Tara revived as the shawl was pushed roughly from her head, and the
cool air reached her face; in another moment she was set down in a
verandah, closed from the outer court by thick woollen curtains, in
which a small lamp, placed in a niche, glimmered faintly. There could
be no doubt now. Releasing her, Moro Trimmul drew himself up, panting
with the exertion of carrying her, and looked at her from head to foot
ere he spoke; while Gunga, advancing from a dark corner of the room,
and bending lowly with a mock gesture of reverence, touched the ground
near her feet, and then retreated a pace so as to see her better.
"Thou hast had powerful friends, Tara," said the Brahmun bitterly, and
with a scornful sneer--"very powerful; even the enemy's general and his
fair son; but the gods are not with them, but with me. Once, in blood
and terror, didst thou escape me; but not now, girl--never more. Now
thou art mine, and there is nothing between thee and me; nor sister,
nor father, nor mother; only thee, and only me; and thou hast a long
account of misery to pay me."
"The holy Moorlee of the goddess forgot her faith and her vow among the
cow-slaying infidels; and the Mother hath sent me to bring her back
from her dainty lover, who rides in cloth-of-gold and bright armour,"
said Gunga, with another mock reverence. "Art thou ready, O Moorlee
of Toolja Máta? ready to be such as I am, in her service? Come! there
is thy master and mine; be content that thou art saved the sin of
faithlessness to her. Didst thou think she--the Mother," continued the
girl, advancing a step at each word till she was close to Tara, who
shrank from her--"the Mother would loose thee from thy vow to be the
petted toy of an unclean Toork? O Tara, didst thou think it? Ah, yes! I
know thou didst, faithless, when the fair boy's arms were about thee."
"Silence!" cried Tara panting, as these bitter words stung her to the
quick. "Silence! thou art shameless, Gunga. O, what have I ever done to
harm thee, that thou hast such bitter enmity to me?"
"Thou art beautiful, and I hate thee for that. I hated thee long ago,
before thou wast a Moorlee," she replied. "He loved me once, that
Moro Trimmul there; now he cries, 'Tara! Tara!' all day long, like a
sick child, and will not look on me. Thou wilt hate me because I have
taken thee from thy beautiful lover; but, O Tara, more deeply do I hate
thee for taking mine from me. Look, he gave me this gold zone. It is
as heavy as thine--heavier. That is all I have left--that is all. He
will give thee another, by-and-by; not now, but when he has done with
thee. Enough! Take her away, Moro Trimmul. I have done thy bidding, and
earned the gold. Take her away--far away--ere I repent of this, the
worst work of my life, and join her against thee. Go!"
"Gunga! Gunga! go not," cried Tara, seizing her dress. "There is pity
in thy heart, let it come out to me. O, leave me not to him, by your
mother, by your----"
"Come," cried Moro Trimmul fiercely, casting his arm about her. "This
is child's play, come.... Nay, Tara, gently, and it were better for
thee--else I will strike thee," he said, under his breath, but with a
terrible distinctness, as she struggled violently, shrieking as she did
so. "Gunga! the shawl. Quick, girl--lest she be heard without. Quick!
Bar the outer door."
It was too late. Several persons, among whom was an elderly Brahmun of
sedate and respectable appearance, attended by armed retainers, came up
the steps hurriedly and entered the room. Between the noise of Tara's
shrieks and his own exertions, Moro Trimmul had not heard them, and
with Gunga's aid had forced Tara to the ground, and was endeavouring
to tie the shawl about her head, which she was resisting with all her
might; but Gunga had succeeded in catching her hands, and Tara was much
exhausted. Another instant, and she would have been helplessly in their
power; but at this moment Gunga saw the curtain pushed aside, and one
of the men enter with his sword drawn; and, loosing Tara, she upset the
cruise burning in the niche, and fled into an inner portion of the dark
apartment.
"Who art thou?" cried the man, darting forward and seizing Moro
Trimmul's arm; "what murder is this thou art doing?"
He had had no time to escape, or even to rise from his kneeling posture
to shake off the soldier's grip, and two others also caught him at the
same moment; while the elderly man, calling earnestly for a light,
raised up Tara, and disengaged her from the shawl which had been thrown
about her. "Art thou wounded?" he said.
"By the Holy Mother," cried one of the men with whom Moro Trimmul was
struggling violently, "be quiet, else I will drive my knife into thee.
Bind him, brothers, he may be armed. Quick!"
At this moment a man bearing a lighted torch came into the court from
the street, and ran rapidly up the steps into the room. As the light
flashed upon the struggling group of men, the leader of the party
recognized Moro Trimmul, and bid his retainers release him. As they did
so, Tara, who had partly risen, sank again to the ground, clasping his
knees, and crying piteously for protection.
The old Brahmun understood the situation at a glance. "There was
another woman here,--seize her!" he exclaimed. She was not, however, to
be found. "Peace," he said to Tara, "peace, my daughter; be comforted,
no one shall harm thee. Who art thou? What has happened?"
"I am the unhappy daughter of Vyas Shastree of Tooljapoor, who was
murdered, and I am an orphan," she cried sobbing. "O, defend me from
him; he would have done me violence and dishonour."
"Moro Trimmul," said the old man sadly, "how often hast thou been
warned, and what new wickedness is this?--against a Brahmun girl too,
and the daughter of the man to whom thy sister was given! O, shame!"
"She is a Moorlee," he replied sulkily, "and has done dishonour to
the Mother by living with Mussulmans in camp. It was from them I have
rescued her, and would have taken her to Wye, but she resisted. I have
done no evil, Pundit, nor intended any."
"Is this true, girl?" asked the Brahmun.
"Quite true, Maharaj," answered Tara, sobbing hysterically, and hardly
knowing what she said: "only take me hence, and I will tell thee all;
but I am not impure,--I am not defiled,--I have nothing to be ashamed
of. O, put your hand on my head, and take me to my people in Wye. Save
me, else I shall die; or kill me, rather than let him or the woman come
near me. When I am alone with your family I will tell them all."
"Come," said the man, who was Govind Narrayen, the principal envoy
of the Rajah Sivaji, and a Brahmun of wealth and high station in the
country, best known among the people under the familiar title of Baba
Sahib. "I am well known, and I knew and honoured your father, and
grieve his death. Come with me, and you shall go on with my people at
once to Wye. They leave the camp to avoid the confusion, and will take
care of you, and the bearers and palankeen are still in the street.
"As to you, Moro Trimmul," he continued, turning to him, "I reserve my
judgment till I have inquired from this girl of what she complains. I
bid you, however, beware. The Maharaja is not what he used to be, and
will submit to no profligacy now. I take this girl as my daughter, and
she is safe against you. Beware!" And so saying, and giving his arm for
Tara to lean on, while he partly supported her with the other, he led
her out, and once more placed her in the litter, which was taken up and
carried forward rapidly.
The Envoy and his escort had also moved with the camp, and he had sent
on his family to a stage some miles distant. As he passed through the
street of the village where Tara had been set down, the bearers of
her litter, who had remained with it, hearing the stifled scream from
within the court, and alarmed by the sudden closing and fastening of
the door, had stopped Baba Sahib as he went by, and besought him to see
whether Tara was not in danger. He had dismounted, some of his men had
burst in the court door, and we know the rest.
"Again baffled, O witch that thou art!" cried Moro Pundit, flinging
himself on the ground as Tara passed out, and tearing up the clay of
the floor in the agony of his passion: "what sent that meddling fool
to aid thee? If it had been only that proud boy she loves, ah! I would
have slain him and her together. Gunga! Gunga! where art thou? O girl,
I burn--I choke! She too is gone, devil that she is. If thou hadst only
helped me sooner I had stopped the screams, and no one could have heard
them. Gunga! dost thou hear? By----," and he swore a frightful oath,
"come hither, or I will come and stab thee: art thou too playing with
me? Beware!"
The girl advanced from a dark corner trembling, yet without fear; and
as she did so, he raised himself on his arm, and she saw him grasp a
knife at his waist-band. "Kill me," she said, "if thou wilt; twice I
have aided thee, and twice the Mother hath saved her from us. I will
have no more of it."
"No more!" cried the Brahmun, starting to his feet, and seizing her arm
he shook her roughly--"no more! This from thee? I tell thee we have
gone too far to recede. Will that old dotard be quiet? Will he spare my
character? Not he. He has been my enemy from the first, supplanted me
in my authority, crossed me in every design, and lastly in this.--Why
didst thou bungle with the shawl? Coward! witch! devil!"--and he struck
her violently on the face with his open hand at each word. "Why didst
thou fail me? Go!" and he flung her away from him, so that she tottered
and fell heavily against the wall beyond. "Go! may----"
Her fall and agony of mind prevented her hearing the frightful curses
which followed. Once before, when his sister had come to him, the
paroxysm of passion had been like this, but only once, and yet he had
not dared to strike her. She was not stunned, but O, the misery of
her mind! She felt her lips were cut, and her mouth was bleeding. The
pain of this, the degradation of having been struck, made the girl
desperate. If she had had a dagger she would have stabbed Moro or
herself. She could see him very dimly, for the place was dark except
the faint light which came in from the drawn curtains. She saw that he
was sitting, leaning against one of the wooden pillars of the room,
rocking himself to and fro. He had drawn his knife, and a faint gleam
of the naked blade was seen now and again as he moved. Was she to die,
or he? No matter. In a frame of mind like hers death has no terror. It
is only the return to consciousness which brings fear with it, and she
lay crouching on the ground, but watching him intently. If he moved
towards her, she knew she must die; but he did not move, and suddenly
the rocking ceased, he seemed to fall heavily to one side, and lay
there motionless.
Was he feigning, in order to get her into his power? No, it did not
seem so, for he lay still, breathing heavily. She had heard that thick
heavy breathing once before, and now recognized it again. Still she
was cautious. She rose gently, and stepping lightly forward stood over
him, yet near enough to the steps to escape if he moved. The knife had
fallen from his hand, and lay beside him. She took it up, and placed it
in her own waist-band. He was insensible; his turban had partly fallen
off, and his face lay towards the light, turned upwards. He could not
harm her now,--he was in her power.... The evil spirit within tugged
hard at her heart, and she drew the knife. Then the blood from her lip
trickled into her mouth, and the wound smarted and urged on her hand.
If he had risen and spoken a word to her, she would have killed him;
but as he lay so helpless, the girl's heart once more softened. "It is
my death, I know," she said; "let him kill me; I cannot kill him, and
this faint will pass away. Now she is gone, he may love me again." Poor
fool, to think it!
Then she watched a few moments, and as she sat down by him raised his
head into her lap. The face was cold and clammy; was this death? There
was no water, else she would sprinkle some on him, but she fanned him
with the end of her garment, and after a while he opened his eyes
gently. "Gunga!" he said, stretching out his arms, "where art thou,
girl? come to me." It was the old tone of kindness, almost sad. Poor
fond fool, she did not resist it; and, wiping the blood from her lips,
kissed his forehead.
Meanwhile, Tara, sorely shaken in body and mind, had been put into the
litter. She heard the bearers ask the old Brahmun whether they were to
take her to Afzool Khan's tents; and he had opened the door, and said
to her kindly that she had better come to her own people, and that
his wife and sister, who knew them, would take charge of her, and be
kind to her; that they were at a village some miles further on, and he
himself would escort her there.
She was helpless to object: in the first place, she dare not prefer
the Mussulman noble's house, as strangers to her faith and to her own
people; nor dare she resist a Brahmun of the Envoy's powerful position
in whatever he chose to do. She had no alternative, indeed, for he
shut the door ere she could reply, the bearers took her forward at a
rapid pace, and the night was somewhat advanced, ere she was again
set down at the door of a respectable house in a village, and several
women-servants, such as are menials in Brahmun families, kindly
assisted her to alight, bringing what there was in the palankeen after
her.