the palace formed a circle, as if waiting to escort some
person of distinction, whom they expected from the palace.
In a few minutes a noble-looking figure, descending the steps of the
portico, entered the circle, and mounting a caparisoned steed, which an
attendant held there by the rein, rode away, followed by the officers,
in the direction of the gate of Agra. The individual thus splendidly
escorted, was himself dressed in plain attire, an ordinary turban, and
a frock of coarse cloth, as if he were bound on a long journey. He
passed close to Kazim, who could hardly take his eyes off that pale but
intelligent face, from the moment he beheld it.
“Who can that person be?” asked Kazim, addressing one of those who,
like himself, were lounging in the square. His question was answered
by another:--
“What! live you in Lahore, and not know that he, of whom you speak, is
the prime minister, Abul Fazeel?”
“Impossible!” said Kazim; “I have certainly seen him before, but when
or where, I cannot at this moment recollect.”
“Whether you have seen him or not, that is Abul Fazeel, and no other,”
added the lounger, turning upon his heel from a stranger who could be
worth no further notice, seeing that he did not know even the face of
the prime minister.
A company of drummers, who came from the interior of the palace, then
taking their stations at the foot of the portico, gave the signal, by a
treble peal, of the approach of the emperor; upon which the square was
immediately ordered to be cleared. Kazim, whose curiosity was excited
to the highest degree, to behold the hero of whom he had heard so much
at Samarcand, lingered behind the crowd as long as he could. But the
troopers forced them out through the gates, striking the people, who
all seemed as curious as Kazim himself, with the handles of their
spears. Kazim received a severe blow on his head, which almost stunned
him, as the gates were closed in his face.
This was no very favourable omen, he thought, as he walked disheartened
homeward, for one who had come hither in pursuit of public employment.
There were, however, other occupations to which he hoped he might apply
himself with advantage. The schools of Lahore were probably not all
supplied with masters of poetry or rhetoric. He might tender them his
services as a lecturer in either of those branches of education, or in
mathematics, in which he was equally skilful. But while he resolved
these projects in his mind, he could not dismiss from his memory the
countenance of the minister. It seemed to his thought sometimes, when
he questioned himself upon this point, as if he must have lived in
some former world, where Fazeel had been of his most intimate and
esteemed acquaintance. So perfectly familiar to him were the lines of
that fine forehead, and the expression of those penetrating eyes, that
he had no doubt whatever of having seen them before, and that, too,
under circumstances which had left behind them feelings of the most
favourable description. But he vexed his memory in vain to find out
in it any traces of the prime minister of Acbar; for although he had
often heard of the name of Abul Fazeel, it was certain that, so far as
he knew, he had never had the good fortune of meeting elsewhere with an
individual so superior to himself in every respect.