"Well sung!" cried the young Khan cheerfully, and joining in the
general applause which followed a pretty Mahratta ballad which the
hunchback and Ashruf had just sung, to the accompaniment of a lute
played by the former and a small tenor drum by the latter--"well sung!
Where did ye learn that?" he continued, advancing from the entrance to
the court where he had paused as he came out. "It is something new."
The men, who were seated or lounging about the entrance hall to the
house, rose and saluted Fazil. It was evident at a glance to Bulwunt
Rao that something had occurred to remove the sad expression which his
lord's face had worn so long; for it had given place to one radiant
with joy, and he exclaimed cheerily,--
"Thanks be to the gods! it is gone at last, Meah! Never, since we rode
together to Pertâbgurh, have any of us seen a smile on your face that
was worth looking at, or one which was not followed by a sigh, as much
as to regret it had ever been there; so I cry, with thanks to the gods,
the grief is gone at last. What say you, brothers? look at him; did I
speak truly?"
Amidst the hearty responses to this congratulation by his retainers,
Fazil Khan sat down among them, and the hunchback and Ashruf, stepping
forward, assumed the positions of professional ballad-singers, and
saluted him.
"Shall we sing it again, Meah?" asked Lukshmun; "you did not hear it
all. 'Tis a fancy of my own, about a damsel waiting for her lover, who
passes her by with another, and so she goes and weeps."
"And we have all been crying over it, Meah," added Bulwunt Rao; "'tis
so sad a tune too--so plaintive."
"But as I am not in a crying mood, friend," returned Fazil, laughing,
"it would hardly suit me now, so another time--meanwhile there is
something to be done which is urgent."
"Are we to meet a new army, and take our revenge, Meah?" cried several
of the men. "Ah, we know the country now, and should not fall into
another trap like the first."
"No, no, friends," said the young man sadly, "there is no such
good news as that; 'tis but a private matter of my own, which our
ballad-singers may help, perhaps."
"We, Meah?" exclaimed the hunchback; "thou well knowest, that if we
were bidden to leap into the flames for thee, we would not hesitate.
Speak, that we may hear and do."
"It is somewhat private, friends," said the young man, looking around.
"If I might be alone with these and our old friend for a little, no one
may take offence; you will know all by-and-by."
"Surely not," cried several, rising and going out, followed by the rest.
"Stay, Bulwunt Rao," said Fazil, putting his hand on his arm, "your
counsel may be of use;" and when they were alone, he continued, "She
will not be content unless she sees her father and mother; and she
declares they are at Wye, and came to her the day she was to be burned."
"Impossible!" cried Lukshmun; "they are dead, and this must be some
device of the Evil One--of that old Mother on the hill there, who wants
to get her back; and she has sent spirits in their guise to mock her.
She does such things very often, Meah Sahib, and I don't like to hear
of this."
"Well, they must be substantial spirits," returned Fazil, laughing,
"for she told us that she had heard them speak, and that she thought
her father had lifted her up once. They must be alive."
Lukshmun shook his head. "I did not see him, or hear of him, at Wye,"
he said; "and as I know them well, I should have recognized him and
his wife anywhere. And, about the witches--if I were to tell you what
I know about the Mother's devices," he continued solemnly, wagging his
head, "I should not be believed. Nevertheless----"
"Nevertheless," said Fazil, interrupting him, "thou art to go and
see--thou and Ashruf. Wilt thou go, lad, if he is afraid of the
witches?"
"To the death," cried the boy cheerfully; while Lukshmun, leaping up
into the air, turned a somersault, and came down where he stood. "Go!"
he said; "yes, Meah. I have a spell against the Mother and all sorcery,
and his majesty the devil to boot, which Pahar Singh taught me. Where
are we to go, Meah, and when?"
"Now," replied Fazil; "take two of the ponies and ride straight to Wye.
Her parents will be found in the house of Vishnu Pundit, or he will
direct you to them. If they are gone home, or to Poona, or anywhere
else, they must be followed up and brought back; and they will come
when that ring is given to her mother--so she says."
"They may need money," said the man, musing. "Brahmuns never move
without coin. Something for expenses, is the first thing they ask of
one. Is it not true? Nevertheless, Vyas Shastree is rich enough. O yes,
he knows me, and I can get into Vishnu Pundit's house, too. Come, lad,
we must put on the Byragee's dresses."
Ashruf followed him. While they were absent, Fazil wrote the letter
they were to take, which ran as follows:--
"_To the respectable and learned in the Véds and Shastras, Vyas
Shastree, of Tooljapoor, who is kind to his friends;_
"_From Fazil, son of Afzool Khan, with greetings, and the peace and
salutation of God; and after wishing you health and prosperity--_
"_You are to know that your daughter Tara is here, with my mother and
sister, in honour and health; but she hath been ill unto death, and
being, by God's favour, restored to life, wishes to see you and her
mother urgently, and sends a token, by which you may be assured she is
here._
"_You will learn more from the bearer, my servant, who is to be
trusted; and I pray you to lose no time in setting out, for we await
your coming. I have sent money for your expenses by him, which you are
to be pleased to use freely._"
The hunchback and Ashruf reappeared after a while in their new costume,
which was that of Jogies, or religious mendicants of that part of the
country. Orange-coloured turbans and garments, purposely torn and
ragged, yet withal scrupulously clean; large strings of wooden beads
about their necks, wrists, and ankles; black blankets, to keep out cold
or heat, thrown over their shoulders after a graceful and picturesque
fashion; and the lute and small drum they had used before. The faces
of both were smeared with whiting, and the broad trident of Vishnu
was drawn in red and white paint upon their foreheads. The hunchback
would perhaps have been known by his figure; but Ashruf, from the
smart Mussulman boy, gaily dressed as became his master's favourite
attendant, was utterly transformed, and could not possibly have been
recognized.
"Shabash!" cried Bulwunt Rao and Fazil involuntarily; "it is
complete--no one could know you."
"Except by this hunched back of mine," said Lukshmun, "I would wager
that I went anywhere as anybody you please, Meah,--from the holiest
Syud down to the lowest Kullunder--from the Secretary of Ramdas Swâmi
himself, to what I am now,--and was not discovered. Hindu or Mussulman,
'tis all the same--only I must have a religious garb on, Meah Sahib:
for my mind, you see, having that turn naturally, I am most at home
in one. Did any one suspect us when we sang ballads in the ambush at
Jowly, and found out what Moro Trimmul wanted to do? or in Wye, when we
saw Tara? O Meah! this is a joyful errand, for I shall pay a rupee to
a Brahmun, and get bathed in the river--just where they were going to
burn Tara Bye--to wash away my sins, and be absolved from shedding a
Brahmun's blood. The gods forgive me if I killed him!"
"I hope you did," returned Fazil, laughing: "and now, here is a purse
of gold, tie it round you, and use what is needed; and here are the
letters which are to be put into Vyas Shastree's own hand. If he cannot
get mine read, this ring and her letter will be enough. If they are
gone to Poona, or back to Tooljapoor, send Ashruf back to me, and go on
thyself."
"To the top of Mount Méru, or the lowest deep of Nurruk," cried
Lukshmun, snapping his fingers. "Fear not; we will bring them,
lad--won't we? and, master, if I have to go on, and can send thee a
letter by a sure hand, may I take on my son here? I cannot sing ballads
without him."
"Ah yes, my lord!" pleaded the lad, joining his hands, "to bring them
to her."
"Good," said Fazil; "I trust you both. Go, and be discreet, and God's
blessing and mine be with you."
"And now, my lord," said the hunchback, "let us sing one ballad before
we depart--one that she must know well: it will give her hope. Go and
tell her that some singers are here who know the ballads of the Bâlâ
Ghaut, and will sing her one. She will recognize the tune, for I have
heard her father sing it, and they say he wrote it for her, for her
name is in it. We shall sing it before Vishnu Pundit's door at Wye."
"As thou wilt," replied Fazil; "I will tell her;" and he arose and went
to the inner court door. "Do not follow me," he said to them--"she can
hear from hence, and there are women within--it is private."
Fazil had watched Tara as the prelude began, and he beckoned her to
the door. "Come and listen," he said; "they are singers of your own
country, and I have brought them to sing a ballad to you." She arose,
and Zyna followed her.
The hunchback and Ashruf stood at the doorway without, and, after a
short prelude, sang, as nearly as we can translate it, as follows:--
1.
"Fast her tears fell--faster, faster,
As the days pass slowly by,
And her heart is sorely laden
With the dreary, hopeless sigh.
O that cruel, ceaseless sighing!
Weary tears which sadly fell,
All unheeded as she wept them
Daily by the garden well.
2.
"Mother! Mother! oft she pleaded,
Toolja Máta! hear my vow!
Hear thy daughter's cry of sorrow--
Why shouldst thou forsake me now?
Not less thine, O Mother holy!
If my lover come to me;
If he come, a golden necklace
We, thy children, vow to thee!
3.
"As she went for water daily,
Raised alone the pitcher still,
She repeats the prayer and promise,
As with tears her soft eyes fill!
The goddess watched the weary maiden,
And her daily burthen borne;
'Faithful,' she cries, 'in earthly sorrow,
Daughter true, no longer mourn!'
4.
"Then next morn, with anklets tinkling,
The maiden tripped, and ceased to sigh;
As she stooped to raise the pitcher--
Light she felt it lifted high.
And sweet words he whispers to her--
'Tara, all thy sorrow past!
Faith and hope have won thy lover.'
And the vow?--'Twas paid at last."
It was one of those plaintive Mahratta airs, at once so musical and
tender, and whose character is so original, as to deserve the rank of
national music. How often Tara had heard it! Her father had written
the words, and composed the air, to amuse her when she used to be sad;
but she had no lover--no one then to take the burden, to help to lift
the pitcher, which was so heavy! Ah yes! she remembered it well, and
that her father had said afterwards, it should not be sung in the house
because it made her sadder, for there could be no lover.
So she listened, and the melody seemed to strike some new and tender
chords in her memory, which as yet had been untouched; and they looked
at her wonderingly, and in silence, as the features softened into a
smile, and the eyes gradually filled with tears, which flowed as from
a fountain within, and rolled silently down her cheeks. As the vow was
named, they saw her hand rise to her neck and unclasp the heavy gold
necklace she wore, and when the last words were sung she put it into
Fazil's hands.
"Let the Mother have it," she said, "as our vow--she is not angry with
me. You will not deny this, my lord, to Tara?"
Before they could answer her, a strange brightness seemed to come over
her face and eyes, as she looked upward as if following a vision. "It
is enough," she said gently, after a silence which they did not break;
"the Mother is not angry with me--it is accepted, and I am free; for
when the trial came, she says, and Gunga called me, I did not leave
her."
They did not understand then, to what she alluded; but it was evident
that the excited spirit had again wandered into the past, and had
returned, more at peace than before.
"Yes," said Fazil, "as thou wilt, beloved--thy vow shall be truly paid,
at last."