I had now only two matters on my hands; one to discover Zora, if I
could, the other to endeavour to get the bills of exchange I had
brought with me cashed. Of the first I had but little hope; for since
the day I went to her house, although I had constantly men on the
watch about it, I could discover nothing of her or of the old nurse;
the latter I had bribed handsomely, and I knew if it was possible to
convey to me any information of her I loved, she would do so. I had
several times passed the house myself, in the hope of seeing Zora by
some accident or other, but it was in vain; and at the time I now speak
of, I had almost given her up in despair. Had it not been, Sahib, for
the wild interest of my trade, I should have sunk into apathy and
wretchedness--so fondly, so deeply did I love her. It was this which
rescued me from myself, for I could not be behind the rest in seeking
adventures; and once that I had a band entirely under my own direction,
I was incessantly occupied in finding employment for it, and taking my
own part in the catastrophes which ensued.
The day after the rescue of our brethren we held a consultation, at
which the principal members of the band were present. I need not
relate particulars; suffice it to say, that all agreed in thinking
we had remained long enough consistently with our safety, and it was
resolved to depart in the course of the next day, or at most the day
after. One by one the parties, as they were then divided, were to take
the nearest road towards Beeder, which led through Puttuncherroo; and
the last-mentioned place was to be the rendezvous whence we should
proceed in company. Little time, therefore, remained to me; and as
soon as I possibly could, I took Bhudrinath and Motee-ram with me, and
we went into the city. We sat down on the steps of the Char Minar.
Wonderful, indeed, were the stories we heard of our skirmish with the
Kotwal's soldiers; the accounts of the killed and wounded on each side
were ludicrously inconsistent, and you may imagine how we enjoyed
the various relations we heard, all either from persons who declared
that they had been eyewitnesses of the matter, or who had heard it
from undoubted authority. But it was not our errand to waste time by
listening to idle tales, not one of which contained a word of truth,
but to get the money for the bills we had found among the effects of
Syud Mahomed Ali, alias Kumal Khan, and we had repaired to the Char
Minar as the most likely place to meet with a person who could read
them, and without suspicion tell us upon whom they were drawn.
Observing as we sat a miserable half-starved-looking wretch, with a
pen stuck between his turban and his ear, an ink-bottle hanging by his
side, and a roll of paper under his arm, I fixed upon him as a likely
person to suit our purpose. I beckoned to him, and he ran eagerly
towards us. "Canst thou read Goozerattee?" I asked.
"Noble sir, I can not only read but write it, for it is my native
tongue; what are my lord's commands?"
"Simply," said I, "to read a hoondee--no great matter;" and I handed
him one of the bills.
"It is an order, Sahib, drawn in favour of Kumal Khan (my lord's name I
presume), by Bearee Mul of Nandair, upon Gopal Chund Bisn Chund of the
Begum Bazar, for four hundred rupees, at nine days' sight."
"Is it correctly drawn?" I asked.
The fellow looked at the bill, and turned it round and round, examining
every part of it. "Does your worship suspect it?"
"Alla forbid!" said I; "for if it is wrong, I and these worthy
associates of mine are ruined, for we have more like it, and for larger
sums."
"I see nothing wrong in the bill," said the man; "but let me see the
others." I showed them.
"They are all correct," said he; "you have only to take them for
acceptance, and you are sure of your money."
"Is the firm upon whom they are drawn well known?"
"They have a great deal of country business in hoondees," said the man,
"and are on that account perhaps less known than many of our leading
bankers, but nevertheless the firm is most respectable."
"Where did you say they live?"
"In the Begum Bazar. If your worships wish it I will accompany you
thither."
"Good," said I, "do so; we are strangers, and might not readily find
the house. You shall be rewarded for your trouble."
We went out of the city by a small gate at the end of a street
which led down from the Char Minar,--I think it is called the Delhi
gate,--and turning to the left, after crossing the river, we were soon
in the midst of the populous and wealthy suburb in which the bankers
we sought resided. The road through the principal street was almost
entirely blocked up by bags of grain, bales of merchandize, tethered
bullocks belonging to the grain-carriers, and empty carts; and it was
as much as we could do to keep together, both from these causes and
the crowd of people. The noise too of the crowd, of the buying and
selling in the bazar, the curses and execrations of bullock-drivers and
unloaders, the cries of men measuring grain, and a thousand others,
made a din and confusion which I had never heard equalled. However, by
dint of pushing and elbowing our way, we reached a respectable-looking
house, and were introduced to one of the partners by the man we had
taken with us.
I put a bold face on the matter and presented one of the hoondees. The
Sahoukar was an old man, and taking a pair of spectacles from a fold in
his turban, he placed them on the end of his nose and carefully read
the hoondee; he afterwards turned it round and round, and examined it
most carefully, looking from time to time most suspiciously at me over
his glasses. I own this would have been unpleasant had I been alone,
but with the two companions I had brought with me I cared not; had it
come to the worst, our weapons were ready, and we would have used them
for our liberty.
"I wish to speak a few words with you, if you will follow me into the
next room," said the Sahoukar, pointing to one which led from that in
which we sat. He rose, and I followed him.
"How came you to be possessed of this?" said he, anxiously; "and who
are you?"
"It matters not who I am," I replied; "and it must suffice for you to
know that I am to receive the money for that hoondee, and for these
also;" and I showed him the others.
"Most extraordinary!" he exclaimed after he had examined them. "I
cannot understand it. It is most strange that they should be presented
by another. Young man, by what authority are you here to receive this
money?"
"By his for whom they were drawn," I replied.
"His name, and the Sahoukar's who drew them?"
"Kumal Khan,--and the Sahoukar's Bearee Mul."
"That will not do," said the Sahoukar; "you have blundered in your
errand, young man; the drawer's name any one could have told you."
"Perhaps this may enlighten you further upon the subject," said I, and
I took from my waistband the seal of the Syud.
He examined it, and going to a box in the room he took from it a bundle
of papers. He turned them over rapidly. "Ay, here they are," said he,
reading, "'Accounts of Syud Mahomed Ali;' and now, young man, if there
is deceit in that seal it can be easily proved, for behold the seal of
the worthy Syud himself;" and he showed me an impression on one of the
papers.
I confess I had been in much suspense, for had I by any unlucky chance
got hold of the wrong seal my detection would have certainly followed;
but still I had taken the ring from the man's own finger, and it was
not likely that he had any other. The instant I saw the impression,
however, I was satisfied that it was the right one.
"Now for the proof," said the Sahoukar, rubbing the seal over with ink
and wetting a piece of paper with his tongue. "If you have attempted
deceit, young man, your detection is certain. Shall I stamp it?"
"Certainly," said I; "I am innocent of any attempt to deceive you. The
worthy Syud gave me the seal in order that you might be satisfied."
He pressed the seal to the paper and withdrew it; the impression
was perfect, and exactly corresponded with that on the paper of
accounts. "This is correct," he said, at length; "though I cannot read
Persian, the letters appear the same, and the size is exact. I cannot,
therefore, doubt longer; but still it is most strange."
"I can only say," said I, "that I am the Syud's confidential agent,
whom he has sent to you for the money; if you will not pay it, say so,
that I may write to him."
"By no means," said the Sahoukar; "the money is here. But why did not
the Syud come himself? the bills are made payable to him alone."
"True," said I, "they are; but if you are in his confidence, as you
seem to be, you will know that there are good reasons for his absence
from the city at present, and as he wanted the money he has sent me for
it."
"And where is he?"
"That I cannot tell you," said I; "it can be divulged to no one;
suffice it for you to know that when the proper time comes he will
emerge from his place of concealment." And I told the truth, Sahib, for
will he not rise at the day of judgment? And Ameer Ali laughed heartily
at his own conceit.
"Well," said the Sahoukar, "no doubt remains as to your right to the
money. When do you want it? the bills are at nine days' sight."
"Now; I have no time to lose, I must depart in the morning. You can
deduct the interest for nine days. But stay," I continued, "the Syud
told me that if he owed you anything you were to deduct it, and if any
balance of his remained in your hands you were to pay it to me."
"Good," replied the Sahoukar; "I will see;" and he turned to his books.
"Ah, here is the account. Last balance struck the fifteenth of Suffer,
nearly a year ago,--in his favour three hundred and twelve rupees, four
annas."
"So much the better," said I; "now pay me the moneys and write a
receipt; I will sign it with the seal, which I must take back with me."
The Sahoukar called to a man inside. "Here," said he, "register these
hoondees and get the money for them, and make out a receipt. Your
name?" said he to me.
"Ameer Ali, an unworthy Syud." The money was duly counted out, a
trifling deduction made for interest, and the whole paid to me. I put
my own seal as well as that of the Syud to the receipt, and after
seeing the balance in the Sahoukar's books duly cancelled there was no
longer cause to delay.
"How will you carry all that money?" said the Sahoukar; "this is not
a safe place for people to be seen out at so late an hour" (for the
evening was now closing fast) "with such a sum in their possession."
"Content yourself," said I; "we are three stout fellows, and well able
to defend our charge."
"You had better take two of my men, at any rate, to carry the money."
"I will carry some, if I am permitted," said the man we had brought
with us. "Bughwan knows I have eaten nothing to-day and knew not where
to get a meal till these kind gentlemen met me; and I may perhaps earn
a trifling sum above what they have promised me."
"Good," said I; "how much can you carry?"
"Two thousand rupees," he replied, "if my lord will try me."
"Very well, then take up that bag." The rest we divided between
ourselves, and departed. We did not return as we had gone, but avoiding
the city, passed by the house of the English Resident, crossed the
river below it, and on the other side struck into some close lanes,
which led to the suburb we lived in. As we went along, I said to
Bhudrinath in Ramasee, which I had now learned, "That fellow must not
live; our secret is safe with the Sahoukar, but not with another. What
do you say?"
"I agree with you," said he. "We can throw the body into a well; and
there is one not far off I think; I bathed there this morning."
"Very well," said I; "when you see the place give the signal. I will
settle all our accounts with him for his trouble and carriage of our
money."
We came to the well, and the signal was given; I was ready and my
victim also, but he struggled hard, as the bag of rupees was on his
shoulders, and my roomal had not fair play. He died, however, and we
threw him into the well, with a large stone tied in his clothes to sink
him. Strange, Sahib, that after protesting his poverty as he had done,
we should have found forty-three rupees in his girdle!
You may judge of my father's joy at my success; and to prove his sense
of the value of my address and ready wit, he presented me with five
hundred rupees out of the sum I had brought. With this at my disposal I
determined to make a last attempt for Zora, for I thought that with it
I might bribe the old woman who called herself her mother; and late as
it was, I pleaded some excuse and set off for the city. I soon reached
the now well-known street, and finding the door open I entered, and was
ushered into the presence of the old woman and Zora's sister Zenat.
They rose on seeing me, and welcomed me kindly. "You have not been with
us, Meer Sahib, since the Mohorum," said the old woman as she cracked
all her fingers against her temples. "You knew that you would always be
our most favoured guest, and yet we have not seen you. Why has there
been this estrangement from us?"
I did not like to accuse the old woman of turning me from the door, as
I have related before, so I said I had been absent from the city, and
having only just returned had come to pay my respects to her. "And now,
mother," said I, "where is Zora? Why is the rose separated from the
nightingale?"
"Zora!" said the old woman; "why, have you not forgotten that foolish
girl? Is there not Zenatbee, who is dying for you, and has raved about
you ever since she saw you?"
"Toba! Toba!" cried Zenat, covering her face affectedly. "For shame,
mother! how can you speak so? how can you tell such lies?"
"I say the truth, Meer Sahib; I swear the foolish girl's head has been
turned by your beauty;" and she stroked my chin caressingly.
What could I do? I saw at once that if I did not affect love for
Zenat I should never hear aught of Zora; but I could not forget
her so easily, and I hated Zenat for her love. I thought it better
to come to terms at once if I could. "Mother," said I, "I am proud
of your daughter's love, and to one so young as I am such marks of
preference as you say she is inclined to show me are most flattering;
nevertheless, I cannot forget Zora; and tell me, by your soul, am I to
see her or not? Now hear me; I am not a rich man, not one who could
lavish thousands upon her, but what I have is hers for ever, and yours
too, if you will give her to me. Will you part with her?"
"What do you offer?" said the old woman. "Methinks you must be one of
our nobles in disguise to come here with such a proposition."
"I am no noble," said I, "but a poor Syud. I have five hundred rupees,
and they are yours if you make Zora mine for ever; say the word, and
to-morrow I will be present; we will send for a Moola, and the nika
shall be performed."
"Five hundred rupees!" cried the old woman, and she and her daughter
burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "Five hundred rupees!"
continued she at length, when she could speak; "oh, man, thou art
either mad or drunk!"
"I am neither the one nor the other," I replied, very angrily; "I am as
sober as either of you, nay far more so."
"Then if you are so," said the old wretch, "what, in the name of
Alla, has come to you, that you think we would part with Zora for
five hundred rupees? Five thousand and twice as much would not be
sufficient."
"Then," said I, "you are a pair of the devil's children, and I spit at
you. Not content with spurning me from your house like a dog, you now
deny me the only happiness I looked to on earth. Women, have you no
hearts?"
"Yes," cried the old hag in a fury; "yes, we did spurn you, as I do
now. Begone! and never dare to intrude as you have done this night, or
I will see if I cannot bring a few stout fellows together to beat you
out with sticks like a dog and a son of a dog as you are."
"Peace! woman," cried I; "beware how you revile my father."
"May his mouth be filled with earth and his grave defiled! May your
mother----"
I could bear this no longer. I ran to the door for my shoes, and held
one in my hand threateningly. "Now," said I, "another word of abuse,
and I will beat you on the mouth."
It did not check her. A fresh torrent poured from her lips, and I was
really provoked. I could bear it no longer. I rushed at her, beat her
on the face with my shoe, and spat on her. The daughter hurried to the
stair-head and raised cries of alarm. "Thief, thief! He is murdering
us! Kasim Mahomed Ali, where are ye? We are murdered--we are defamed!
Bring your swords, and kill him!"
I had pretty well belaboured the old woman, and thought it high time
to be off; so I rushed to the door, and seizing Zenat threw her to the
other side of the room with all my force. I saw that she had a heavy
fall, and I ran down the stairs: about half way I met a man with a
drawn sword; he stood, and was about to make a cut at me, but I seized
his arm and hurled him down the steps, and as he rolled to the bottom
I leaped over him and was outside the house in a moment. Well, thought
I, as I went along, I have not got Zora, but I have slippered the old
shitan her mother, which is some satisfaction, and Bhudrinath will
laugh rarely when he hears of my exploit.