A NEW HOME.
I need hardly take the reader back to the day when, rescued from Osman
Beg's vile designs, Zóra and her grandfather abandoned their peaceful
home. All the incidents relating to that event will, I think, not have
been forgotten, and need not be recalled. It was a piteous sacrifice,
but it was well for the girl that it had been, as it were, forced on
her grandfather and herself, and that no compromise was made with, or
trust reposed in, the unscrupulous tyrant of the fort.
I say it was well that they had abandoned all, and fled. They were
indeed passive instruments in the hands of a more experienced and
powerful person who long before had taken a just measure of the Nawab's
violent and treacherous character, and most especially dreaded his
designs against the orphan girl who, as all knew, had no friends among
her own people, except the poor inhabitants of the village in which
she had lived all her life, and they were helpless to protect her.
The result justified Runga Naik's extreme measure. No sooner was the
escape of Zóra known to the two women who had charge of her, than their
shrill cries aroused the eunuchs, who were supposed to be keeping
watch outside, and instant search was made for her among the rocks in
the vicinity of the palace, but in vain. They then in turn raised an
alarm, and Osman Beg himself, it being now daylight, was roused by his
attendant, and a new search was begun, which, as we know, ended in
disappointment. The two eunuchs who had already been pinioned, and were
expecting no less punishment than death, were put into heavy chains,
and flogged till they could bear no more, and thrust into a dungeon.
There one of them had died of his wounds and of neglect; the other,
worn to a skeleton, being released by the new Governor as soon as his
place of confinement and condition were known.
After the two eunuchs had been disposed of, Osman Beg, attended by his
Abyssinian slaves and some of his retainers, descended from the palace
to the village, where every one with whom Zóra or her grandfather
was known to have associated was flogged, or otherwise tortured, to
disclose the place of their concealment. The old house was ransacked
in vain, and every hiding place among the rocks that was in any way
accessible searched for the fugitives. It was soon known, however, that
they had crossed the river, and that Runga Naik and Burma had carried
them off; and the Nawab would willingly have seized the Beydurs of
the fort if he had dared; but they set him at defiance, and he was
too weak to attempt interference with more than a hundred stout,
well-armed men. Nor, indeed, was the proper garrison of the fort in at
all a placable mood. They were, for the most part, Mussulmans, and were
disciples of the old Syud, and had Osman Beg meddled with them in any
way, he might not have escaped with his life; and he wisely retired to
the palace, while Zóra's friends contented themselves with drawing up
an account of the whole transaction, and transmitting it to Beejapoor,
but not at once; for in Indian subjects of this kind there are always
discussions as to the expediency or otherwise of complaint.
If successful, remedy is obtained; if otherwise, the complainants
fall into an infinitely worse plight than before. In this case the
formal petition of the garrison, the village people, the Moollas of
the mosque, the acting Kazee, and all other respectable persons, had
reached Beejapoor the day after the new Governor had left; and the
Queen Chand Beebee, already in possession of the facts, had given a
very gracious reply to the petitioners, promising them justice as soon
as the officer whom the Government had despatched should make his
report.
From all this it may be inferred that had poor Zóra and her helpless
grandfather not been taken away, very serious consequences might
have ensued. If there had been an attempt to conceal the girl in the
island, and she had been discovered, there can be no doubt that the
last indignity would have been inflicted upon her. If, again, she had
been openly protected by the garrison, much bloodshed might have taken
place; and though Runga was sure of his own Beydurs, he was by no means
so sure of the Mussulman portion of the garrison who might adhere to
their Governor.
For himself and Burma he was quite regardless of consequences. He was
too strong at Korikul and Kukeyra, as well as in every village of the
frontier, to be meddled with. He had no fear of Beejapoor, to which he
was rendering important services every day; and he knew that Osman Beg
dare not complain against him, because of the forcible abduction of
a holy Syud's granddaughter, and the connection with Eyn-ool-Moolk's
conspiracy, the threads of which Runga held in his hands. Osman Beg,
though he would have given all he possessed to be revenged upon Runga
Naik, knew him to be beyond his reach; and perhaps the most unbearable
indignity he suffered on his deposition from power, was the hearing
from Burma's own lips in the public cucherry the story of the rescue
of Zóra, and the means by which it had been accomplished, which was
corroborated in every point, and which, delivered with infinite zest
and humour, caused roars of laughter.
There was, however, one point on which Osman Beg seemed to be
inflexible. He declared that though the Moolla and Kazee of the fort
had refused their offices in regard to Zóra's marriage to him--and
those present on the occasion gave equally clear and convincing
testimony as to the non-performance of the ceremony, and the indignity
put upon all by being asked to partake in such a mockery--in spite
of all this, Osman Beg steadily persisted in asserting that Zóra
was his wedded wife; that he had had means in private of having the
ceremony performed, to which Zóra had consented; and that wherever, and
howsoever, he might meet her or find her, he would claim her as his
wife before the King, the Queen, and all the ecclesiastical or other
courts of law in Beejapoor.
The Governor could not account for this, and he could not obtain
the evidence of the two women from Moodgul. Osman Beg, in his blind
fury, had, without reflection, had the hair of both cut off, their
faces blackened, and mounted them barebacked upon asses; they, with
the money he had given them, which he was too proud to take back,
were sent across the river towards Moodgul. There they had complained
to the Nawab, who declined to interfere; and all that was known of
Máma Luteefa and her confidential servant was, that they had gone
to Golconda, to pursue their avocations in a place where they were
unknown, or at least were not remembered. It is possible, I think, if
Osman Beg had retained them in his service, or had not ill-treated
them, he might have instructed them how to support his unvarying
assertion that Zóra was his wife, though she had escaped from him,
as he believed, to join his cousin Abbas Khan, with whom she had
had communication while he was confined to the fort by his wound.
Day after day did the Governor return to the case, and had gradually
accumulated all the evidence procurable, which was attested by the
Moollas, Khadims of the mosque, and Sheykh Baban, the Jemadar, all of
whom expressed not only their willingness, but their desire, to be sent
to Beejapoor should the case go to trial in the head Mufti's court. Of
this, however, there will be more to say hereafter; and in this seeming
divergence our only wish is that the reader should lose no point of
importance in the thread of this history.
On the night, or rather the morning, of Zóra's escape, she and her
grandfather had been taken from the bank of the river direct first
to Jumalpoor, and afterwards to Korikul. The old Dervish had been a
passive instrument in Runga's hands. He had heard with the utmost
terror of Zóra's abduction; he had cried to the Lord in an almost
perpetual moan for the child's protection, and he had wandered from the
house to the mosque to pray, and, finding no comfort, had returned to
the house and moaned there. He had searched all the women's apartments,
and called her name repeatedly, almost to the weariness of old
Mamoolla, who had chidden him for not putting better faith in God and
in the child's friends. Had not the pán-seller's wife twice come and
declared that as yet the child was safe, and would be rescued before
any harm could reach her. But all in vain. The old man could not be
brought to understand how the Nawab, with all the forces of the fort at
his disposal, could be outwitted by at most two or three men; how his
darling could be brought to him openly through the fort, even though
it might be by secret paths. The poor old man's mind was a chaos of
utter misery and despair, which found no rest or hope in any assurance.
He suffered Runga's men to remove all his property, which they did
carefully and honestly; and, as even Mamoolla said afterwards--for
she, also, was too much excited in her mind to be capable of any
thought--without losing an end of a thread or a bit of string. All the
old Syud's books, his drugs, his medicines, his charms and amulets--in
short, everything that he prized on earth--had been carried away.
And so it was with Zóra, her two cows and the goats, her books and
simple clothes, and the strong box which contained some gold and
ornaments which had belonged to her mother. And when they reached
Korikul, which they did the next day, Runga Naik had all opened in her
presence, and his Brahmin scribe made inventories of what belonged to
both, as also did Zóra at the same time. So far, therefore, all was
well; they had lost nothing, but the change was very sad and very hard
to bear. From the first glance at her, the Lady Keysama had taken a
prejudice against poor Zóra, who appeared to her like a young dancing
girl; and although her clothes were poor, not to say mean, and she
had no ornaments, indeed, presented only the appearance of an ordinary
Mussulman's daughter, yet, with all, there was a look of intelligence
and of superiority in her glorious eyes, in the carriage of her head,
and her figure in general, which at once separated her from anyone of
inferior grade to herself.
The Lady Keysama did not like this. She even felt jealous of poor Zóra
when she arrived and was led in by Runga Naik, preceded by two Beydur
slave girls. Keysama had, indeed, risen to salute her, bade her be
seated, asked a few questions, to which Zóra had replied timidly, for
the fame of the lady's fiery temper was notorious through the country,
and was not unknown to her, and almost immediately dismissed her with
the gift of a new sari, a muslin scarf, and a piece of soosi cloth,
with some pán, hoping that she would find comfortable lodgings and live
happily. In truth, the dame had already entertained a violent jealousy
against Zóra, and, in the course of a day or so, told her husband that
she doubted the whole story of the abduction, and that it was evident
he had brought her for his own purposes.
The Lady Keysama was not, ordinarily speaking, a jealous wife, but
she was suspicious, and mistrustful of anything out of the ordinary
course, such as the rescue of Zóra; and as she said to herself, if the
Nawab had carried off any one from Korikul, would not her lord resent
it; and what did it matter to Runga whether the Nawab married the
pale-faced girl or not, it was no business of his, and his bringing
her to Korikul was, in her estimation, entirely unnecessary and
unjustifiable. I do not mean to say that she openly accused her kind
lord of infidelity to his face, or that he had to endure lectures upon
the subject, but what has been recorded was in her thoughts; and it is
not extraordinary, if the tempers of Eastern women be considered, that
she set herself to watch, and that her ears were open to any reports
and conjectures which her humble friends might bring to her.
Meanwhile for some days Zóra and her grandfather were very comfortably
established by their friend in an empty house which had belonged to a
weaver, who, for reasons of his own, had left the town and established
himself at Sugger; and as the house he had lived in was the property of
the lord of the town, it was now at Runga Naik's disposal. True, it was
not so commodious as that at Juldroog, but it was more than sufficient
for them. It was close to the mosque, and a door from a spacious yard
behind opened into the ground which surrounded the mosque, part of
which was a cemetery overshadowed by some fine trees. The Moolla lived
hard by on the other side, and his wife was a kind, motherly woman,
and paid them frequent visits. As usual with most mosques, there was
a large colony of pigeons attached to it; there were parroquets and
mynas, with other birds in the trees, so that Zóra and her grandfather
were soon at their ease, and rested thankfully under the shelter of
their protector's hospitality, and the old man soon began to find his
way to the mosque at prayer-time; and as Mussulman weavers are for the
most part pious persons, there was always a good attendance, especially
at afternoon prayer, when the day's work was done.
The fame of the sanctity of the aged recluse of Juldroog had for years
past been spread throughout the country even to a distance; and though
he had not assumed the title of saint, or made any pretensions to be
one, yet had he died in Juldroog, there is little doubt he would have
received all the honours of one after that event. Miracles would have
been asserted as proceeding from the worship of his last resting-place,
and there is no doubt it would have risen in popular esteem. Indeed, it
was evident that, even in this strange place, the veneration for the
old Syud was increasing.
As he sat daily in the mosque, and discoursed eloquently upon the
sublime subject of "Turreequt," or path to Heaven, he charmed and
delighted his hearers; and the rank of the old recluse as a Syud, his
eloquence and kindly manner of teaching, had a wonderful effect on his
audience, who had never listened to words like his before--unless,
indeed, they went on some pilgrimage to any celebrated shrine, where
holy and learned men assembled and instructed the people in sermons.
Then the Syud's fame as a physician was perhaps among the lower
orders even greater than that of his learning, and was not confined
to Mussulmans but extended to Hindoos, to whom, although they were
unbelievers, he was as charitable and attentive as to his own people.
Thus between morning prayers and noon, and frequently afterwards, he
was asked for advice; and he wrote charms, amulets, exorcisms, and
the like, with the help of Zóra, who, except when he was expounding
doctrines in the mosque, never left him. Every day at the hours of
prayer, when the muezzin had cried the Azán, or invitation, Zóra used
to lead him forth by the door in the yard-wall; and some considerate
poor folk had made a smooth path from thence to the steps of the
mosque, where there was always someone present to help him up; and Zóra
would either return to old Mamoolla, or, folding her scarf over her
face, say her prayers in some corner of the building where men did not
look at her.
Runga Naik did not come to them very often, he had many things to
look after--his people, and their caste, and other disputes, such as
shares of land and produce--and for this purpose he sat daily on a
chubootra, or platform of earth, which had been made hundreds of years
before, around the trunk of a venerable neem-tree, and where his father
and grandfather, and ancestors long ago, had sat before him. This,
indeed, was his public court, open to all comers; and was simple and
effective, because he was patient and listened to everyone, either
giving a summary decision himself or referring cases to arbitration.
It was a patriarchal mode of proceeding, which was the custom of his
clan; and if there were no lawyers, no agents, no pleaders, nor indeed
anyone but plaintiff and defendant and their witnesses, perhaps the
justice meted out was none the less efficient, and, at all events, the
people desired nothing more. Sometimes Runga was absent for a few days
on business with his chief at Wakin-Keyra; sometimes he went with a
large escort to collect his dues or blackmail in the district west of
his own territory; and whenever he did go, he provided liberally for
his guests during his absence, and they had rations of flour, pulse,
ghee, and vegetables direct from the house, with which the Lady Keysama
did not interfere. She only, and that perpetually, threw out hints to
her husband that "that great girl Zóra ought to be married; that she
was ashamed of seeing her come to the house (for Zóra did pay a visit
sometimes to the Beydur lady, though her castle was an unclean place to
her), and that he ought to insist upon her grandfather's settling her
in life; and no doubt some worthy man might be found who would gladly
marry one so learned and so beautiful."
But Runga Naik had no such intention. I think he remembered that first
night at Juldroog, and that Abbas Khan desired no better blessing
in life than to gain Zóra for his own. Before he attempted to bring
that about, it was necessary to follow up the scattered parties of
Eyn-ool-Moolk's rebellion, especially the members of Abbas Khan's
troop who had deserted him; and, as he thought, allowing ample time
for his young friend to reach Beejapoor, he set out for the western
districts in the direction of Belgaum; and yet at that very time,
within a distance of thirty miles, Abbas Khan was lying in a small
village grievously ill with the return of his fever and the reopening
of his wound, of which the reader has already been informed. But so it
is in life, when a blessing, above all things precious, lies at our
very doors, we often fail to know of it, or even of its very existence.
Runga had no time to lose, he thought, and his desire was to hasten to
Beejapoor direct, should he have any success in his expedition. Should
he have none, he could return and take on Zóra and her grandfather to
Beejapoor, that the old man might lay his complaint of ill-usage before
the Queen, or the King if he had returned. Runga had no idea of who the
old Syud was--that was known only to Abbas Khan, whose intention was,
as we know, to have him sent for; but the gracious message of the Queen
had gone too late, and when all attempts to discover Zóra and the old
man were fruitless.
Before he left Korikul, however, Runga Naik and his wife had come to
extremities about poor little Zóra. We need not detail the gradual
increase of acerbity and jealousy on the part of the Lady Keysama. Now
he was going away (she put the matter in that light), who would be
responsible for the girl? She herself--and she put her hands to her
ears, and called all the gods to witness--would not, and could not.
She had enough to do in attending to her own poor folk, about whom she
knew, or could find out everything, whereas about these strangers she
knew nothing. He might be very fond of the girl, there was no doubt of
that; but an unmarried girl of her age and appearance, with nobody near
her but a feeble old servant--well, she would say nothing herself, but
let him ask the neighbours, let him ask the Choudhree of the Momins,
and hear what they said about Zóra, who, she thought, was only fit now
to become a public dancing girl, and if she took to that profession
she would be welcome. Had she not been heard singing words that no
one understood to unknown tunes? Where did she learn them? As to the
defamatory part of the Lady Keysama's tirade, we decline positively to
enter into it. When a woman of the Lady Keysama's temper, whatever be
her station in India, or whatever her caste or sect, condescends to be
abusive, her words cannot be translated, or even paraphrased; and such
was the excitement the lady worked herself up into, that Runga, who
had never been subjected to the like before from his wife, got fairly
alarmed. "They must go," he said; "but how to tell the old man and
Zóra!"
Yet it must be done. With Zóra and his old friend he must part; but
with his wife, the mother of his children, the admirable mistress
of his house, the respected and beloved of all, he could not part;
and she had distinctly said that if the girl were not sent away, she
herself would go to her father's house at Wakin-Keyra, and tell the
story so that all should hear. Her father was the brother of the Rajah
of the clan, whose enmity Runga Naik dare neither risk nor provoke;
and he knew enough of his wife's determined spirit to believe she
would do exactly as she threatened if he did not do as she requested.
No; on those hard conditions he could not afford to protect Zóra; her
grandfather, whom all, even his wife, loved and honoured, could not be
separated from her, and, therefore, they must go.
So several days before the Brahmin astrologer had predicted one
favourable for the departure of his little expedition, he went
privately to the old man, knelt down reverently at the threshold of his
door, and confided to him what has been recorded, and besought pardon
for the apparent rudeness he was obliged to commit. The tender-minded
fellow's heart, as he said, was broken by his wife, who, without cause,
had put this shame on him privately, and was ready, to her own shame,
to make it public. Now it was known to his friend only, and he might
offer counsel in his extremity.
The old Syud was inexpressibly shocked and grieved. The very last thing
he had thought possible had come to pass. Was, then, Zóra, his little
Zóra, so much advanced in girlhood that it was immodest or dangerous
to allow her to go about unveiled and untended, as she had used to
do? Was she, indeed, of marriageable age, and in permitting her to go
abroad was there even a suspicion of immodesty? He could not see, and
his experience of worldly matters had faded out. Still Runga Naik, and
above all his wife, could not be mistaken. Else why should suspicion
and jealousy have arisen? And now a horrible thought flashed into the
old man's mind. Could Runga have carried off Zóra for his own purposes?
It might be so; otherwise, why did his wife suspect him? "Ya, Alla
Kureem, protect us!" he cried in his misery. "We are but two helpless
creatures, a girl and a blind man, trying to serve Thee! Oh! suffer us
not to fall into misery, which Thou alone canst avert!"
Zóra was visiting the family of the Choudhree, or head of the weavers,
that day; and she was fond of doing so, as his wife was in reality kind
and motherly, and much interested in her helpless condition. That day
she and her children had insisted on bathing Zóra, dressing her hair,
and putting on her a suit of new clothes, for which her husband and
his men had woven the materials, and his wife had made them up. And
when Zóra, duly dressed and anointed, was placed in the seat of honour,
and the children were decking her with garlands of jessamine, and
calling her bride, their mother said gravely to Zóra, "And it is time
thou shouldst be so in reality, darling, to be able to live a decent,
respectable life, and bear children. I was not thy age, Zóra, when I
was married; and what has thy grandfather been doing that he has not
arranged this long ago? It is time thou, child, shouldst no longer have
the mantle of reproach cast over thee."
"Of reproach, mother?" said Zóra, her lips quivering and tears starting
from her eyes. "No one has ever reproached me; no one wants me; no
one has ever asked me in marriage; and many have told me, that one of
the noble Syud race would have honour in putting on the green dress,
and renouncing the world, living a humble and devout life, doing good
works. Oh, mother! speak no more to me about marriage, for I cannot
bear it."
"Well," said the dame, "I will tell my husband what you say; but of
late both he and I have been distressed by hearing things that ought
not to be spoken."
"God help me!" said the girl, "for I trust in Him. I will speak to Abba
when I go home, and pray him to take me away from this. No, mother,
wherever we go we are Fakeers, and the world is open to us, and the
ears of the Hearer of prayer are never shut. Yes, I see it all, mother,
now, and we must go."
"And have you any means of support, my child?" asked the dame.
"Oh, yes," returned Zóra, "God feeds Fakeers as He feeds the ravens and
the wild birds, who cannot work. True, I can embroider, and do many
things for myself if there be need; but Abba can be rich if he pleases.
The offerings he receives every day amount to many, many rupees, and
yet he refuses almost all; and those he keeps are only what I take up
from his carpet, when people leave them. No, mother, there is no fear
of want; only to beg for our daily bread is painful, and we take only
what the merciful Alla sends us." The dame could say no more; and the
children were awed into silence at seeing their mother and Zóra so
grave; and though Zóra tried to be merry, and did what she could to
amuse her little companions, even to singing Maria's songs, her heart
was heavy and sad, and the children instinctively clung to her and
tried to cheer her, when they saw the tears welling from her eyes and
coursing each other down her cheek. Zóra did not rally, and went home.
Meanwhile, Mamoolla had come from the Bazar, and her master called her
to him, and questioned her in regard to Zóra, and as to whether any
remarks about the child had come to her ears. Of course they had. Who
could keep a great girl like that in the house, and allow her to go
about without restraint, and not hear reproach. At Juldroog everyone
was accustomed to see Zóra abroad, but here, in a populous place like
Korikul, it was quite another matter, and people would talk; who could
stop their mouths? As to the child herself, there was not a suspicion
of immodesty about her. She was as pure as an infant, but still that
would not help her if the world were uncharitable.
Mamoolla was talking to her grandfather when Zóra returned, escorted
by two stout journeymen of the weaver's; and as she threw off the sheet
that had covered her, she hastened to her grandfather, and laying her
head in his lap, burst into tears.
"I know, I know, my darling," he said, putting his trembling hands upon
her head, "thou, too, hast heard the foul reports, and may God forgive
those who set them on foot. Ameen, and Ameen."
"Let us go, Abba," she cried, sobbing. "The world will not have us as
we are, but the merciful Lord is our refuge. Let us go, Abba; whither
He guides us we cannot fail or perish."