The Palace of the Seven Stories still exists as one of the most noble
and picturesque ruins of the Fort of Beejapoor. Of the Seven Stories,
only five are now traceable; the two upper have been destroyed, perhaps
by lightning, or have fallen from decay and disrepair; and it is only
in the third that the remains of the beautiful chamber still existent
there convey an idea of the effect of the whole structure when it was
perfect. Even this has been much damaged. The gilding of the walls,
of the groins of the arches and fretted roof, and of its delicate
arabesque borders, has all been scraped off, and the fresco paintings
are so destroyed by exposure, that but little exists to tell the
history of the beautiful Bhagiruttee, the mistress of the monarch who
built the palace for her.
Enough, however, remains to show what the general design and execution
of the work were; enough to prove the exquisite taste which had
directed its completion, and the skill and boldness of the architect
who had raised the dizzy tower so high. Then, the spacious arches and
oriel windows were filled by richly carved panels and shutters of teak
wood, which admitted sufficient light and air: now, these are all gone,
the windows are open, and the rain and sun and wind are rapidly causing
decay and destruction of what remains. The upper stories are so broken
that they cannot be ascended; but in the one of which we speak, the
traveller will be tempted to sit a while looking over the masses of
ruins beneath him: and over the still perfect walls of the citadel.
Beyond, the undulating plain studded with mounds, shows lines of
streets, with broken arches, minarets, and some still perfect mosques,
mausoleums, and palaces, which have withstood the effects of time and
the spoiler, and remain as proofs of the splendour which once prevailed.
At the period of our tale all these were perfect. The city spread
away to the south and west, covering many miles of plain with those
streets and houses of which the lines of mounds alone remain. They are
interspersed with villages, which are probably portions of the old
city, never entirely deserted, and to which the descendants of the
population of those days have clung through all vicissitudes. To the
east and north, after looking over the greater part of the citadel,
the eye followed the plain beyond--the proper esplanade of the
fort--and the undulating rising ground to the north-east, from which
the Moghul batteries had so recently poured a storm of shot upon the
defences, yet happily with no effect.
The King's apartment opened to the west; and, like Afzool Khan about
the same time, he sat courting the breeze, which played gently round
the rich clustered mullions of the oriel window, and refreshed and
soothed him. The storm had died away, and the night was clear and
fresh; while, from the garden below, ascended the mingled perfume
of champas, limes, tuberoses, jessamine of various kinds, and other
sweet-scented flowers, which loaded the air almost to excess.
A silver lamp, on a tall silver stand, stood in a recess sheltered from
the open casement, and its seven wicks burned brightly, illuminating
the chamber, and by their strong light causing the gilded roof,
arches, and groins, with all their delicate colouring of rose-colour,
yellow, light-green, and blue enamel, to assume a soft harmony of
effect--different from the light of day, yet perhaps more beautiful.
Furniture there was none; but in the space enclosed by the oriel
window, there was spread a rich, soft, Persian carpet, which filled its
area, on which, in the corner near where the young King was sitting,
lay a thick quilted mattress of green satin brocaded with gold, and a
large pillow of the same material, both covered with fine muslin. This
had been the King's seat, and it was thickly strewn with papers--some
Persian, some Mahratta--which, to all appearance, had been under
examination, and he had evidently just left it and placed himself by
the casement which he had opened. He was alone, but, by the frequent
glances towards the doorway, which was covered by a heavy curtain, some
one seemed impatiently expected.
The events of the night had aroused unusual energy in the young King;
nor, since his accession to the throne, had any occurrence excited
him like the discovery of treason in the man he had, perhaps, most
trusted--his prime minister, Khan Mahomed. It was so unprovoked, so
undeserved. Early in life great ability and aptitude for business had
been remarked in the Abyssinian slave, Rehân, by the late King; and
he had risen, as favourites among Asiatic princes often do, rapidly
to rank and wealth, with every honour which an attached and grateful
prince could bestow upon him. Finally he had reached the rank of prime
minister or Wuzeer, as we have already mentioned, and, amidst all the
distractions and intrigues of faction, had succeeded in preserving his
monarch's attachment.
In this position he was maintained by the young King on his accession
to the throne, notwithstanding the insinuations of many that the
Wuzeer was unfaithful. The King had not heeded these suspicions, nor,
indeed, beyond mere rumour, was there anything which could lead to
confirmation of them; and as the Wuzeer desired it as a proof of his
fidelity, the Abyssinians under his command had been pushed on to
the north to watch the Moghul armies; for it was better to submit to
the turbulence of the Dekhan chieftains at the capital, who could be
controlled by neutral forces like those of Afzool Khan, than to risk
the possible misconduct of the others. Again, the Dekhanies could not
be trusted with the frontier; and the King, impressed with the fidelity
of Khan Mahomed, had left him at has post.
At this period the Dekhanies and Abyssinians were rival factions
in the state. The latter were more amenable to discipline than the
former, who were descendants of those Mahomedan warriors--Toorks,
Tartars, and Affghans--who, at the close of the thirteenth century,
under Alla-oo-Deen, had invaded the south of India, and wrested the
territory in which they had settled from the Mahrattas of Deogurh and
the Canarese dynasty of Beejanuggur. They had founded, and maintained
the dynasty of Gulburgah, against the attacks of powerful Hindu states,
and, when they separated from it, had attached themselves to the
founders of other dynasties, which rivalled, and, indeed, exceeded in
splendour, the parent one.
Those who were in Beejapoor had joined Ibrahim Adil Shah, when he
declared and established his independence of the Bahmani dynasty of
Gulburgah, and they had risen to rank and wealth with the state. They
had been led to victory by that monarch and his successors; they had
conquered province after province from the infidels of the southern
Hindu states, and they had at last finally subdued and overturned the
ancient Hindu monarchy of Beejanuggur, which, for several generations,
was their bitter enemy and rival. Was it wonderful that they at length
became arrogant, and that, to maintain an equipoise against them,
another element, the Abyssinian, was admitted into this state? It is
the old story in the history of the world of exclusive military power;
the old play which has always been played out when the characters are
brought together.
There were proud names among these old Dekhan families, which still
exist, Tartars and Toorks, who ill brooked the control of slaves like
Abyssinians. They were free, and held themselves equal in rank to their
own king--proud barons in fact, who seldom accepted administrative
service, and were rarely fit for it; men "who could fight, but
could not write," as they boasted; turbulent, arrogant, quarrelsome
among themselves, split into as many factions as they were families
and tribes. The "Dâgtorays," "Alla-ool-Moolks," "Bhylmees," "Kalla
Chuttrees," "Saféd Poshs," and a host of others, were faithful to their
own state, while they were an unceasing source of anxiety, and often
distress, to its administrators.
So long as the Moghul armies had threatened the capital, or there was
employment daily in the field to meet a common danger, these tribes and
their chiefs had found occupation against the common enemy, and had
fought valiantly and successfully. The best cavalry of the Moghul army
was no match for these fiery Dekhan cavaliers. Reckless of life, well
mounted, each tribe and appellation vying with each other, whenever
there was a chance in their broad plains, they had not neglected it,
and were ever in advance of the more disciplined though slower moving
bodies of Abyssinian horse and foot, whom they despised as slaves.
Between the extremes of party were those who, like Afzool Khan,
belonged to neither, who held a common interest and faith in the
dynasty they served, and whose arms had often been turned against
Abyssinians, and against Dekhanies, whenever revolts or mutinies of
either rendered it necessary.
Among these contending factions, and ever present rivalries, the course
of the young King had been difficult and devious since his accession;
but respect to his father's memory and experience, for he had been a
wise prince, a successful administrator, and a valiant warrior in the
field, had, in the end, induced him to continue the predominance of
the Abyssinian element in council; and to allow the Dekhanies scope
for their ambition in military commands and active service in distant
provinces of the kingdom, retaining those only at the capital who would
prove a counterpoise to the Abyssinians, in case of need. Influenced
by personal esteem, and even affection, for the man who had been his
father's most trusted counsellor and friend, he had retained Khan
Mahomed in office, notwithstanding the evil reports of his Dekhan
officers; and under these circumstances the distress, and even dismay,
of the young King at the discovery of the treachery, which had long
existed, was hard to endure. It was his first bitter lesson in life,
and there were few to fall back upon for advice or consolation.
In his extremity his thoughts had turned to Afzool Khan first, perhaps,
of all: but again, his known intimacy with the Wuzeer; the report that
the families would soon be united by the marriage of Khan Mahomed's
son to the old Khan's daughter; the notorious friendship of the young
men; and, above all, a certain reticence in Afzool Khan's expressions
whenever the Wuzeer's character or actions were discussed--recurred
to the King, and his thoughts turned from Afzool Khan to others in
succession, yet finding rest nowhere.
Of all his officers, on whom could he depend? Jehándar Beg, who should
have been his executive in any arrest of the Wuzeer, was known to be
his dependent: and thus speculating on each, he estimated bitterly how
really weak he was in personal adherents.
At first all appeared to be decided in his favour, but gradually
requests were made under one pretext or other, which disclosed the
true objects of his courtiers, and the young King had sufficient
discernment to estimate their professions at their full value. It
was these experiences which threw him back upon himself, and upon
the Wuzeer, who was, at least as he thought, moderate and unselfish.
Moderate, certainly, to him; yet, at heart, more grasping and more
treacherous than any.
There was no doubt of that now. Again and again had the King taken up
the letter we have before read, and examined it closely, and had each
time laid it down with increased conviction that it was genuine. There
could be no doubt either as to the seal or the writing. Khan Mahomed's
own hand was too peculiar to be imitated; yet he had doubted--still
doubted. It is hard to admit conviction of guilt when one's affections
are pleading innocence, but here it was not to be resisted; and, as
most generally follows such conviction, those very affections were fast
becoming the most unrelenting judges.
"Let them but confirm this," said the King, aloud, as he looked out,
and again turned to the papers, selected the letter, looked over it,
and hastily put it down with a shiver. "Let them but confirm it, and
then----O, my father! wert thou here it would be the same, and your son
will not flinch from the necessity, be it what it may."