DANGER.
The journey from Gulburgah to Afzulpoor was altogether a pleasant one
to the travellers. The morning they left the city was cloudy and cool,
and the soft south-west wind blew refreshingly in their faces as they
proceeded. The plain, after the stony environs of the city was passed,
was rich and fertile, lying on a gentle slope towards the river Bheema,
which ran through its broad valley in a tortuous course; but unseen,
as the floods had declined, on account of its high, steep banks. The
soil was rich and fertile, and luxuriant crops of jowaree, bajree, and
other cereals, with pulse, oil seeds, and mustard, now in bright yellow
flower, were pleasant to behold, while the air resounded with songs
of the cultivators, who were ploughing and otherwise preparing their
fields for the autumn sowing of cotton, the larger jowaree, and other
products. With the husbandmen it was the busiest time of the year, and
to travellers almost the pleasantest, for the rains had given place to
occasional light showery weather, which did not affect the roads, while
the fleecy clouds tempered the sun's rays, and the climate was hardly
warmer than that of an English summer day. Larks were singing in the
air, birds were chirping in every tree, flocks of mynas and paroquets
flew cheerily about, and the whole face of nature was joyful. Our old
friend was very happy. His excitement was gradually subsiding, and his
thoughts were assuming the serenity of his ordinary life. Though he
had been raised to the highest spiritual dignity he could receive, yet
there was nothing of the zealot or bigot in his nature. If it pleased
God, he prayed mentally, to let him remain at Beejapoor, he might by
his teaching temper some of the fierce intolerance which he knew used
to exist there, and might still continue. He could select some quiet
place in which he might make a garden and build a dwelling sufficient
for his small requirements; and by services at the great mosque, by
public alms, and the donations of the King and nobles of the city,
he hoped even to build a small mosque, and establish a school and
college, in which he could teach himself, and thus employ his spare
time pleasantly and profitably to others. Possibly, also, some quiet,
respectable family might propose marriage with Zóra. "They tell me,"
he murmured to himself, "that she is growing up and is beautiful; but
when I asked her whether I should accept the Musháekh's offer on behalf
of his nephew at Golconda, which, indeed, appeared to be an offer in
every way worthy of her and of me, she wept, and said, 'No! no! no!
Abba. Not away from you; I could not leave you. But if it be the will
of the Lord that thou stay not at Beejapoor, then do with me as thou
wilt.' No, she hath no tie to Beejapoor, no expectation there; so let
the issue be as the Lord willeth!"
Perhaps, however, the fair Zóra's thoughts were of a different
character. Beejapoor had to her always seemed the goal of her desires.
Every one around her, even at the old fort, had always spoken of the
city as though they belonged to it. She knew that her father had
been an officer in its army, and she had gathered enough from her
grandfather to believe that he had once served there, though in what
capacity she knew not, and she dare not risk the chance of vexing
him by asking. He had promised that one day he would tell her all,
and she had left the time to his own inclination; now, however, that
they were going there, he might break, perhaps, the long and painful
silence. But this was not all. Despite of apparent hopelessness, and
no knowledge whatever of Abbas Khan's circumstances, her heart was
with him always; and from the news of him she had heard at Gulburgah,
she appeared to have gained new hope. He was evidently a man of rank;
he was near the King, and if her grandfather went to the King, Meeah
would hear of her and inquire about her. She had no idea that he could
have forgotten her; that the excitement of war, possibly of some other
attachment, might have driven her from his thoughts altogether; or
that he might already have been betrothed in his youth. Any or all of
such contingencies never occurred to her, and she still believed that
she was not forgotten. If it were so, indeed, she would continue as she
was, and in the vow of the green dress would be her refuge. Had she not
seen others take it at Gulburgah? And Maria, too, she might be there,
and be able to direct her. In short, more than ever her goal appeared
to be Beejapoor; and though anxious and excited, Zóra was full of hope;
which, if it was vague and undefined, still was hope at her heart, that
had of late grown more vivid than before.
Mid-day was past, and near a small village there was a garden field,
and a well, overshadowed by a huge peepul tree, where the party halted
for rest and refreshment. Zóra and Ahmed drew the Syud's small mattress
and carpet from the palanquin, and spread them in the shade; and from
her stores old Mamoolla produced a cold refection she had prepared at
Gulburgah over night. The cool, fresh air and the easy journey had
made the old man hungry, and he enjoyed what had been provided very
heartily. Zóra had not seen him so cheerful for a long time past, not,
indeed, since they had left Juldroog; and it was evident to her that as
he neared Beejapoor his hopes grew brighter and clearer; but of what?
"They say, Huzrut," said the leader of the little party of horsemen,
"that the ferry-boat at Afzulpoor makes only two trips across the
river on each day; one from this side, when travellers arrive about the
third watch, and the other from the further side before noon. Now as we
cannot reach the town in time to-day, I have, therefore, sent on two
of the horsemen to arrange that the boat should wait till you arrive
to-morrow, and to send word by the first basket boat crossing that you
are coming, and that lodgings are to be prepared for you in Sinnoor, a
considerable village, where you will be very comfortable."
"Then we had better move on, perhaps, sir," returned the old Syud. "I
am grateful for your thought of me, and the mid-way stage cannot be far
distant now."
"It is only a few miles; there is no need to hurry, my lord," was the
reply. "It will be only my infinite regret that I shall not be able to
take the whole of my party with you to Beejapoor; but it is difficult
for horsemen to cross the river when it is full, and we belong to a
different Government; the foot soldiers will, however, accompany you.
You can get them relieved at Almella, which is customary."
"Once I am there, sir, I think I can send your men back, for I am
known, or--or--used to be."
At Almella, thought Zóra; who can remember him there?
"Zóra," said her grandfather, when they were alone, as Ahmed and the
old woman were packing up what had been used, "Zóra, listen to me,
child, for it will relieve me to tell you. We have not preserved our
faith with the Lord; we have been exalted by spiritual pride; we seem
to be no longer humble Fakeers, but to have changed into princes.
Though I cannot see, yet I feel that everyone salutes me. I am called
'Your Holiness,' or 'My Prince,' or 'My Lord,' and this I regret. We
have not begged alms as we should have done, and as I vowed to do; and
I fear that the Lord will punish me for this great omission."
"True, Abba," said Zóra, laughing, "we have not begged every day,
for at Gulburgah you said you could not take me among the crowds, it
was not safe; but did I not spread the sheet for you at the gate of
the Prince's palace, when the worshippers were entering, and in the
cemetery, near the grave of the old saint? And when Ahmed spread it for
you in the mosque, was it not always full? and when people came to the
house to get charms or amulets, and ask for your blessing, did they not
leave alms? Then, grandfather, we have much money, much more than we
need, besides the order on Beejapoor. Why should we beg for more? Is
it not avaricious to do so? Thou hast only to say Luteef Shah Wallee
wants, and riches would be bestowed upon thee. But, O Abba, we do not
want them; we were quite happy when we were poor."
"Nay, I am not avaricious," returned the old man, humbly; "but for
my breach of vow I fear. Let us resume our wonted habit, Zóra, from
this evening where we rest for the night, and give all we get in the
wallet to the poor; and to-morrow, as we wait for the boat, we may
as well sing an invocation, and spread the sheet, and we can make a
distribution there also."
So it was arranged, and they went out to beg that night, and proceeded
next day to Afzulpoor. The people came out in crowds to see the new
saint, whose fame had preceded him, for there were many Mussulman
weavers and husbandmen at the little town, and some of them had heard
the Syud preach, and been witness to the wondrous excitement when he
was taken up and carried in procession. They would fain have had him
stay with them and preach, for the next day was Friday, the Sabbath;
but he could not be persuaded to break his journey, and must go on as
had been arranged. When he came to the river side, and his sheet was
spread on the green turfy bank, he addressed the people for awhile
in his own homely way, and the sheet was rapidly covered with small
contributions. Then he took a kind leave of all, and delivered the
amount of the collection to the Patell and authorities of the village
to be distributed in charity to all the poor, and applied to the
expenses of the festival which he knew was at hand. Thus his mind was
assured that he had at last done right, and he would continue the
custom; and when he landed on the other side, it was with a silent
prayer that thenceforth to his destination nothing might interfere with
the tenor of his vow.
The men who had been sent forward had been able to make arrangements
for our friends, and they were soon comfortable. They had arrived
before the time for evening prayer, and their dwelling-place adjoined
the mosque, where most of the men and some women of the village had
assembled; and now, too, came an opportunity of saying a few kind words
to them all, and the lights were being lighted in the village before
they got up, and Zóra led her grandfather back to their apartments. He
was quite cheerful then and quite satisfied with what had been done.
Zóra and old Mamoolla pressed him to take his dinner, but he laughingly
said he had eaten so much of the old woman's good kabobs at the well
that he needed no more, and as soon as the cattle had all come in he
would go with Zóra, as the streets would be quiet.
Gulburgah during the festival had been full of thieves of every
description; indeed, the place had an evil reputation for robbers
at all times. There were not only the ordinary cut-purses and
pick-pockets, pilchers, and night prowlers of such gatherings; but
there were Thugs from the neighbouring counties of Allund, Gunjooty,
and Kullianee, as well as those who lived in the city itself, carrying
on apparently honest trades and occupations, who marked parties for
plunder, joined with them as they departed homewards, and slew them
when they had gone a little distance with them. For miles, indeed, in
every direction were the unhallowed graves of hundreds, and thousands,
perhaps, of those who had been thus decoyed and destroyed. There were,
too, Dacoits who attacked the lodgings of pilgrims, or waylaid them on
the high roads, and plundered with little regard to consequences. Among
the latter were many Jutts and Kaikárees, peaceful-looking people by
day, but terrible by night.
Our readers will not have forgotten, perhaps, the attack on the old
Syud's house at Kukeyra, with the intent to carry away Zóra; and some
of that gang who had escaped, and who lived in small villages somewhat
to the south of Almella, were pursuing their usual avocations in the
festival; by day selling small prayer-mats to pious Mussulmans, or
their women worked bodices, new and old, or made winnowing fans for
cleaning rice and other grain; but both by night and by day pursuing
their hereditary avocation of thieving. Among these was the boy who
had been released by Burma Naik and sent back to his people with the
grim notice already recorded. He had seen the old Syud at the public
mosque on several occasions; also at the gate of the Prince's palace,
when Zóra and her grandfather spread the sheet at night, and had dogged
them to their lodging. There nothing could be done, for they were well
guarded; but the determination to exact a heavy revenge for their
leader's death and the execution of their comrades had not lessened;
the only point undecided being how it was to be carried out. Some of
the gang were in favour of a sudden attack in a village where the Syud
should rest for the night; but when they found out that the old man
was proceeding to Beejapoor, their plan was formed rapidly. They would
not rob the holy man; that would be a sin, and bring misfortune on
them; but they could carry off Zóra, and give her up to Osman Beg, whom
they believed still to be at Juldroog, and demand from him the reward
he had promised. Some of the gang had crossed the river by a basket
boat early in the morning, with a small litter they had prepared, and
which could be easily carried. Several actually crossed in the great
ferry-boat (who could have suspected them?), and watched our travellers
to their resting-place. Their habit of begging through villages on
their journey in the evening was the best opportunity afforded to the
robbers' plans, and they were determined to follow them up, even to the
gates of Beejapoor, rather than forego their chance. The village had
one large gate to the south, that which opened on the Almella road,
and was in a direct line with the centre street. Two men had usually
charge of this gate, who could be easily overpowered. It would be
impossible to make a rush through it so long as the village cattle were
coming home; but, after that, there would be no obstacle, and it was
with secret satisfaction that the scouts watched the old man and Zóra,
dressed in the Fakeers' garb, leave their lodging alone, and wander
about the streets, singing their appeals for alms, receiving such as
they were given, and so passing on. At first they had walked through
side streets, Zóra always leading her grandfather, and warning him of
stones and other obstacles; and at last they emerged into the broad
way, not far from the gate, where there was a space without houses,
which appeared to Zóra very lonely and desolate, and there were no
persons moving about as in other parts of the village.
"I do not like this, Abba," said Zóra; "it is so lonely, and you would
not let me bring Ahmed with us. Let us turn back towards our home. The
wallet is already heavy with meal and rice."
"Why fear, child?" returned the old man, gaily. "Who ever molests the
Fakeer?"
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when about twenty men, some
of them carrying a small litter, emerged from behind a wall which
concealed a narrow lane, and came running towards them, crying out,
"Clear the way for the bride!" Zóra thought they were part of a village
marriage procession, especially as there were two torches lighted; and
drew her grandfather aside to let the people pass; but almost before
she could think, she found herself seized, a gag thrust into her mouth,
and her grandfather prostrated by a severe blow from a staff. She was
then swathed in a saree and lifted into the litter, the bearers of
which hurried on at their utmost speed. No noise had been heard of the
slight scuffle; no alarm was given. The two door-keepers were in the
act of shutting to the ponderous gates, which required their utmost
strength, and were taken completely unawares. One of them tried in
vain to stop the foremost of the robbers, and was pierced by a spear
before he could cry out; the other, who attempted to gain the bastion,
was struck down on the first step, and there died. Then the whole gang
extinguished their torches, rushed on down the main road till they came
to a side path which turned more to the east, among the tall fields of
jowaree, pursuing their way in utter silence for the most part, only
interrupted by occasional whispers among the gang.
Poor Zóra was utterly helpless. The gag which had been stuffed into her
mouth nearly choked her; the cloth by which she had been swathed up
to her throat prevented her moving her hands. She remembered when the
slaves of Osman Beg took her up at Juldroog they had done it gently,
and she could at least breathe freely and scream for help; but this
attack on her had been more savage, more determined--was this also her
enemy's contrivance? She could not but think so; and his emissaries
must have followed her even from Kukeyra. Whither were they taking
her? She could see nothing, for the cover of the litter was of black
coarse blankets, and was tightly fastened down. Without, too, the night
was dark, and a drizzling rain had set in. She felt stupefied by her
position, and her thoughts could take no coherent form whatever. For
several hours the gang pursued their first rapid pace, not halting to
relieve each other under the pole of the litter, but one displacing
another, as necessary. The men were not professional bearers, with
their regular step; but persons unaccustomed to carry loads, and, in
consequence, the poor girl was sorely shaken and bruised against the
sides of the narrow crib. She could breathe, but that was all; and any
chance of making herself heard was impossible. At last they stopped and
set down the litter. Zóra could hear the gentle rushing of water, and
supposed the gang had halted to drink, as one of them, slightly opening
the side of the litter, felt about until he found her face, and, to her
infinite relief, drew the gag out of her mouth. To her surprise the man
was civil, and said in good Canarese,--
"You will be thirsty, lady, and here is water; drink. But if you
attempt to call out, I cannot answer for your life; you must die. Do
you understand?"
"Where am I?" she asked, faintly; "and what have you done with my
grandfather?"
"Make yourself easy about him," said the voice; "he is safe where you
left him. Ask me no questions, for I cannot answer you; and you will
know the rest in time. No harm will come to you, and we dare not injure
a hair of your head; but you must save yourself by being perfectly
passive. If you cried out so as to cause alarm, my brothers would spear
you, and leave you as you are."
Zóra drank eagerly of the water, and felt refreshed and strengthened.
The gag was not renewed, and with her teeth she contrived to bite
a small hole in the blanket covering. She saw the gang at a short
distance sitting together, and their hookah passing round among them.
It was too dark to distinguish individual figures, but the sound of
the gurgle of the hookah, and its bright light when drawn, showed her
their position, and occasionally flashed upon the water which flowed
by. Again the man who had before spoken said, "Wait till daylight, and
I will bring you some roasted corn. The grain is full and sweet now.
You are likely to get little else for two or three days, and if you are
quiet you may be let out for a few minutes."
Zóra could not reply. With the drink of water her senses had revived,
and the agony of her position became more and more clearly realised.
She did not lose her presence of mind; but the impossibility of
escaping from so many active and unencumbered men was not to be
thought of for a moment. All she could do was to commend herself to
the merciful Alla, who alone could effect her deliverance. Strange to
say, she had still hope, which her faith served to increase; and if she
sobbed and wept almost unceasingly, there yet seemed to be something
whispering at her heart, "Fear not, for I, the Lord, am with thee!"
Presently the men took up the litter and moved on, but more slowly than
before. They were unaccustomed to carry such a burthen, and already
some were complaining of chafed shoulders. Would they put her down
and disperse? Then daylight broke; but the rain did not cease, and the
fields of corn and cotton, through which they held their way, grew
muddy and soft, and the men could proceed with difficulty.
"We must seek for some shelter," said a voice, which appeared to have
authority among the gang. "We are now on the lands of Kohutnoor, and we
may find a shepherd's hut somewhere; and two of you run to Hippurgah
and see if some of our people will come, for we must go on again at
nightfall."
After this speech Zóra found her litter put down, and the opening of
the covering was untied; then she was taken out, and carried into
a rude field hut and laid on the ground, but the bandages were not
loosened. There we must leave her for the present, and relate what had
befallen her grandfather.