Maloosray had too much at stake to risk aught by delay, and he and his
companions fled from the back door of the house already described,
screened by the rain and thick darkness, leaving, however, one of
the scouts to inform their companion of what had happened, and with
directions for both to join him at their place of concealment as
quickly as possible. They proceeded at a rapid pace, leaving the
suburb, and striking across the open plain, eastwards, in the direction
of the small hamlet of Allapoor, bearing the wounded man with them.
Heretofore, in his stealthy visits to the city, Maloosray had found
shelter and concealment in a Mutt or monastery of Jogis, who, in their
annual pilgrimages, had become known to him, and assuming their garb,
and even joining them in their morning perambulations in search of
alms, he had been enabled to visit those persons in the city with whom
his intrigues were being carried on. Now, however, the Jogis had warned
him that their Mutt was no longer safe. Jehándar Beg had received
information which led to several visits by his men at night; and though
not interfered with, or even aware of the reason of suspicion, the
Jogis knew they were watched.
But they were true to his interests, and had prepared a place more
secure, because without the walls, and more secluded, than their own
Mutt, which was the resort of travellers and devotees from all parts of
the country. This was the cloister of an old Hindu temple which stood
by itself in an unfrequented part of the plain, and which, either by
some act of desecration, or because of its inconvenient situation,
had been long neglected. The cloister round it was, however, in good
repair, and a little plastering with clay, and cleansing of the chamber
from the accumulated dust of years, made the place comfortable enough;
and one of the Jogis attended in turn, brought provisions, and acted as
cook to the party.
It was easy from thence to reach the city unobserved. Not far distant
was the small hamlet of Allapoor, yet sufficiently far to deter prying
persons from coming to see who lived in the deserted temple; and if
any one were observed, it was, to all appearance, only a Jogi. When,
therefore, the Patel, or chief elder of the village of Allapoor,
was told by the shepherd boys that some mendicants were repairing
the cloister of the old temple and staying there, he bade no one
interfere with them; and his goodwill was by-and-by secured by an
occasional present from time to time. No one suspected the place or its
inhabitants; and few frequented the plain about it, which, being hard
and stony, was uncultivated, as it still remains, and was used here and
there for cemeteries; but the greater part was left to nature, and to
flocks of hardy sheep and goats, which picked up a scanty subsistence.
It was not without some apprehension that Maloosray had first trusted
himself to the new shelter; but in the course of several visits he had
become accustomed to it, and found that he was at once freer and safer
there, than in his old quarters inside the walls. The horses, too,
were excellently provided for in the crypt of an adjoining Mahomedan
tomb, which had never been finished, nor had any use been made of it.
Below the foundation terrace was a spacious arched vault, above which
the walls of the mausoleum had been partly carried; and the entrance
was so overgrown with matted creepers and bushes, that it could not be
seen unless examined very closely. Within, three horses, and as many
stout ponies, found excellent shelter and concealment; and Maloosray's
scouts--who were, in fact, his retainers and escort--lived with them
and tended them.
To this place Maloosray proceeded as fast as the wet ground and the
rough by-paths would permit--supporting his companion when needful, and
helping him over stony places. The wound was not dangerous, yet it had
caused considerable loss of blood, and the hardy mountaineer was more
weakened than he liked to admit. Once they emerged upon the plain, the
temple was soon reached; and, after having the sword-cut dressed and
bound up, the wounded man was left to his repose.
Maloosray's next care was for his horses, and he proceeded to the
crypt. Safe now from observation, for it was long past midnight,
the men there were busy with preparations for the morning meal--for
they could cook only at night. Two were grinding millet-flour in the
hand-mill, which they always carried with them; another was kneading
dough in a wooden trough; a fourth shaping portions of it into cakes,
which he patted between his hands into the desired form, and a fifth
was baking them upon a large flat iron pan or griddle--which held
several at the same time--and removing them to the side of the fire to
harden, as fast as baked.
A goodly pile of bread had already accumulated; and in two earthen pots
simmered messes of vegetables and split-peas, from which a strong, and
not unsavoury, smell of onions and garlic proceeded. The fire, fed by
dry sticks from time to time, lighted up the space around, resting
upon the rough stone arches and heavy massive groins of the crypt; and
upon the forms of several men lying asleep, wrapped in their strong
cotton sheets or rough blankets, while others reclined lazily, talking
occasionally to those employed. There were three horses--two lay asleep
among the men, the other, a powerful silver-grey mare, was feeding, and
looking round occasionally to the man baking bread, expecting, with a
low whinny, her allowance of buttered cakes.
The scene was peculiar and striking: for the gloom of the vault was so
deep, except around the fire itself, that every object seemed to stand
out in sharp relief as the light caught it. Just then, too, a brighter
blaze than before rested upon the coat of the mare, and, shining on the
soft glossy skin, caused the graceful outline of her form to project
from the deep gloom behind it in a remarkable manner.
"What! awake, and no one guarding the door? Ah! would ye have the
Kótwal's men upon ye, my sons?" cried Maloosray, entering unobserved.
"Beware, all of ye, the risk is great."
"Master, we had the watch set," answered a man, standing up and making
a clumsy salutation, while others started to their feet. "I only came
in for a moment to see to the mare, for the rest were busy."
"Has she not slept?"
"O yes! She just now woke, got up, shook herself, and neighed. That was
what brought me in; I thought she had no fodder, and that the others
might be asleep."
"Then she is fresh for a journey, in case we have a rapid one, Ramjee?"
"Ay, master; you may be at Poona in three days if you will, or at
Pertâbgurh either. She will do it."
Maloosray approached the animal: she stretched her head towards him
with a low whinny, and rubbed her nose and eyes against him. "Yes,
Rookminee," he said, caressing her, "thou wilt have sharp work,
perhaps. Art ready, lass?"
There was another low whinny in reply, as she licked the hand held out
to her. She at least understood the caress, and responded to it. He
passed his hand over her sleek coat, which glistened like silver in
the firelight, and down each leg, and taking up each hoof, narrowly
examined every shoe and nail in it in succession.
"Ah! if you can find any fault there, master, you may do as you please
with me," said Ramjee. "No; Balla at Jutt knows his trade too well to
allow a nail to slack, and he knows, too, whose mare he is shoeing!
What does he say? When Sivaji Bhóslay comes with a hundred thousand
horse, then I will ride with him on his raid to the south, and not a
horse shall drop a shoe, be the journey ever so long."
"And he shall, Ramjee," cried Maloosray, laughing. "The fellow is a
braggart, but he is useful."
"Ah! master, that was a rare meeting. Was it not curious that so many
horses wanted shoeing that day? Well, so thought the royal horsemen
stationed there; and they went about twisting up their moustaches, and
swelling themselves out as you never saw, my lord. Many good fellows
there were, who would not have cared for a chance with some of those
gallants in the open plain. When are we to begin, master?"
"Ay, when?" echoed a number of the men, who ceased their occupation for
a moment, or raised themselves on their elbows while the answer was
given.
"Not yet, my sons, not yet; we bide our time. And now for work,"
answered Maloosray. "Go thou, Ramjee, to the Paigah of Afzool Khan
early, and see if that dog Bulwunt Rao is dead. Well was it that I
tied chains in my turban folds last night, else he had cloven me to
the teeth. I have vowed a silver horse to the shrine of Khundôba at
Jejoori, for the deliverance."
"And was he slain, master, at last?"
"Nay, that is what I want to know," he replied. "But I had a fair blow
at him, and I rarely miss. Go, and bring news quickly."
"Master," said Ramjee in a tone of entreaty, and reverentially touching
Maloosray's feet, "I will go. Let there be no risks like this again.
What would the Maharaja do without you, and what is there to be gained
here that is worth such peril?"
"Ah, yes!" added another, "what if ten thousand such as we are were
expended, it would be nothing were Tannajee safe. Only that two of us
in the lane behind Rama's, misdirected a party of the King's men, ye
had been beset, before and behind; and if the King had got hold of any
of ye, the kites and crows of the 'Goruk Imlee' would have had full
bellies by this evening."
"Well, it was not of my seeking," returned Maloosray; "for Bulwunt
Rao was reported dead--killed in battle two years ago; so, at least,
we heard. It was like fighting a spirit, my sons; and I missed my
blows.... Hark! who is that without? Netta? What news, brother?" he
continued, as a slight, active-looking man entered hastily. "Didst thou
find Pahar Singh, the old robber?"
"Maharaj!" returned the man, "there was no Pahar Singh. We found a fire
burning in the verandah of the temple, and I took a lighted brand and
looked about. All we could discover was a little fresh blood on the
floor and three gold pieces among the ashes. But there was blood on the
wall too, and we tracked it for a few paces, when the torch went out in
the rain, so we went on and heard a man moaning in a nullah, and some
jackals were standing by him as we went up. Dost thou remember Maun
Singh, who is with Pahar Singh always? Well, we could hardly see, so
Limba went back for another brand, and brought it under his blanket,
and then we saw the man's face. He was terribly wounded, and could not
speak sensibly, but one or two names escaped him, one of which was
Pahar Singh, and Limba knew his face."
"Ye did not let him live, the foul traitor and liar?" cried Maloosray,
excitedly. "O that it had been 'the Lion' himself! Ye did not let him
live?"
"Master, he will speak no more, nor yet tell lies. I have made that
sure enough," said Limba, approaching and touching the feet of
Maloosray. "I knew him after what happened in the old Gosai's Mutt at
Tooljapoor, and Moro Punt would have had me kill him then and the other
too, only I could find no opportunity. They had some fifty horse with
him, and were as shy as deer. Now I have settled that account."
"Good, my son," replied Maloosray; "but what had happened, Netta? Was
there no further trace of them?"
"None, Maharaj; we were fairly puzzled. We returned, and stayed in the
temple by the fire, in hopes that Pahar Singh might come back; but it
was no use. Then we went and listened behind the guard-house, and heard
there was a man wounded in an affray--a 'Gosai'--and there was a barber
dressing his wound."
"Then he did not die? I had hoped he did."
"Holy Mother! was this thy work, master, and all of us away?" cried
several of the men.
"No; Ranoo remained with me," replied Maloosray, "and has got a
scratch; but what of the man wounded? What think ye of Bulwunt Rao, my
cousin, dead long since, as we thought, but come to life, Netta?"
"My curse on him! And he escaped you, Tannajee?"
"I am going to see if he be dead, brother," interposed Ramjee; "the
master's blows are not little ones."
"You see, friends, they--those two Gosais--as they appeared, must have
met Pahar Singh, who directed them. I see it all now--the villain's
attempt to decoy us into that trap by the temptation of news of the
Wuzeer. Depend upon it, he has been bought over, and is not to be
trusted; and he set them on our track."
"He never was," cried both the men; "he has only one king and one
god--that is money," added Netta; "and he has gone where he could get
it."
"Yes, friends, those men knew us," continued Maloosray; "and to my mind
the place is no longer safe: so we had as well be ready. If they have
given the alarm--and Bulwunt would do so if he had any sense--we shall
have horsemen scouring the plains to-morrow, and that fine lad, Fazil
Khan, at the head of them. So away, some of you: watch the gates; let
the horses be kept saddled all day; and let them have bread as fast
as they can eat it. I would go at once, Nettajee," he added to that
person, taking him aside; "but the Wuzeer must be seen and spoken with
first. He was at Almella yesterday, and will be in the city by the
afternoon. Without having speech of him, I dare not show myself before
the master; and the object of our journey would be incomplete. I think
we may trust him."
"Alas! I fear not," replied Nettajee; "ye are too sanguine, you and
the Maharaja. Khan Mahomed will not league with us; he leans to the
Moghuls, and calls us 'Kafirs of Hindus,' and kills cows wherever he
can. I know it. Why do ye trust him, when he is faithless to his own
salt? Suppose he chose to turn round and hang up Tannajee Maloosray to
the 'Goruk Imlee tree,' would not that keep him fair in his master's
eyes, and blind them to his intrigues with the Padshah? Ah, brother,
trust him not: one who will deceive the master who has raised him to
what he is, will deceive you. A slave born, he will be one to the last;
and he is not fit to strike in with free men like us! Leave him to the
Moghuls, to whom he will be a slave, as he was to Beejapoor: we have
our own road between both. But come now to Ranoo: is he fit to travel?"
"He will be better after he has slept. We were owls, Nettajee, not to
see through those flimsy disguises," returned Maloosray.
"Bulwunt Rao is better living than dead, brother; and we may yet bring
him round," said Nettajee.
"I tell thee, O Netta," interrupted Tannajee, fiercely, and grinding
his teeth as he spoke, "I would cut him down with my own hand at the
feet of the Maharaja, rather than he should have speech of him. Never
name him to me, else we may differ."
"Ah, that blow of his still rings in your head, Tannajee," replied the
other, laughing. "But come; if you don't need sleep, I do. He sleeps,"
he continued, as they entered the cloister where the wounded man lay;
"that is well; and I will do the same, Tannajee;" and so saying, he
took down a sheet from a cord on which it was hanging, and, wrapping
himself in it, lay down, and was soon snoring loudly.
But Maloosray could not sleep, and after a while, got up, and
ascending the steps to the roof of the terrace, looked over the
plain suspiciously. All, however, was still. To the east, lightning
was playing about the tops of the clouds in dim flickering flashes.
Everywhere else the sky was clear, and the stars shone with great
lustre. A few jackals howled in the distance, and their cry was
answered successively in many directions. Then the drums and horns of
the several guards at the gates and on the outer walls and bastions
of the city, sounded deep and shrill one by one, and were taken up by
those in the "Ark" or citadel of the palace, and so died away in the
distance.
His eye followed the line of towers and battlements, and narrowly
watched every light which might betoken a stir among the troops
within; but there was none. The huge dome of the mausoleum of Mahmood
Adil Shah, not long completed, stood out in a dark heavy mass against
the clear sky: and beyond it the outlines of the Palace of the Seven
Stories--the great Cavalier--and a confused mass of trees and buildings
intermingled; nearer, too, the massive walls and arches of the tomb of
the mother of the late King, then, as now, unfinished.
All was still. High up in the palace a light twinkled now and then
faintly, on which Tannajee speculated dreamily. Was the King awake? the
light was in his private apartments. What could he be doing so late
in the night? for the drums and trumpets had sounded the third watch.
O that he would join heartily with his master, and defy the Moghuls!
Would no one tell him this was his best policy? Better a thousand times
to secure the fidelity of a large portion of his own subjects by timely
concession, than to defy and coerce their chieftain. Now, too, though
the Moghuls had been once beaten off, it would not be so again. They
were resting and gathering strength, and one by one the independent
kingdoms to the north had fallen before them.
How long would this remain?--this, the most extensive, most valuable,
and most heretical. Better far, then, to secure the Mahratta people,
than to lose all by a double war with them, and with the Moghuls. "Will
no one tell the boy this?" thought Maloosray. "We do not wish him evil;
but the master must be free, and will be free. The people will assemble
at the Dusséra, and the King can then have his choice between a lakh of
Mahrattas and a lakh of Moghuls, or both combined; and yet this old
family should not pass away--it should not pass away at our hands."
But we need not follow his thoughts further: better to transport
ourselves to that twinkling light high up in the Seven-storied Palace,
and see who sit beside it, and hear what they say.