May Heaven preserve your gentle heart
From every sorrow mortals know!
What joys this world can here impart,
And what the next, may each bestow.
HAFIZ.
Never was the return of morning expected with more anxiety by
Nourmahal, than during that night, which to her, particularly,
appeared as if it would never end. For the first hour or two she
sustained her mother’s head upon her arm. Perceiving that her dear
parent, overwhelmed by the fatigue and pain she had endured, gradually
lapsed into sleep, she gently withdrew her arm, and substituting a
cushion for it rose from the mattress, with a view to penetrate to the
apartment, which, as the governor said, overlooked the Jumna.
Taking in her hand a small lamp, which one of the slaves had left on
the floor, she proceeded bare-footed, listening, now and then, to
ascertain that her mother remained undisturbed, and, passing into an
outer room, discovered that the only window it contained was strongly
secured by an iron lattice within, and by shutters that opened on the
outside. It occurred to her that, as was usually the case on the river,
where external access to the shutters would be inconvenient, they were
under the control of a spring-bolt, fixed in some part of the frame
of the window within. After searching carefully at both sides of the
frame, she failed to find any indication of the spring, and was about
to give up the object of her pursuit in despair, when the light of the
lamp gleamed on a brass ring, suspended in one of the squares of the
lattice. On her pulling this ring, the bolt by which the shutters were
made fast, immediately receded from its place, they flew back, and
disclosed the river tranquilly flowing beneath.
The canopy of the heavens exhibited myriads of suns of other worlds,
shining with that clear and intense brightness, which still indicated
that the night was scarcely half way through its course. Nourmahal
gazed on them earnestly, as if she would intreat them to pale their
light, and make way for the morning. But they continued to assert their
dominion over the earth, shining through a sky without a cloud, azure
from the horizon to the zenith, without a break prophetic of the day
that was still to come. She sat listening to the current, that now and
then gently rippled as it passed by, without disturbing, even by a
murmur, the profound silence that reigned every where around.
Putting the lamp down she sat in the window, and clasping her hands
fervently, prayed to the Creator of those glorious orbs, whose
admirable harmony gave token every moment of his perpetual presence and
power, that he would look down upon her beloved parents, and preserve
them from the persecutions to which, she feared, they were about to be
subjected.
While these tacit supplications occupied her whole mind, the chill
of the night-air passed with a tremor through her thinly-covered
limbs. Returning to her mattress, she found her mother still sleeping.
Kneeling by her side, she renewed her prayer. Undesirous even of a
moment’s repose, she resumed her usual apparel, and again took her
place at the window, to watch for the earliest indications of the dawn.
But the stars appeared to have lost not a ray of their lustre. The
transparent azure of the firmament was still perfectly undisturbed, as
far as her limited range of vision could enable her to observe.
Leaning her cheek upon her hand, she gave herself up to the thousand
thoughts that pressed upon her unquiet mind. “Is all this a dream?”
she asked herself. “Am I once more in Agra? Is this the Jumna, upon
whose banks I have spent so many days of happiness;--ah! of true
happiness,--when I knew no feeling save intense love for my dear
parents, and had no care, except what was brought upon me by my
gazelles and favourite flowers?
“In Agra! in the citadel! within the same walls that inclose the
emperor’s palace, and yet in a prison!--and for what? What have I done
to call for such treatment as this? Whom have I offended? The emperor?
It is by his order, and under his signature, that my beloved mother and
I have been sent to this dreary abode! When I last saw him, how little
did I expect this!
“But it cannot be his act. It cannot be that Jehangire has willingly
affixed his signature to any decree against me. He has been imposed
upon by some wicked invention. My life upon it, Bochari is the author
of this proceeding. I know not what my father may have said in the
council to draw upon him that bad man’s wrath. Kazim’s noble soul would
disdain to hide the indignation he felt, at the flagitious stratagem by
which the fortress was entered. It is not improbable that high words
passed between them, and that something fell from my father capable of
being misinterpreted. But I,--what have I said? what deed have I even
attempted, to palliate any accusation against me?
“No matter; I suffer with my parents. I share their destiny, whatever
it may be. That is a consolation. To be united with them in the
residence of misery,--if misery is to come,--oh, how infinitely more
acceptable is it to me than all the splendour which Hindostan can
afford!
“The vision of life is then passed. There was a time when Nourmahal
looked forward to other scenes, painted by her glowing fancy in
etherial colours which she thought could never deceive her, could never
fade. Alas! those bright hallucinations have vanished. But a little
month ago the vice queen of Cashmere, now a prisoner in the meanest
part of the seraglio! But a little month ago worshipped by the supreme
lord of Hindostan,--_worshipped_, why should I not say it? and now
reduced below the condition of a slave!
“They will doubtless apply against my father all the machinery of
falsehood. He knows not how to meet such an adversary as Bochari. He
will exhibit his ingenuous and stainless forehead without a shield to
ward off their arrows. They will degrade him from his high office. They
will endeavour to tarnish his splendid name. They will confiscate his
wealth, and reduce him to mendicancy; no, not to mendicancy,--that they
shall never do, while Nourmahal has a hand to labour for him.
“It is now I ought to thank thee, God! for having endowed me
with gifts which may enable me to administer to the support of my
beloved parents. Even though in prison my mind is free, my hands are
unshackled. Zeinedeen shall be our steward. I can work; I can make
dresses for the courtly dames, I can get a tambour and make tapestry, I
can flower muslins and brocades. Our wants will be but few; we are not
unacquainted with poverty, and we may still be happy, if our enemies do
but leave us together.
“My mother will at first feel these vicissitudes deeply,--not for her
own sake, but for ours. My father can take to his books again. He may
find ample occupation in writing the story of his own eventful life;
he may, perhaps, add to it some of the scenes which his daughter has
witnessed during her short career; and haply the day may come when the
fates of Kazim Ayas and Nourmahal shall afford entertainment, if not
instruction, to distant nations. Oh, those alone who have truly loved
will know how to appreciate the difficulties in which she has been
placed! They will not say that Nourmahal had no heart because she could
not dispose of it at will,--because she could not transfer it from one
shrine to another, as if it were a victim that could be renewed!
“Poetry, music, painting, oh divine arts! oh possessions beyond the
control of the tyrant’s animosity! these shall be our lights to
cheer our prison-home, and to win even my weeping mother back to her
beautiful smiles!
“Hush! what step was that? does my mother wake? I shall see. No; she
breathes lowly, quietly. Thanks to Heaven! she will rise refreshed. It
is near again. Not a footstep, it is the fall of the oar on the waters.
It approaches. I may, perhaps, see it through the window if it be a
boat. Yes. There it moves rapidly down the middle of the stream, almost
like a phantom on the waters. The night, me-thinks, has grown darker.
The stars have nearly all gone out, and those that remain seem shorn
of more than half their brilliancy. It feels colder too. Oh, welcome
sight! A greyish hue is in the east. It is expanding gradually on each
side, and rising higher and higher. The stars have wholly vanished. The
mysterious hand of Time is throwing back the curtains of night. How
regal are those folds of their lining which I see, all gold and purple!
There he comes! the glorious sun! a god bounding up the arches of
space, dispensing joy to all creatures, to all save the doomed family
of Ayas!”
Nourmahal had scarcely turned from the window when her footsteps were
arrested by a sudden blast of trumpets, followed by numerous volleys
of artillery. These were the well known heralds that proclaimed to all
Agra the entry of the emperor into his palace. She had no occasion to
awake her mother to listen to these sounds. Her unhappy parent was
already roused from her lethargy, for such it was, rather than sleep,
in which her senses were wrapped during the greater portion of the
night. Looking vacantly around her, she asked, “Where am I? What place
is this? Ah! my Nourmahal--thee--thee, I know, my beloved. Where thou
art it must be our home! But your father. Has he risen? Has he gone
to the council? Nay; I do not remember that he was here in the night.
Tell me!--oh, my child! tell me, where is thy father, or I shall go
distracted? These walls--this chamber--these cushions;--all are strange
to me. Where are we?”
“In Agra, dearest mother.”
“In Agra? Impossible! In Agra! we should be in our own home. I should
not have forgotten our own bed-chamber. But this place--I have never
seen any place like it, it is so dismal!”
“We are in Agra, mother; but not yet at home.”
“What noise was that I heard just now?”
“The trumpets and artillery announcing, I believe, the arrival of the
emperor.”
“The emperor! Ah! I remember. Your father is with him. Yes--yes--he
will soon be here. Will he not, my beloved?”
While Nourmahal was assisting her mother to rise, and to arrange her
attire, the sounds of several footsteps were heard hurrying along the
passages, outside their apartments. The door was immediately opened,
and several female slaves entered to tender their services to the
mother and daughter, and at the same time to prepare them for a visit
from the governor. In a few minutes the latter made his appearance,
accompanied by one whom the quick rush of Mangeli towards him, almost
before he entered, declared to be Kazim.
“My cherished one, my child!” he exclaimed, in his well-known
affectionate voice, embracing them both at once; for Nourmahal’s
expectant eyes had scarcely allowed her mother to anticipate her in
pressing her arms around him. “Nothing is lost--all remains safe while
you are with me. Honours, office, wealth,--let them take all. We are
again together. I ask nothing more!”
The governor considerately ordering the slaves to retire, withdrew,
also, himself, leaving the family alone. The first moments of meeting
were to each hours of joy. The uncertainty that they should ever see
each other again, was over. The anxiously-looked-for morning had come,
and with it doubt disappeared. The past was forgotten--the future not
yet thought of. They met--in a prison too--but even that circumstance
was overlooked in the gladness of those hearts that felt as if they
should never again be separated.
When the first impulses of delight had in some measure subsided, Kazim
related to his dear companions all that had occurred to him since he
had left them at the hermitage.
“On arriving at the camp, I found that preparations were making
for the execution of Chusero. I made my way to the emperor, fearful
that I should not arrive in time to prevent the decree for his death
from being signed; and I own that I entered the council, where he
was engaged, with very little of the senator about me. My blood was
in a fever of indignation, first, that my visit to the fortress, as
a mediator, should have been made the cover for all the calamity
that ensued; and next, that the prince, who had in truth surrendered
and placed his life in my hands, should have been dealt with so
perfidiously. I did not, you know I could not, conceal my thoughts, or
measure my language, in denouncing such an unheard-of violation of all
the principles of honour and justice. I produced the capitulation. The
emperor was as furious as I could be against that base Persian. Angry
words passed. Bochari and his friends drew their swords.”
“In the council?”
“In the emperor’s presence?”
“In the council. I knew not whether they were about to sacrifice
the emperor, or me, or both. But, for myself, I had only one duty
to perform. I demanded the prince’s safety. I insisted upon it:
and drew up a decree on the spot, which the emperor signed, which I
counter-signed, securing full pardon to the prince, upon the terms
already agreed to. Bochari talked of treason, for I had spoken of my
son--my brave and noble Afkun; brave and noble he could never cease to
be, even though guilty of revolt,--this was my treason. I laughed at
the ignorance, the presumption, of the base-born slave. I looked upon
his words as empty sounds, and quitted the pavilion to seek Chusero.
“Some time elapsed before I could discover the tent which he occupied.
As I approached it, I found it surrounded by a body of cavalry; before
I could pass through them, the prince was led out, compelled to ascend
a close howda, placed on a swift-footed elephant; and to depart from
the camp, attended by a strong escort. They said that they had the
emperor’s orders to take him to the fortress of Gwalior, which I knew
to be untrue.
“I remonstrated against this proceeding, and declared my intention to
bring the authors of it to punishment. But my words had no effect, the
prince was out of sight in a few moments. On my return towards the
emperor’s pavilion, to inform him of this abuse of all authority, I
was myself apprehended under a decree, accusing me of high treason. I
demanded to see the decree. It was produced, signed by the emperor!
I could not believe my senses: I looked again and again, at the
signature. It was undoubtedly his hand-writing. But the law required
that it should be also signed by a civil member of the council. It was
so signed--by Auzeem!”
“By Auzeem?” exclaimed Mangeli. “He, who has affected to be one of your
most intimate friends!”
“It is inexplicable. No man’s faith is to be depended upon in these
times of civil strife. In our confidential conversations Auzeem has
much oftener taken exceptions to Bochari’s conduct than I have done.
Nevertheless he seldom, indeed, never opposes him in the council. On
the contrary, he seems to shrink from every occasion which might, by
possibility, bring him into collision with that person. And yet, to
do Auzeem justice, I must say that I have met with very few men of
more discernment, of more experience in the management of public
affairs, or of more unquestionable integrity than he is. By what arts
of seduction, or intimidation, he could have been prevailed upon to
countersign that decree, I am wholly at a loss to conjecture.”
“It is too obvious, that Bochari is now the real emperor of Hindostan,”
observed Nourmahal.
“He also accuses thee, my child, of the same crime that is laid to my
charge--of high treason; but upon what ground he rests that accusation
I could not learn.”
“Good God! what is to become of us?”
“My beloved Mangeli, it becomes us to be resigned to the ordinances of
that Supreme Being, whom you have well styled, the good God. He has,
indeed, been hitherto most bountiful to us. Let us place our dependence
upon Him, and rest assured He will not fail us, in this our hour of
adversity!”