SAINTLY HONOURS.
The sun was just rising as Zóra and her companion, the Musháekh's
wife, looked forth on the splendid scene spread out before them. Thin
blue smoke was hanging over the distant portion of the city, veiling
the details of terraced houses, minarets, and mosques, and other
pretentious buildings, and then passing into the grey distance which
melted into blue and violet lines up to the horizon. Nearer objects
were more defined, and the mausoleums of the Kings, the fort, and the
blue lake, were clear and beautiful as the sun's rays touched the white
and glistening surface of the massive domes, the slender spires of the
minarets, and the tops of the noble trees which stood around in almost
every direction. From a higher elevation the view might have been
more complete and extensive, but it would have lost the charm of that
lovely combination of objects of all descriptions which their present
situation afforded.
Zóra's face was flushed and excited, and her large brown eyes were
half filled with tears as she looked around. "Abba cannot see it," she
murmured to herself; "but he may have seen it before, when he was
young, and I will ask him; but, oh! it is so beautiful."
"I used, lady," she continued to her new companion, "to think our
old grim fort and its rocks beautiful; and the deep ravine, with the
cataract, was beautiful, too, only so wild, that they used to make me
tremble very often; but this is more soft and loving, and one seems to
be wrapped in all around, and to feel it in one's heart. I shall be
sorry when we can stay no longer."
"So shall I," returned the lady. "When I was a barren woman, with no
hope, my husband brought me here, and the saint blessed me, and my
firstborn followed. He is now four years old, and we have come, as we
vowed, to return our humble thanks for him, and to pray for his welfare
always in the future. When thou hast one like him, Zóra, the only thing
thou wilt ever care to look at will be his eyes; and thy time will
come, too. If thou hadst a mother, she would have arranged this long
ago."
"Perhaps," said Zóra, timidly, a manly face she well remembered rising
to her thoughts. "Perhaps; and what is written in my fate will come to
pass."
"True, child," returned the lady, "but fate needs help sometimes,
though truly before fate contrivance can do but little; still it may be
tried. Now, my husband and I have a little plot against you both, and
that is to take you with us to Golconda, where our lord the King is, a
devout and learned man, who hath great veneration for holy Musháekhs
and Dervishes; and he would be charmed with your grandfather, and would
never let him depart; he would give him estates, and he would take the
rank that is due to him. What think you? As to yourself, I have the
noblest husband for you. He is commander of ever so many horsemen, and
holds estates and lands for their maintenance; and so he is very rich,
and has a beautiful palace in the fort, and gardens. When I parted with
him, he said, laughingly, 'Oh, aunt, bring me the most beautiful woman
you can see, for I have had every girl in Golconda inspected, and I
love not what I hear of any of them.' I said, 'You are laughing at me,
Shere Khan;' but his face changed, and he said, 'I am not; I swear to
thee, by Ayesha, that I am entirely in earnest.' And who do I know, or
ever saw, but thee, Zóra, who would be worthy of him? Dost thou know
how lovely thou art, with that soft curly hair of thine hanging about
thy neck, and the ruddy glow in thy fair, sweet face? Did no one ever
tell thee how beautiful thou art? Hast thou had no friend in thy young
life?"
"Maria used to tell me so," replied Zóra, shyly, "and I used to chide
her."
"Maria! Who is Maria? That is a Nazarene name, surely."
"She is a Christian lady, one of God's servants, whom chance sent to us
at Juldroog, and she and her brother lived with us."
"And she wanted thee for him, and made thee a Christian?"
"No," said Zóra, gravely, "she did not make me a Christian; and for her
to think of me for her brother would have been foolish. He, too, has a
vow to God, and could not marry even among his own people. No, she was
only a dear friend, and I owe to her all that I know, and all that I
can do."
"And where is she now, child?"
"I know not, lady; alas! I know not. She went from us with her brother
to Beejapoor, and perhaps has gone on to Goa."
"Thank God!" said the lady; "then there is the better chance of my plan
succeeding, and I will ask my husband to apply to your grandfather."
"I know he hath urgent business in Beejapoor, lady, and hath urgent
need to see the King; but what it is he never told me, and I know
nothing of his life."
"Well, then, as God wills," said the lady; "but if I told Shere Khan
of thee, he would follow thee, I know, as long as he could trace thee
through the Dekhan."
I will not describe the ceremonies as the travellers paid their
devotions at the mausoleum of the departed saints, or their respects to
the present reigning incumbent. These were no places for our old friend
to display his genius, his eloquence, and his learning. These and the
doctrines of his teaching only shone forth in addressing crowds in
mosques, and on special occasions, when, as it seemed, inspiration came
on him; but one day, when he was in the large mosque for prayer--it
was some minor festival day--and there was a crowd of worshippers, and
the Prince was present, he asked leave to deliver the sermon, and the
service was thankfully accepted.
As the old man took his place on the upper step of the pulpit, clad in
his green dress, and, leaning on his staff, stretched out his arms, a
murmur came from the assembly which cheered and excited him; and with a
short text on the love of God, his words poured forth in a stream, not
in the soft Persian he had adopted of late, but in the rugged Dekhan
tongue--which had little of ornament or hyperbole in it--which became
a torrent of alternate entreaty, reproach, and assurance, the like of
which had never been heard before then by any. There were no sophisms,
no mysteries, no display of profound erudition, incomprehensible except
to a few; but there was instead instruction on the true Turreequt,
the true path of salvation. He pleaded humility before God; charity,
pity, and love to God and man; absence of any spiritual arrogance,
which was but too prevalent, and of self-conceit and display. He
spoke of the softer graces of habitual piety, of truth to man and to
God, and of sobriety, patience, and endurance; tenderness in home
duties and abroad; in short, attention to all the godly precepts of
the book of God's messenger, who had inspired it, as he believed, and
enjoined constant thought of the day of judgment, and the trial then
of all profession. Be not offended with me, O Christian reader, for
such things can be taught out of the book you have been told to hold
in scorn, apart from the mystery and sensual doctrines which are so
strangely mingled with them.
When he concluded, and the blessing was delivered, those present did
not form into knots, to shake hands and give the salutation of blessing
one to another as usual, but, as if by inspiration, shouted, "A saint!
a saint! a miracle hath been done, for such words were never heard!"
and the Prince was as much excited as any one else, and joined with
the rest. Then he called for his own conveyance, which was a nalkee,
or sedan chair, with two poles and eight bearers, and our old friend
was put into it, and accompanied by the multitude, with torches and
blue lights, and firing of guns, for it was now dark, the procession
passed on to the palace of the Prince, with cries of "A saint! a
Wallee! A miracle, a miracle! Deen, Deen!" burning clouds of incense,
throwing handfuls of perfume powder over him, and in every way possible
testifying their respect and admiration. Then the Prince took his seat,
and called up the dear old man, and in a voice full of emotion said to
him, "Come hither, for I salute you in the title of Wallee. Thou hast
done a miracle, and the people have seen and acknowledge it, and the
Lord accepts it. Listen while I repeat the sacred words of the order.
And now drink of this cup of sherbet, which, sipped and breathed on
by me, becomes to thee the sherbet of salvation. Verily, the Lord hath
brought thee to the end of the Turreequt, and all ye who are present
are witness to this. Ameen! Ameen! It is the Lord's will."
And all cried aloud, with a hoarse shout, "Ameen! Ameen! So be it!"
During this time our old friend had been in a state of which he
remembered very little. He recollected, and afterwards repeated, the
last words of his sermon, and he remembered his being carried out of
the mosque and seated in the nalkee; but of the wild procession, the
shouts, the torches and blue lights, and the Prince's address, he
recalled very little until he received the cup of cool sherbet, which
tasted as if from Paradise itself. Now he was weary of the excitement;
and after attempting to utter his thanks he seemed to waver to and fro
as he sat, and while the Musháekh and others supported him he stooped
heavily forward and fell to the ground. Then a palanquin was brought,
and they carried him to the house where he lodged; and, revived by the
fresh air, he was able to alight and walk slowly to his chamber, where
Zóra, already made anxious by the sudden rumour that her grandfather
had fainted in the great assembly, received him in her arms and laid
him down on his cushions. As he had been carried out of the assembly
the Prince rose, and cried with up-lifted hands before all--
"Pray God that He do not take the saint from us in this his present
ecstasy!" And all present cried "Ameen!"
"Pray God that he may live to lead and instruct many." And again they
cried "Ameen!"
Then the Prince gave the blessing to all, and they departed; and the
precincts of the palace and cemetery soon resumed their quiet, peaceful
character, as the stars shone out in the calm and fresh atmosphere of
night. And Zóra sat and watched.
For a time her grandfather seemed to sleep calmly; but he became
gradually restless and feverish; and from time to time she gave him
sips of a sherbet of pomegranates, which he took eagerly. Still he
did not appear to recognise her, which much distressed her. It was
evident that the events of the evening had been too exciting; and his
impassioned sermon, followed by the procession from the mosque, the
glare of torchlights and noise of guns, the clouds of incense smoke,
and the final acceptance as a Wallee, had been altogether more than he
could bear. From time to time he muttered sentences of the Koran, and
seemed to pray. Again he cried aloud, "Karamat! Karamat! A miracle! a
miracle!" and tried to lift himself up from his pillow, and wave his
arm.
Zóra could not weep, her eyes were dry and burning with anxiety; all
she held most dear on earth lay helpless before her, and if he passed
away in this ecstasy what would she do, whither could she go? Who
would care for the obscure, friendless girl who did not even know her
own origin? But she could not wish they had never come. If Alla pleased
to take him, it would be at the crowning point of his earthly life;
that which it seemed his only desire to reach, and which had been
attained. Her new friend, the Musháekh's kind wife, came to her and
sat with her, and told her freely and compassionately that she must be
prepared even for the last; and taking her in her arms, laid her head
upon her breast, and told her she would be a mother to her, and she
was not to fear; and her husband, who also came, bade her not to fear,
for if the Lord took her Abba she would be his and his wife's child
thenceforth. But all these alarms of that strange night disappeared
by the early morning. For the latter part of it the old man had slept
peacefully, like a child; and as the muezzin was crying the invocation
to early prayer, and the sentence, "Prayer is better than sleep! Prayer
is better than sleep! God is victorious!" he woke, and, to Zóra's
infinite joy, sat up with a gentle, smiling face, such as she had not
seen for a long time, reminding her of earlier days. Then she assisted
him to rise and to perform his devotions; and as he again sat down, she
crept to him, and very timidly congratulated him on his new dignity,
and the honour he had received.
"Then it was not a dream, child?" he said.
"No, Abba; it was a blessed reality. Zeenat-bee (that was the name of
the Musháekh's wife) and I were sitting on the terrace above, after
evening prayer. The air was so cool and fresh, and the city looked so
quiet and peaceful; and suddenly we heard a great hoarse cry arise,
and we looked, and blue lights were burned, and the tombs of the Kings
flashed out of the dusk brighter than day. Then gradually the crowd
appeared, and the tumult was fearful--men struggling with each other
to approach the nalkee; and other palanquins and open litters were in
front and behind, and we thought it was only the customary honour done
to the Prince. But as the procession passed beneath us, and I saw it
was thee, O Abba, to whom they were doing honour, I cried with all the
rest, and Zeenat and I embraced each other. But when they brought thee,
and I looked at thee, and laid thee down, I feared, yea, I feared thy
time had come; yet the Lord hath spared thee, and thou art a saint now,
one that men may worship without sin."
There was, indeed, no doubt on that score. All the day, the highest in
holy rank, the Wallees, the Owleas, the Musháekhs, doctors learned in
the law, and private persons in crowds thronged about the house and its
courtyards, and would be content only by the assurance that the new
saint would once more preach to them in the mosque, and return thanks
to Alla the Most High. And on the third day the old man went in company
of the Prince, and took his place, after prayers, on the upper step
of the pulpit. To those present it appeared that he was taller and
more dignified than before; but the Wallee's sermon was not the less
passionate that day. It affected him less, though it seemed to affect
his hearers more; and after it was over, his friend, the Musháekh, led
him about, and he shook hands with many and gave them the blessing.
Then the great procession of the Prince's anniversary followed; and
though on the grandest scale, accompanied by the troops, and midst
the firing of cannon and matchlocks, and blare of sonorous trumpets
and horns, with rockets and blue lights continually discharged, yet
it had not the excitement of the sudden frenzied rush of the Wallee's
recognition, nor the spontaneous enthusiasm of the crowds that had
accompanied him; and their journey to the mosque, and subsequent
return, were of the same majestic but monotonous character.
As they were all sitting together quietly after they had returned home,
Ahmed entered somewhat abruptly, and cried out, "I have heard news. Our
King has won a victory, and the King of Ahmednugger was killed." And on
being further interrogated, he said he had heard it from some soldiers
of Beejapoor, who had a vow to be present at the Prince's procession,
and had obtained leave to come the day after the battle, and the dead
were being buried.
"Go early," said the old man; "see those men, and bring any that
will come to me;" and before mid-day several men came and gave a
circumstantial account of the whole action. Abbas Khan and some
Beydurs had been foremost in carrying the guns. The young King of
Ahmednugger had charged madly to recover them, but had been shot dead,
and the whole army fled to Puraindah and sent ambassadors for peace;
and when all was completed, the King would return to Beejapoor--he
might even now be on the way.
"This decides me at once, Zóra," said her grandfather. "The Musháekh's
intentions were truly kind, and I will acknowledge them; but thy proper
home is with Queen Chand, and till I give thee to her my mind will not
rest. After that let it be with us as God willeth. Let us prepare to
go."
There was yet one ceremony to perform, which was a solemn leave-taking
of the Geesoo Duráz and his fellow spiritual princes who were at the
festival, and many others; and Zeenat-bee had to present Zóra to the
Prince's wife and other great ladies who would be with her. But poor
Zóra's wardrobe, if plentiful for her wants, was not that of a fine
lady. The valuable clothes given to her by the Ranee of Wakin-Keyra
were of Hindoo form, and, therefore, for the present useless. Her best
petticoat was of fine soosi, her best scarf only plain muslin, not over
fine; and the new friend looked over the clothes in despair. "None of
these will answer," she said; "thou shouldst have satin at least, but
it should be cloth of gold."
"I have no better," Zóra said; "I have never known better. What is
cloth of gold (kumkhab)?"
"And thou hast never seen it, O simple child? Stay, I see it all now."
And she went to her apartments, and her servants returned with her,
bringing a bundle. "That is kumkhab," she said to Zóra, shaking out
a gorgeous petticoat of the material, "and thou shalt wear that, my
child; the grandchild of Luteef Shah Wallee is a princess, and should
be clad as one." It was in vain that Zóra protested she ought not to go
at all; but there was no escape.
How beautiful she looked when Zeenat-bee came and dressed her. The
cloth of gold, the delicate scarf of brocaded muslin, and all beside
seemed, indeed, as the natural costume of the sweet girl; and as she
entered the assembly of ladies with a modest yet dignified grace, there
was not one present who was not struck with her beauty more than they
cared to acknowledge. Nor would her kind friend receive the clothes
back from her. "If my Shere Khan cannot see thee in them," she said,
"you will need them for your Queen, and they will remind thee of me,
Zóra. I see thou canst not come with us, for thy grandfather's business
with the King is urgent, so I will send thee away, though my heart
aches as I do so."
And when the time came, for the day of the Rujub-ool-Ghyb was Thursday,
for the march southwards, they took leave of all with much emotion;
and, after paying for what they had used, the balance was invested
in an order by a local banker on Beejapoor, for they had been warned
of robbers, gangs of whom frequented large assemblies like that at
Gulburgah, and dogged the footsteps of the returning pilgrims.
Nothing was wanting on the part of the local authorities to do honour
to "Luteef Shah Wallee," the humble Syud and Dervish of Juldroog, now
the new and accepted saint of the faithful, to be worshipped whenever
he might give up his spirit to the angels of death, and henceforth to
live in Dekhan history, as many as humble as he had done before. With
all his yearning for Beejapoor, he had yet longings after Golconda, and
should his petition be rejected, there was at least that refuge to be
looked to for Zóra as well as himself. Well! they would soon see, and
it could not be many days before he knew his fate. As before, the four
baggage ponies were laden by Ahmed; and as the "Geesoo Duráz" insisted
on supplying one palanquin and the Governor of the town another,
besides a few horse and foot soldiers as far as Almella, where there
was a station of Beejapoor troops, they were to travel in comfort and
security. But the old man said to Zóra, as she was making her last
preparations to depart, "Child, we have been dazzled by our prosperity;
may Alla forgive us for having neglected our duty as Fakeers. This we
must resume, and therefore keep our old dresses ready for us."
"I have already prepared them," she said; "and whenever thou wilt we
will sing the invocation again." Then they set out for Afzulpoor, near
the river Bheema.