“What need of the mirror, when our eyes meet, and
in them we view each other?”
INDIAN POEM.
The moon rising, with an orb almost complete, and exhibiting within its
visible circumference but a small segment still to be silvered, forbade
the pilgrims to seek repose during the night. They travelled onward in
the direction prescribed by the guides--now along the edge of mural
precipices--now over boundless heaths--now through dark forests--now
through the dried channels of winter torrents, with all the expedition
which their animals could command, until they reached a hamlet, where
they found it absolutely necessary to take refreshment and repose. The
means for both were speedily supplied by the tenants of the humble
dwellings they found in that part of the mountain, the Cashmerians
deeming it a sacred duty, or rather a privilege, to attend to all
pilgrims who pass their way. From these good people, Auzeem learned,
to his great satisfaction, that the habitation of the famed Zeinedeen
was distant only a few hours; and that the temple of Mahadeo, of which
the hermit was said to be the high priest, was within an arrow’s flight
from his residence.
Remounting their ponies, just as the friendly light, which had hitherto
guided their steps, grew pale in a sky resuming the roseate tints of
morning, the pilgrims drew renovated strength and spirits from the
spicy breath, which ascended as an offering to Aurora, from the meadows
and the flowery hills below. Some remains of the winter snow still
accompanied their path, especially where they had to pass abrupt rocks,
or glens impervious to the summer sun. Their route became from hour
to hour more and more enchanting, until they at length reached the
entrance to the habitation occupied by the anchorite. It was then near
mid-day. Auzeem remarked, that Zeinedeen must be engaged with visitors
of distinction, as several ponies, caparisoned in a peculiarly elegant
style, were tied together in an enclosure hard by.
Chunder, as soon as his infirm limbs could permit him, answered to the
call of one of the guides, who seemed familiar with his name. The old
man appeared to derive pleasure from seeing before him persons, whom
he at once conjectured to be pilgrims, on their way to the temple of
Mahadeo; for it was one of his constant complaints, that those shrines,
which he remembered in his youth to have been frequented by throngs of
devotees from all parts of the world, had been, in the degeneracy of
modern times, almost wholly abandoned. The god, he informed them, had
re-appeared as usual, and had nearly attained his perfect form. He had
no doubt, that as soon as Zeinedeen was informed of their arrival, he
would give orders for their entertainment, during their stay, within
his own dwelling.
This intelligence was the more agreeable to Jehangire and Auzeem, as
they had heard much of the hermit’s science, intelligence, and superior
talent, and they were happy to have the opportunity of enjoying his
society in that familiar intercourse which they would thus be permitted
to hold with so distinguished a personage. The emperor would be under
no necessity to conceal, even if concealment from such a superior being
were possible, his true rank and character. Nor was he without a faint
hope, that all anchorite as was the occupant of the place--curiosity,
or accident, had already enabled him to learn something of the
existence, the habits, perhaps the secret feelings and wishes of
her, at whose shrine the imperial pilgrim would, at the moment, have
preferred kneeling, rather than at that of any golden god or goddess,
who had ever been worshipped in Cashmere.
While the strangers were waiting for the return of Chunder, a bevy of
gay damsels, with small silver-mounted whips in their hands, rushed
together from the interior halls into the court-yard, laughing and
talking aloud, in their sweet and playful voices, until they found
themselves unexpectedly in the presence of strangers. Immediately
checking each other, and flinging their veils, some with rather a
coquettish carelessness, over their faces, they passed on to the
enclosure where the ponies where detained. The animals at once
recognised their light-hearted owners, and permitted themselves to be
led in succession to a stone bench, from which the damsels jumped on
their backs, and rode away amidst an abundance of tittering, and of
stolen looks at the pilgrims, who, upon their side, watched the scene
with at least an equal degree of curiosity.
One of the ponies, a beautiful creature, of a half zebra breed,
still remained unmounted, the rein being held by a female slave, who
seemed to wait for some person not yet come forth from the residence
of Zeinedeen. The pilgrims still stood in the court-yard, waiting
to be summoned to the presence of the hermit. Presently a female
figure, arrayed in a white muslin turban and veil, a dove-coloured
satin pelisse, a tunic of white silk, slightly sprigged with silver,
cinctured at the waist by a band of gold, with an emerald clasp in
front, and trowsers of the same material as the tunic, appeared,
also with a small whip in her hand, mounted in gold, crossing the
court-yard with a hurried step. Her cheek was much flushed--her eye
highly animated; as she passed, she stopped a moment, pressed the end
of the whip to her reddened lips as if she doubted whether she had
not forgotten something behind; but, immediately resuming her step,
hastened to where the slave was waiting.
Auzeem, who had a full view of her countenance and person, stood mute
with surprize. After a momentary pause, he turned to Jehangire, to
express his emotions of admiration; but the emperor was no longer near
him. The slave, who held the rein, felt herself obliged suddenly to
yield it to a more vigorous hand, just as the fair rider had adjusted
herself on the padded back of the animal, and in an instant the
beautiful equestrian, her poney, and her new guide, were out of sight.
“This,” exclaimed the latter, when he found himself beyond the danger
of observation; “this is, indeed, an unexpected joy. Oh! Nourmahal!”
The female so addressed, oppressed by terror upon finding herself in
the hands of a stranger, who had hitherto bent down his face, whose
motives for bearing her thus rapidly away, she could not divine;
pre-occupied, too, to an intense degree of excitement as she had
already been, so much so that she scarcely noticed what had happened,
until a moment before she heard her name thus passionately sounded,
wore no longer the ruby on her cheek or lips. A death-like shadow,
pale and livid, by turns overspread her brow. Trembling in every limb,
unable to hold her seat, she fell while clasping her hands, and,
resting her head upon them, lay on the ground like a lifeless victim of
despair.
Jehangire, plucking from his bosom the symbol which he hoped she had
sent him, placed it in her hand, to assure her of his identity. Was
he wrong in that hope? In its withered form would she still recognise
the token? What fates depended in the balance of that moment? Kneeling
by her side, he sickened in agony; her first word would be to him the
sting of death, or the sun of all his future existence.
“Here--buried for ever; oh, fatal messenger!” exclaimed Nourmahal, as
her returning sense informed her of the circumstances in which she was
placed. “Forgive--forget this; it should never have left the bosom
where it now rests.”
Jehangire hung upon every accent; no word escaped his lips. The rapture
that rose, kindling within him,--the thought that, come what may,
he was once more in the presence of all he most loved upon earth,
dispelled every other idea.
“It hung here,” she continued; “it fell, I know not how--into that
mystic fountain--since then, oh, what have I not suffered?”
“It is thine. If I ought not to have received it,--though how can I
forget that it reached my hands, that it has since been the companion
of my heart?--let it be thine again.”
“Do I dream?” asked the agitated Nourmahal, rising and looking wildly
around her. “Whose words are those? That voice?”--
“Am I not remembered?”
“My sovereign! It is, indeed, my imperial lord, here in the midst of
his enemies! Fly,--Allah! know you not that all Cashmere is in arms
against you?”
“I am here a pilgrim.”
“If you be discovered, nothing will protect you from the hate of your
enemies. It is madness to expose your anointed head to their arrows.”
“All seems at peace as yet within your valley.”
“You are assuredly not here without an escort?”
“I have a few,--two or three companions.”
“It is my first duty, then, to implore you to fly while yet you may. Be
convinced, that if the intelligence get abroad that the emperor is in
the province, you cannot count a moment on your safety.”
“I am, as you see, disguised.”
“Oh, Sire, no disguise can conceal your rank, for you cannot move, you
cannot look unlike Selim,--I should have said Jehangire,” she added,
blushing all over, kneeling before the sovereign, and bending her head
upon the palm of her hand.
“To thee, Selim,--by no other name let me ever be known to thee, at
least,--Oh, Nourmahal! How has all this happened? Why was I left in
ignorance of the steps that led to this fatal marriage?”
“They were scarcely known to myself. In an evil hour, before--but, oh,
question me not--to what tend now such enquiries? My fate is sealed,
for _ever_!”
The deep sigh with which that _ever_ was pronounced, renewed the
distraction which seized the mind of Nourmahal, when she was first
borne away from the care of the slave. Happily a flood of tears came to
her relief. Jehangire induced her to sit upon a green bank, and holding
both her hands in his, soothed her feelings by all the kindness he
could administer. He did not renew the subject nearest to his heart,
until he saw that she was more composed.
“It has been always represented to me, that Abul-Fazeel--no friend of
mine--was the author of what has occurred.”
“Alas! I know not with whom the idea originated. But I should never
forgive myself if I did not, as I do, most fully admit that my consent
was freely given,--given, before--Oh, how shall I confess it!--before I
knew my heart, before I felt what it was indeed to love!”
“This is a condition hard to be endured. You should have been mine.
There is not a pulse in this hand, Nourmahal,--not a thought in thy
heart,--that does not proclaim its unison with another than him to whom
the laws have bound thee. And he--does he not know this?”
“Afkun is the most generous of men; his soul is noble as his arm is
valiant. Alas! that such a man, worthy of thy esteem, should be at
this moment in arms against his lawful sovereign! He cannot be ignorant
that there are some impulses, howsoever they arise, which cannot be
controlled; but it is vain to think more upon this,--my duties are
fixed, my destiny is cast!”
“It is equally vain--Nourmahal, can you--do you wish to forget who it
was that first gave you that name?”
“Would it had never met my ear! Oh, that the circumstances of that
evening could vanish from my soul!”
“They cannot,--I was about to say that it was equally vain to
expect that I could not think more--think ever, of the impressions
of that evening, which, for good or for evil, are inseparable from
all that I can now ever know of happiness. I wear the crown of
Hindostan, but behold, no sooner was it placed upon my brow, than my
son,--Chusero,--my eldest, born--”
“My tears, too, have been shed for this unnatural rebellion.”
“Ah! had you been his parent, if you could but conjecture half the
grief which weighs upon a father’s heart, when, instead of affection,
obedience, reverence from him who shares the life-blood of your veins,
whose infant caresses you remember with a delight that thrills your
soul, whose earliest smiles remain star-lights in the canopy of your
existence--when, instead of the tenderness you expect, not as a return
for your solicitude, but as the growth of the seed you have sown and
reared up, you meet only resistance, hostility, bitter, remorseless
eagerness to supplant and destroy you,--oh! you would indeed,
Nourmahal, give me all your sympathy.”
“Would I could hold out the hope, that even his evil fortunes had
produced a disposition to seek for forgiveness.”
“Heaven be my witness, that I ask no more. He has but to utter a single
expression of regret, all shall be expunged on the instant from my
memory. Tell the boy,--you have lately seen him, perhaps--”
“This morning,--hush! I hear horsemen coming this way,--to those rocks,
Sire, or you are lost!”
Jehangire had just time to climb a precipitous ascent above the bank
where they were sitting, when Afkun and Chusero, attended by twenty
spearmen, made their appearance in a defile below. They rode rapidly
towards Nourmahal, who, summoning all her fortitude, mounted her pony,
and composing her veil, rode on to meet them.
“We have been anxiously looking for you, Nourmahal,” said Afkun.
“Knowing that you had gone to visit Zeinedeen, we have found it
necessary to come out with an escort, for the advanced guard of the
invaders are already visible from the castle. We must hasten home-ward,
and I fear that your excursions must be given up, until the enemy shall
disappear. You would be too precious a prize in their hands at such a
moment.”
The ladies of the harem, who had only preceded Nourmahal to a fountain
hard by, where they went to water their ponies, now joined the
cavalcade, of which the emperor had a full view from his place of
refuge, without being exposed to their observation. He could plainly
distinguish his son, who was mounted on a grey Arabian courser; the
animal curvetting, and now and then pawing the earth with a beautiful
pride, seemed conscious that he bore on his back a rider of no
ordinary rank. Afkun led the way, riding by Nourmahal’s side. The
prince and the other ladies immediately followed, and the line was
closed by the spearmen, mounted also on spirited animals.
Jehangire watched their progress down the mountain, with the most
painful feelings. It was not until his straining eye failed to discern
any part of the group, that he descended to the bank, so lately
consecrated in his esteem, by having served as a couch for her, who had
now full possession of his soul. Sitting there awhile, he tranquillised
his thoughts. He felt as if the atmosphere around him still breathed
of Nourmahal’s presence--still echoed her soft enchanting voice--still
gave him back the fresh impression of those features, over which, in
a few moments, so many traces of emotion--of emotion so precious to
him--had passed, all exalting and perfecting that beauty, of which,
he believed, the earth held no rival. At length, bending his steps
towards the hermitage, he found Auzeem anxiously waiting his return.
That experienced person, however, asked no questions. He had already
learned from the slave, to whom the bewitching form belonged, which had
excited his admiration. He easily conjectured what followed.