"And then"—and he counted rapidly on his fingers—"Wednesday will be your day for proceeding on your journey, and the Rujub-ool-Gyb will be in the northern quarter, which is good for thee, at the first watch of the day, which is convenient. And if ye all eat a little sour curds for your breakfast, the journey will lead to a happy result. But there is no other good position of the Rujub-ool-Gyb for many days after that, and in a strait like this ye should risk nothing."
The Kazee was an experienced director of journeys and well versed in casting nativities, selecting proper days for marriages and betrothals; and in these respects there was no one who could compete with him; and as the old Syud saw that he was not a pretender, he put the more confidence in his directions.
"I would you could see my granddaughter's horoscope which I cast at her birth myself, or perhaps you have not leisure?"
"I have leisure before me ere it is time to depart, and you will do me a favour if you will show it to me, Huzrut. I will return after I have broken my fast; and the food is even now ready in the worthy Moolla's house, and I must not disappoint his hospitality."
"I have been thinking," said Burma, "how we can best convey the holy Syud to Sugger; and I have a plan in my mind which, if it is approved of, I will put in execution. Syud Moostafa, the Persian secretary of the Rajah, is my friend, and Daood Khan Bhylmee, the leader of the Bhylmee division of horse, is a chief to whom my force is attached. I will write to them now, if I may, and beg that an escort of horse may be sent to meet Huzrut at Hoonsigee, where he should sleep, and, rising early, go on to Wakin-Keyra; and this could be done without any fatigue. From hence I can send my own palkee, and a litter for the child, and my people as escort."
"A good thought," said the Kazee; "I do not think Huzrut will make any objection."
"Indeed, no," returned the old man; "ye are only too kind to one who has been a trouble to you both. But before we proceed to make other arrangements, may I inquire whether any of the Dacoits are here, I should like to ask them some questions. Who were they?"
"Jutts and Káikarees," replied Burma; "the boldest of all Dacoits and robbers; and who would not be tempted by the sum assured? The leader was Kalloo Naik, a bold, reckless fellow, whom I wounded last night in the scuffle; and, as the Kazee Sahib knows, when he had thrown that paper to us, he tore the bandages from his wound, and died at once. The rest the Kazee Sahib gave over to me, and as one of my people had been slain, they were all hanged but one. It will be a lesson to the tribe not to attempt dacoity here, and recently there has been more than we liked I only sent away one, a boy, who was, perhaps, a spy; and I wrote a letter to the clans that for every duróra they committed inside our boundaries, I would hang two men, one Jutt and one Káikaree; and this will keep them quiet for some time, for they know that Runga and I always do exactly as we say. If we did not, none of us could sleep safely in our beds. Care for nothing, Huzrut, all shall be prepared for ye, and my wife will come to Zóra presently, and comfort her."
After a while, therefore, the good lady came, bringing with her bags of rice and vermicelli, baskets of sweetmeats, and provisions enough to have lasted them for months. She told Zóra all that had happened, and other women dropping in, related every event of the night with wonderful increase of incidents at each narrative. The Kazee, too, returned, and Zóra's horoscope was produced and discussed. We will not trouble the reader with particulars of astrological predictions in regard to her, but no doubt certain dangers, as well as strokes of good fortune, troubles, and joys, were set forth, which, as they will have their places in this history, need not be anticipated. On taking his leave to depart, the worthy Kazee gave the Marathi letter of Osman Beg to the robber, and that to himself in Persian, to Zóra, bidding her keep them about her person, for the time might come when they would be of use.
Although they had been in Kukeyra less than two months, yet they left the place with regret. Zóra and her grandfather had both established separate interests in the place. It was one in which Zóra could go about at all times of the day as she had done in the island fortress, and all her old vocations found ample scope for exercise; for in attendance on the sick, and in distribution of medicines, her charitable heart knew no difference between Beydur and Hindoo, or Mussulman. Then it was pleasant to stroll with Burma's wife to her pretty garden, and sit among the cool plantain groves, and under the shade of great mango trees, and hold her little school there, when Abba could spare her; or, when at home, to dream in her seat by the old saint's tomb, under the great banian tree, and watch the lizards and grey squirrels at play, and the shy and pretty tree birds hop silently from branch to branch. But Zóra would not have remained after the incidents of Friday night; she dared not. The unscrupulous attempts of her enemy to possess himself of her, the narrow escape she had had of capture—perhaps death, or worse—caused her to shudder as she thought of them; and all she wished for was to be at rest, far away; where she cared not, so she and Abba were safe.
Even Beejapoor, Burma said, was dangerous, so long as her position was unassured; and he explained to her how lawless bands of men existed there who were ready to undertake any villainy for money, and who, in any number, might be hired by Osman Beg, and prove more successful than the robbers had been where she was. It had been a weary thought, this wandering of her grandfather's, but under the terror that possessed her it had even become welcome now, and Zóra accepted it as part of her fate which could not be averted, and must be endured. Every hour, as the day of departure drew nigh, her grandfather grew more and more petulant and doubtful. They must walk, he said, for they were Fakeers, and had no right to ride. They must beg their daily bread, for they had no need to care for food, and the good Alla would send them what they wanted. At every village they should sing an invocation or a hymn, and he had by heart a great number of these; or they should go about villages and towns with a wallet collecting handfuls of meal, or rice, or pulse. And the old man's determination on this subject seemed unalterable. He even one day sat down at his gate, and spread a sheet, and blessed the passers by, and some threw pice and others cowries, and in the evening Zóra came and took them up; but there was hardly a rupee's worth in all. That, however, was only a trial, the old man said, in a place where they were known to be well provided, and they would do better elsewhere. Still it was a dreary prospect.
They had not to walk, however. During the night before the day of proposed departure, a small party of horse arrived from Wakin-Keyra, and informed Burma that two litters with bearers would meet them at Hoonsigee. So Burma provided his own palanquin for the old man, and a light litter for Zóra, and the ponies were driven on by Ahmed, and the little baggage was distributed as before; but Zóra gave the two pet cows and the goats to Burma's wife, with many tears, and that good lady kissed her feet, and the children wept aloud at parting with their kind friend. Finally, before noon of Wednesday they set out, and travelled to the end of their stage comfortably; nay, so luxuriously, that the old Syud declared it was more like a nobleman's journey than a poor Fakeer's, and would have no more such after he reached Wakin-Keyra.
So, passing low hills and rocky ground, but with many pretty villages surrounded by green fields and gardens, they reached their destination; and the old Syud, who had been thinking about it all the way, as soon as they arrived at the gate of the little town, desired his litter to be set down. Zóra spread a sheet before him, and seated herself on one side, but rather behind him; and Ahmed, giving up charge of the ponies to Mamoolla, bid her go into the mosque, where they were to put up, and unload the animals, with the help of some of the horsemen's grooms. Then, to the astonishment of the horsemen, one of the little invocations was sung every now and then by all; and, as people began to collect, small contributions were thrown upon the cloth till it was fairly covered; and after her grandfather sung a thanksgiving, though his voice was thin and quavering, Zóra gathered the ends of the cloth together, and, leading him, she carried it to the mosque, where he first took the cloth as it was, and, kneeling down before the pulpit steps, offered the whole to God, and then sat down to count it. There were more than seven rupees in all, and he gave two to the Moolla and Patell of the town to distribute in charity. "We can live on less than five rupees a day," he said, chuckling, "and we can save two for the expenses of the Turreequt. Oh, blessed day that I departed from slothfulness and idleness; and blessed be Alla, the gracious, who thus leads me, a poor sinner, to his salvation."
It was pleasant, too, in the evening to find people gather about him in the mosque. Zóra and Mamoolla, with Ahmed's help, had nailed up a carpet across a corner as a screen, and sat behind it close to him, and warned off those who would have disturbed his meditations by idle questions; but after he had gone through his daily exercise on the points of salvation and the means of its attainment, people came in, and the conversation became general, and to the Syud delightful, for several of the horsemen belonged to Beejapoor, and some had family or clannish surnames which were familiar, and it was difficult to preserve the entire incognito which he had assumed. Presently the call to evening prayer was well sung by the muezzin, and after a plentiful meal they lay down and slept. Not for years past had Zóra remembered her grandfather so cheerful or so full of hope. He woke early, for the azàn was proclaimed; and they prayed together, for none else had arisen. Then he said to Zóra, "Come, child! we must do our duty;" and taking a long piece of strong cloth, used to make a bundle, she held it by the four corners, and they went their way through the streets, with the simple cry of "Alla diláya to leónga"—"if God gives I will take." Now and then they stopped to sing an invocation, and the clear voice of Zóra sounded sweetly in the fresh morning air. Good housewives were grinding at their mills with many a rough unmelodious song, but none refused to put a handful of meal, or pulse, or rice, into the extemporised basket, which soon became so heavy that Zóra could scarcely carry it, and they returned. When it was all poured out, it formed a goodly heap, and the Syud patted it with his hand and was thankful for it. "We could not eat it all in two days, child," he said; "and we have the money besides. Why need we fear, so long as we put our trust in the granter of prayer?"
After they had all eaten they proceeded as they had done the day before, and the road was less stony and rugged; and when they had passed through a small range of rocky hills and over the embankment of the pretty irrigation lake of Bohnal, with the widespread waters to the west sparkling in the sun and the green rice fields to the east, the fortifications of Wakin-Keyra at the termination of a high and rugged mass of mountains fell on Zóra's sight; and one of the horsemen, dashing up to the Syud's palanquin, told him that he was going on, and that if he would remain for about an hour under the shade of one of the great banian trees of the embankment, and then follow, he would find all prepared to receive him. So the litters being placed together, they got out of them and sat down, while the waves of the lake dashed among the stones which formed the facing of the earthen bank, with a pleasant refreshing murmur.
[1] Letters which denote points of the compass.
It was but a short distance, barely more than a mile, to the entrance to the strange fortress in which Pám Naik, the Beydur Prince, held his Court. All that could be seen from a distance were two separate forts on each side of what might be called the gate, well built of granite, and picturesquely and commandingly situated on the summits of high rocks, much after the fashion of the bastions of Juldroog. From these forts, and from bastions below them, two lines of fortification had been carried along the face of the hill to the top, where they were lost in woods that crowned the summit. Flags were flying on all these towers and bastions, which gave the grim-looking works a cheerful expression; and the great standard of the Beydur flew out from the highest tower, fluttering in the western breeze. At the barrier itself the friend of Burma Naik, Syud Moostafa, the Naik's Persian secretary, with others, were in attendance, who received the old man with profound salutations, while some respectable-looking mamas in like manner saluted Zóra, and bid both welcome. They were to remain in the Syud's house, where apartments had been prepared for them; and while her grandfather was carried off, much against his wish, to visit the great Naik himself, Zóra was conducted to the house in which they were to stay.
Wakin-Keyra was a strong place. Inside the second barrier of huge natural rocks the valley extended into a considerable bay or basin, filled by a small artificial lake formed by damming up a stream which descended from the hills. This lake was nearly circular, or perhaps more of an oval shape, and was surrounded by a short sward, always green, except where rocks jutted out from the mountain side, and dipped into the water. All round the sides of this natural basin were the houses of the inhabitants, of all castes, built of stone, cemented with clay or mortar, according to the ability of the builder, and with terraced roofs of lime or clay. The houses seemed to end with a level piece of ground at the eastern end, but from its height, the houses that covered it, and extended to some distance among the woods, could not be seen. The Naik's house, or palace, occupied the greater part of the south side of the amphitheatre, and, though it consisted of a great number of separate buildings and courts, could hardly be distinguished from other private houses that adjoined it, being built in the same manner, in very homely fashion.
The old Syud's account of his reception by the Beydur Rajah Pám Naik was amusing. He had accompanied the Persian secretary to the palace, as it was called, and had been ushered into the presence of the Prince, to whom he made his salutation. "I would have given much to see him, as he spoke kindly to me in Canarese—his own language—but that was impossible; so I had to listen only, and the secretary and a Brahmin Moonshi, who spoke good Persian, interpreted for me. The Rajah had a number of wants, which I must try to satisfy. In the first place, the new part of his palace, where he wishes to live, is at present haunted by sprites and demons, who must be exorcised and sent away. He has tried many Hindoo exorcists, Brahmins and Bairagees, and some Mussulmans, of whom a saint, who is called the Kala Peer, or Black Saint, was partly successful in one building; but in the others the spirits answered that they would not depart, as they were very comfortable, and they remained. Then the youngest Ranee is troubled with bad visions and dreams at nights, and has become thin and weak, and several children in the house are ailing and the Prince himself has low spirits; and I found his pulse very irregular. So all these things have to be looked after; and thou wilt have many amulets, charms, puleetas, and exorcisms for the house to copy for me, Zóra, and I shall be several days at the work. I have told the Rajah that I cannot begin so arduous and delicate a task without purification and some fasting for three days; and our host, who knows a little of the science, will afford me every facility. And besides, Zóra, he is rich, this Prince, and will give me a great donation, and that will help me in the Turreequt. Ah, child! we shall win that, by the blessing of Alla, and live happily till death."
"If you will show me which figures you wish for," replied Zóra, "I will get the book, and copy them for you."
"Not yet, not yet," replied her grandfather. "I have to ascertain what sort of spirits they are who have taken possession of these poor people, who are but low caste infidels; and they must be questioned in order that they may declare themselves. And thou wilt have to come too, Zóra, to help me with the women, for they are in private, it seems, and cannot see a man, though I am old and blind; which is foolishness. But they are very ignorant, I fear. And how hast thou been received and cared for, my child?"
"Very kindly, Abba," replied Zóra; "and we have several rooms, and this open verandah to sit in, from which we can see over the whole of the strange city which lies before us—the strangest I ever saw or heard of. There are not so much as ten ells of level ground in it, and the streets are mere paths up the mountain side, and they rise from the pretty tank which fills the bottom. All appears to be a mass of houses, tier above tier; and there is no level ground except at the top, where I see more houses and trees, and green grass. But they are all Beydur houses, they tell me."
"Then where can we go for our evening and morning begging, child? Once we have begun that, we must not abandon it."
"I know not, Abba; but why beg now? More food has been sent from the palace than would last us a week; and the Brahmin clerk who came with it said the same quantity would come every day."
"I tell thee, child, it must be, even if we sat at the door in the street. Once a vow is vowed to the Lord, can it be recalled? God forbid! Our host is too pious a person to object to it, and I will explain all. Now I must bathe. Tell Mamoolla and Ahmed to prepare the hot water while I lie down for a while to meditate, or perchance sleep. At the time of evening prayer the secretary will return home, and we can go together, for it is but a step from hence. Perhaps letters may be sent for us."
On her own part Zóra was curious to see the ladies of the Beydur Prince's family, and the deportment of a perhaps barbarous Court; and as she arrived at the palace in a closed litter, several women servants took charge of her, and she was conducted up a flight of stairs which led to an open gallery, fitted with transparent screens of fine bamboo work, about the middle of which sat the Ranee of the family and several children, who rose courteously to receive Zóra, and—owing to her perfect knowledge of Canarese—put the girl at her ease at once. Never had she met with any persons so loquacious and inquisitive.
They had heard of Juldroog; and an elderly woman present had even paid a visit to Cháya Bhugwuti in fulfilment of a vow, and seen the river mother in her fury. And Zóra had lived within sight and sound of it all her life. Was she married? Was she even in seclusion? And why not? She was too old and too beautiful to be allowed to go abroad into the world. Had she no jewels, no fine clothes? nothing but the coarse soosi she wore, and coarse muslin over it? No, Zóra had replied, they were Fakeers, and every day they begged for alms in the name of Ali, the commander of the faithful. Long they had talked thus, and in the evening lamps were lighted, and Zóra could see how homely everything around her was, except the ladies' persons, for they were covered with valuable jewels and diamonds, which flashed in the lamplight, while they wore magnificent saris of silk, with rich gold borders and ends, very valuable.
Then, after a while, her grandfather's approach was announced, and the ladies rose and retired into an inner room, and the Rajah entered, followed by the old man, led by the secretary and some Brahmins and Beydurs. He did not notice Zóra, who had retreated into a corner with some of the women servants or slaves, and was awaiting the result of her grandfather's visit with some anxiety as to what would happen. Presently he sent for her, and bade her sit by him, and observe for him.
The Rajah, a short, stout man, of fair complexion for a Beydur, seated himself, after a proclamation of his titles by his silver mace-bearers, who then withdrew; and the girl who was possessed by the evil spirit was sent for, Zóra having been cautioned to observe exactly what happened. As he had seated himself, her grandfather had called for a censer and some incense powder; and as Zóra told him the girl was entering the room he threw it on the live charcoal with a paper charm, and a great smoke arose; during which time he was muttering Arabic to himself. Zóra noticed that the girl, who might be about her own age, now trembled violently, and seemed slightly convulsed. She had made efforts with her arms and hands as if to put away the censer, and even to cry out and escape; but she was held firmly by her attendants.
"Bring her to me, that I may breathe upon her," said the old man. "I will not hurt her, but that evil spirit must come out of her, else she will suffer and die. At present it is living in her life."
But the girl would not move; and though they raised her to her feet, she sank down again, shivering and screaming; but the women took her up, and laid her on the carpet before the old man, so that he could place his right hand on her head. Then he said to her in a gentle voice, after repeating another charm, and casting more incense into the censer,—
"Who art thou that possesseth this girl? Speak!" But there was no reply.
"I adjure thee, in the name of Solomon, son of David, of Jibbreel and Azraeel, and of ye, O Abd-ool-Zadir, Zadir Jillaneo, Bhytab, Hunmuntoo, Nursimha, and Bhyraon; speak, and give me thy name!"
Then the girl foamed at the mouth and cried with an exceeding bitter cry, "I am Bassuppa! let me dwell in peace. I love this body, and will remain." The voice was hoarse and deep, like that of a man, and contrasted fearfully with the slight girlish form from which it proceeded.
"Who was Bassuppa?" asked the Syud, but the girl did not answer; she only groaned and sighed bitterly, "Let me alone, let me alone, lest I kill her."
"Who was Bassuppa?" asked the Syud of the Rajah.
"He was her attendant bearer when she was young, and he loved her much, as she did him. He died, and they carried him on a bier down from his home to the burning place, and she saw his body from this balcony over the gate, where the nobat plays. She was immediately attacked by convulsions; and when again she became sensible, declared that Bassuppa had turned his head, opened his eyes, and looked at her, and had remained in her ever since."
"Enough! I understand now what is to be done," said the old man to the Rajah. "It is a powerful spirit, but one over whom I have command. Fear not, thy child shall be well in three days, and restored to thee."
"She is my pet, my darling," replied the Rajah, with emotion, "and her mother's too. If thou drivest this spirit from the child thou shalt know that a Beydur Prince can be grateful."
"Speak not, my lord, lest you break the spell; it is already working, as I see the child's lips moving. Listen!"
"I must have time to think," she said. "Let me alone till the third day, then I will answer thee."
"Keep her very quiet," said the old man; "let her be amused; make a doll's feast for her, or take her to some garden where she can play, and I will send my granddaughter with some powders that must be given to her as she goes to sleep at night, and as she rises in the morning. And now, Rajah Sahib, may we depart?"
Then pán and uttar were brought, and garlands of flowers; and on a silver tray, covered with brocade, were a few pán leaves with five large gold coins on them; and the old man, when Zóra whispered to him, took them up and tied them in the end of his scarf. But in regard to his vow of begging he would not relax, and when they reached their house her grandfather called to Zóra and said, "We must go, my child," and she led him into the street, along which he walked with difficulty nearly to the palace gate, where they stopped to sing one of the invocations; and Zóra's voice was so sweet, that many of those who came to the evening Court dropped money into her bag; and after a while they returned, and she found that there was more in it than had ever been before.
Zóra saw little of her hostess, who was a proud woman of a high Syud family, relations of the Wallee, or saint, of the city, and she had by no means approved of her husband inviting the old Dervish to her house. "Thank the Lord we are people of family," she said to him, "and in my father's house. I never heard of a Fakeer being invited to reside in it, or to be attended by our servants as if he were a Nawab. They used to live without, and take what was left of our meals, and that was good enough for them. But this old Syud has very fine notions; his servant and grandchild must cook for him all sorts of dainty dishes, which, I own, they do very well; but they are Fakeers all the same; and though they earn riches, ay, riches every day, they go out at night when that great girl ought to be shut up, and go and sing and bring back a bag of money. I saw them count what they had gained, and there were many rupees, and even some hoons among the coppers. Can this be right?"
"Peace!" said her husband; "thy mouth is bitter, Sitara-bee. Thou shouldst not complain, for all that comes from the palace goes to thee. I tell thee, learned as I am esteemed to be, I have never met his equal yet, whether in medicine or exorcism. Peace, therefore! the time will come that thou wilt esteem it an honour to have had such a guest beneath thy roof."
"And the girl embroiders caps and knits drawers-strings," cried the dame, with a sneer, "and sells them; and bodices too. Is that a holy occupation?"
"Peace, I say again, Beebee! Thy mouth is bitter and thy tongue long, and it is not good to speak evil of a holy Syud;" and he went out before his wife could reply, as he saw she was determined to have the last word; but she sat down to her spinning-wheel and grumbled notwithstanding. "Shall I ask the girl to get me an amulet against barrenness?" she said to herself, after a while. "I am yet young enough. I wonder what it would cost, or whether the Dervish would give it in exchange for his lodging. I must see about this, for such things are." And she stopped her wheel and sat meditating, with her forefinger between her teeth; while, by the smile that spread over her face, her thoughts were apparently pleasant ones.
The Ranee and the children had departed to the garden at Bohnal, where they were always glad to go to escape the confinement of the palace. There they played about, sat under the shade of the fine trees, went to fish in the lake, and had a play performed by some strolling weavers and stone-cutters, who had joined together for the occasion. They represented scenes in the life of Krishna, the tutelary divinity of the Rajah's family, and their performance always afforded a great treat. The girl who had been affected by demoniacal influences was now the merriest of the party, and her mother, with a thankful heart, recognised the improvement with gratitude. But what would be the final result? Would the science of the Dervish prevail over, as she believed, the Satanic influence? Well, the third day had arrived, and they returned early in the morning; and soon after a message was brought to the Dervish that the child had fallen down in a fit, and was talking and raving incoherently. A palanquin had been sent for him, accompanied by the secretary, and he was to come directly. But he did not go. He sent word that he had to keep himself pure during the day, and must remain in prayer till evening, when he would come. Meanwhile the child was to be kept quiet, and would most likely sleep.
Zóra heard him during most part of the day repeating incantations, or verses from the Koran, but he would eat nothing. Altogether Zóra was anxious; and though she continued at her embroidery all day she was not the less disturbed, for how many stories had not her grandfather told her of failures in exorcism when the demon had, in spite, entered into the body of the exorcist. "What charm would her grandfather use?" and she had the book on the science, written by His Excellency Mahomed Ghous, upon her knee, when her grandfather called to her.
"Child," he said, "my soul is troubled, for I do not remember a passage in the holy book that I need to recollect. Refer to it, and follow me while I repeat the exorcism entirely. If I fail anywhere, stop me. The puleeta to be used is one where the demon is strange and unknown, and begins, 'Whoever ye are.' It is a square, with a smaller square at the right hand upper corner, which is divided into sixteen even portions."
"I have it here, Abba; say on."
We need not quote the incantation, but the old man repeated it correctly, and was pleased. "Inshalla, child!" he said, "we shall gain the victory. I ought to wield the charm myself, but there is no help for that, blind as I am; thou must do it for me, and as I shall recite the incantation very slowly, thou canst copy the figures, which must be burned while the ink is wet. Meanwhile study it well, that thou make no mistake."
In the evening they proceeded to the palace, where the girl was still moaning in her heavy sleep. All those around her could distinguish, were the words, "He must not come! I will not depart!" The old man had prepared an earthen pot with a cover, which contained some fruits and seeds, and placed some silver pieces of money in it, and smeared the inside with ground sandalwood paste. Then he passed his hand over the child several times from head to foot; and as the earthen lamp placed on the top of this vessel was lighted, three kinds of oil being used, those sitting around observed the girl become restless, flinging about her arms and sighing deeply. Her mattress, which had been laid on the floor, was now removed, and the place washed with liquid red clay and cow-dung, and she was taken up and laid upon it; then the exorcist passed his hands over her again, and incense and perfumes were lighted, which cast up volumes of smoke, so that the old man's face as he sat at the girl's feet could hardly be seen. When this had subsided a little he told Zóra to be ready; and she, taking up the pen that had been provided, rapidly drew the outline of the charm large enough to admit of her writing the incantation. The group formed a strange and solemn picture. The girl, lying restless and insensible, extended on the floor, with the venerable old Syud, with his anxious yet benevolent face and long white beard, sitting at her feet, with Zóra by his side. At the patient's head were her mother and several other ladies and servants, weeping bitterly, while the Rajah himself, with the secretary, who was a privileged person, watched the result with intense interest. The room was dark; except where the lamp cast a dim yellow light upon the group, and wreaths of smoke still eddied about the ceiling and walls, seeking egress. The only sounds were the sobs of the women, the occasional low moans of the patient, and the grating sound of Zóra's pen as it passed over the paper. At last the old man, with the usual invocation, "In the name of God most clement and merciful," began the incantation, "Whoever ye are;" while Zóra plied her pen as fast as she could, copying from the book before her. Every name pronounced was cried with a loud voice, and a considerable pause made, so that Zóra was not hurried, and the whole ceremony being repeated three times, her grandfather took the pen, and Zóra directing his hand to the place, he wrote the concluding words and breathed over the whole. Then the paper was sprinkled with some scented powder, and rolled up tightly, a thread of fine cotton being passed round it; then it was lighted, and as the old man recited passages from the Koran, green and red-coloured flames issued from the burning roll, which all could see; but the girl opened her large eyes, shuddered, and tried to hide her face in the floor. As the paper burned out, she was convulsed for a short time, and then lay still; finally she sat up, opened and rubbed her eyes, and stretching out her arms, said quietly to them all, "Where am I? What has been done to me? There was something sitting on my chest," she continued, innocently, "and it is gone!"
"Shookr! Hazar shookr! Thanks, a thousand thanks!" exclaimed the Dervish. "Lord, thou hast heard my prayer. Friends, he that possessed the child is gone, but he is here among us!"
At this announcement every one shuddered, and the old exorcist called to the spirit to reply; but there was no answer. He then asked the girl whether anything had been said or whispered to her, and she replied innocently, "Yes. Bassuppa told me he was going away for ever, and would never return; he could not remain, because some one was too powerful, and he cried very much, and I saw him no more. Then I awoke and saw you all;" and she arose, went to the Dervish, and prostrating herself, kissed his feet, and laid her head against them, and then kissed Zóra's feet, and then her father's and mother's, and sisters' all round; and all of them wept tears of joy, while her mother became so excited and hysterical that she was led away for awhile, and the old man gave directions as to where a strong charm was to be pasted up over every door and window; and, calling the girl, he placed another amulet in a handkerchief, and bound it round her arm, till a proper silver case could be made for it; also one to be worn round her neck, attached to her necklace. And he put his hands on her head, and wished her joy and peace in her life, and children to cheer it.
(Perhaps some of my readers will say, Why was this piece of superstitious observance introduced? To which we reply, that it is only as one instance of the many strange beliefs in supernatural effects which exist among Mussulmans and other classes of the people now, and have done so from the earliest times. Many curious and interesting episodes of lives turn upon them, and the belief in them is universal, with exorcisms of evil, mischievous and malignant demons and spirits. There are charms supplied against every mischance of man or womanhood, youth or age, against haunted houses and the evil eye. On the other hand, there are charms for evil purposes, which are believed and practised as much as the others. The incidents of the exorcism described here took place in presence of the writer of this tale when in India, and he could adduce many equally strange and affecting, or, in some instances, detestable.)
"We can ill repay this kindness, Huzrut," said the Rajah, as they adjourned into the hall of audience, and sat down; "but if you will accept of what I offer, and keep it in remembrance of me, I shall be thankful."
"I would rather, my lord, wait till I am assured that what I have done is effectual," replied the old man, respectfully; "and I must see your daughter every day."
"As you please," returned the Rajah. "I will have my gifts sealed up, and the day you have to depart they shall be given to you. As to your granddaughter, I must leave her to the Lady Ranee, and you must promise me not to interfere with her."
"But at least you cannot refuse this to shield you from the chill night wind," he continued; and he threw a delicate white Cashmere shawl of some value over the old man's shoulders. As to Zóra, she was newly dressed by the good Ranee; and when she emerged from her palanquin at the secretary's house, she appeared in a gorgeous green silk sari, delicately shot with crimson. She had a valuable gold ring round her neck, and a gold pair of bracelets, and the whole formed a very costly gift. "Would that I could see thee, Zóra," said her grandfather, as he felt the soft rich silk and its heavy gold borders, and touched the ornaments; "but they befit thee, and some day——" and here he broke off suddenly, and was silent. As to Zóra herself, perhaps, there was a touch of vanity as well as gratification in her mind, for she did not take off the grand clothes immediately; and old Mamoolla came and peered at her all over, and went and lit another lamp; and the secretary's wife came and looked also, and cried aloud her congratulations in wonder; but she was jealous and envious in her heart, and I am afraid her husband had much to bear in her accusations of idleness, in that he was not so good an exorcist as the venerable old Dervish. "Those people get money by their work," said the dame, with a sneer. "The girl has presents worth hundreds of rupees; when wilt thou give me a gold neck ring and bracelet, or a sari like hers? And who knows what the old Syud has got besides. Touba! Touba! Thou a Syud, and a man of letters, shouldst be able to do as much as he."
The secretary did not vouchsafe a reply. He had been looking at Zóra's glorious eyes and expressive face all the evening, as they sat around the ailing child, and I think that more beautiful visions than his wife's shrewish face excluded thought of her more than she would have liked.
The fame of the old Dervish's cure, or, as some now called him, the Hukeems, or Physician, spread not only through the town but through the country, and applicants for relief thronged upon him, making offerings which were sometimes considerable; but from most people he would take nothing; yet to Zóra's perception they were growing rich, and, as Abba said, with a look of satisfaction, there was enough to make the Turreequt easy; and, after that, to settle in some pleasant place and to become a Wallee, or saint, at whose tomb people should come and pray.
For a few days there was nothing more to be done. The Rajah's child was well, and her complexion was already changed from the grey, livid colour which had before existed to a healthy ruddy tint, and she slept without waking. Every day the old Dervish visited her; and the child, now fearless, nestled in his lap. What if she were a Beydur! The haunted rooms had been freed of evil spirits; and by way of giving assurance to all, especially to the servants, the family went and slept there without being disturbed. A packet of medicines was made up for the Rajah by the old man and Zóra, and the use of them explained. Finally, the day arrived on which they must depart. The oorus or anniversary, of the Saint Syud Sofy Surmust would take place on the third day; and among the crowds present, it would be difficult to find lodgings. Finally, the Rajah proposed that his secretary should attend the old man, and see him safely through the festival. "And," added that worthy person, "if your friend the Kazee of Kembavee is there, so much the better." Then the presents to the old Syud were brought from the treasury; and the seals, as they had been made on them, were inspected by the Rajah and broken, and the list that had been placed inside read out. It was, indeed, a princely gift, suited to the age and holy profession of the recipient; and with a bag of five hundred rupees the list closed.
"Nay, but I protest against this," said the old man, earnestly. "I exercise my art not for gain; but for the love of God and His name."
"Well," replied the Rajah, "if thou wilt, give it away in charity. A gift cannot be recalled; and so I pray thee take it for the remembrance of one who, though he is only a Beydur, can at least prove grateful."
And after this no more objection was made; it would have been an insult. Then, as the Syud rose, the Rajah rose also, and went and touched the dear old man's feet; and the Ranees were called and did the same; and the child, with many tears, hung about his neck, and her hands wandered over his face; and it was with difficulty that he and Zóra got away, under the blessings showered upon them. But all was finished, and the secretary's wife had obtained the dearest wish of her life, and drank a charm, which was washed from the paper on which it had been written into a silver cup filled with water, in entire faith in its efficacy. And now the Turreequt awaited them at Sugger, and they must go. The money that had been given them was converted into the small gold coin called hoons, which were then in circulation, and could easily be carried; and Wednesday being the proper day for proceeding northwards, according to the Rujub-ool-Ghyb, and a fortunate conjunction of planets to boot, they took leave of their hostess and departed. The day before, when they had gone to pay their respects to the Rajah, he said he had provided two palanquins for the old Dervish and Zóra; and though this interfered with the vow to walk the whole distance, yet it had become evident to Zóra that her grandfather's life would be endangered by fatigue; and, after much remonstrance, she agreed to a compromise, that on approaching Sugger or any other town he should alight from his conveyance, spread a sheet on the ground before him, sing the invocation, and await the alms of the passers by. So with Ahmed and Mamoolla mounted on their ponies, the baggage animals loaded and led behind, a guard sent by the Rajah, and the secretary mounted on a palfrey of his own, the little procession passed out of the gate of Wakin-Keyra amid the blessings and prayers of a crowd which had assembled there.
The road to Sugger lay through some low rocky hills for a while, and, passing through a natural gap in them, the valley and town of Sugger came in sight, at the distance of a few miles; a pretty scene, for the town seemed embosomed in trees; several considerable tanks for irrigation lay blue and still in the hollow, and the bright green rice-fields below them formed a pleasant and remarkable feature in the landscape; while the newly-erected mausoleum of Ankoos Khan, a late Minister of Beejapoor, rose in an imposing mass above all. To the right were high, rocky hills, which seemed to increase in height till they broke suddenly into the plain a few miles to the east, and were composed of rocks like those so vividly remembered by Zóra at Juldroog, piled on each other in huge masses. On the north side of the valley was a still higher and more massive range, which the secretary pointed out to her as he rode by the side of her palanquin, and told her that the great fortress of Shahpoor occupied a portion of it. All over the valley between the two ranges the land was well cultivated, and the early crops were now ripening, while others were still green. To Zóra, who had never seen such a sight before, the whole valley appeared a perfect paradise; and, indeed, under the glowing sunlight, it was no doubt very beautiful.
A strange feature in the latter portion of their journey was the number of touters who now met them, crying the praises of the rooms they had to let; and these soon increased to a crowd. The occurrence of the annual festival was a source of profit to all in the town, and everyone who had even a vacant cowshed to offer, cleaned it out and proclaimed it a palace. Lodgings had, however, already been provided; and the Moolla of the great mosque hearing from his friend, the Kazee of Kembavee, of the proposed visit of the old Dervish and Zóra, had kindly offered such accommodation as his house afforded. Now, as they approached the town the procession halted, and the arrangement Zóra had proposed was carried out. Near the great mausoleum of Ankoos Khan was a grassy bank shaded by a large tree, and they sat down and sang the invocation, while on the sheet spread out cowries and copper coins soon began to rattle as they fell; and the result, as the old Dervish declared, as he stroked his long beard, was evidence of the goodness of the Almighty. "There will be many poor folks at the evening prayer, child," he said to Zóra, "and thou art to distribute all there is to them." Then, after a while, he rose, and led by Zóra, for he would allow no one else to perform this office, he walked slowly on.
The Bazar, and indeed the whole of the town, was full of people; and the sight of the venerable old man, led by his beautiful grandchild, created no little excitement. "Who is the holy Dervish?" cried some. "We welcome your holiness to our town in the name of His Highness the Prophet and Sofy Surmust, on whom be peace!" cried a body of Mussulman weavers, all with long beards as though they were Dervishes. "That is the holy saint who cast out devils at Wakin-Keyra," cried others; "may he live a hundred years! And that is his grandchild, who leads him everywhere, bless her sweet face!" And it was, indeed, sweet to look upon.
Zóra had had a green dress made for herself at Wakin-Keyra, and this she wore that day. It was a tunic like that of a man, with loose skirts. She wore a turban of green muslin, into which her beautiful hair was gathered and bound up. Her loose trousers were also green, and the scarf which was tied round her waist, crossed over her head; so that, if needful, she could at any time conceal her face. Women, as she passed them, held out their children to her, and, stretching out their own hands, kissed the tips of their fingers, or cracked their knuckles against their temples. "God defend thee from evil glances, holy one," cried some. "Ah! she has taken the vows of a Syudanee," said others, "and is not ashamed." Ashamed! no, indeed. Zóra seemed triumphant. She, too, had her humble place in the Turreequt, and, God willing, would go on with it, leading her beloved grandfather to the last. No wonder she was admired, nay, almost reverenced, as, with a firm, confident step, and a look of modest reliance in her great brown eyes, she passed through the thronged street. Even the soldiers who were lounging about respected her, rose at her approach, and saluted her humbly. Thus they passed on till they were near the mosque, where their friend the Kazee awaited them, attended by their host the Moolla; and they were led into the great court of the mosque, and then through a door into a private enclosure, which was always kept, as the Moolla told them, for visitors of distinction; and Zóra at once saw that there was ample room and privacy for all. While behind was a yard which would contain their ponies, Ahmed, and the men they had hired to accompany them.
Presently the call to afternoon prayer was sung from the roof of the mosque, and crowds began to assemble—Fakeers, weavers, soldiers, and many strangers. The Kazee had requested the old Dervish to give a discourse, such as might suit the people assembled, and he had consented; and after prayer was ended, he recited a verse of the Koran, and began his sermon on the Turreequt, or path of salvation. Never had such a discourse been heard in that mosque. It seemed as if, translated by his enthusiasm above the ordinary life and occupations of men, as indeed by his blindness and reverential spirit he had been for so many years, the Dervish was like one inspired, and his eloquence, so pathetic, so practical, and so truly fitting his subject, powerfully affected his audience, and many groaned, many wept; and at the close of the address all his hearers crowded round him to interchange the salutation of peace which is exchanged among Mussulman worshippers.
Thenceforward the afternoon services at the mosque were attended by crowds; and when she led her grandfather to his apartment, to take rest, Zóra could not help exclaiming, in ardent tones of love and admiration, "Oh, Abba! I never heard thee speak as thou hast done to-day. May the Lord bless and sustain thee to make the people like thyself." But he could not reply; his own heart appeared too full for words. That evening, too, he performed his vow of begging, and people said, "That is the Dervish who preached to-day, and his child; they have a vow to beg." And so no one molested them as they sang their invocations; and Zóra carried her wallet on her arm, receiving alms from those who heard her sweet thrilling voice, whether they were Mussulmans or Hindoos.
But it was necessary to choose which association of Fakeers the old man should belong to. What had he to hope for in the world? What had Zóra? Her religious enthusiasm had been aroused, and she, too, would fain have made an open profession of her faith, but her grandfather objected. "It is not in thy horoscope, child," he said, as she urged him to consent with sobs and tears. "In that are children, and the rank thou art entitled to. These cannot come through profession as a Fakeer; and shall we, who have given ourselves up to the guidance of the Lord, dare to misinterpret His will? Be patient, then, my child, and fear not, for I believe that what will come to thee will come out of thy faith and thy endurance." So she was silent, and wept no more; but, instead, dwelt upon his form whom she had once watched, and which seemed to rise to her mental vision more vividly than ever.
It was, however, necessary to decide this serious question of election. Our old Dervish, by his first and subsequent discourses, had given proof of his fitness for any grade, even the highest one of Musháekh, beyond which only remained that of Wallee, or saint, and, in concert with his friends, a whole day was spent in deliberation on the subject. At Sugger were assembled representatives of all the hundreds of sects of Fakeers existing in the country, of which we spare the reader the enumeration of, to him or her, unpronounceable names. There were some who sung odes and hymns, some who danced, some who played instruments; many who led lewd, riotous lives, and pretended to do miracles; others who walked through thorns and danced on hot embers, or took red-hot chains or ploughshares in their hands, and, dipping them in powdered resin, wiped off the blaze with naked hands. Some kept bears, or tigers, or monkeys, which they had tamed and taught to perform ingenious tricks; others had tame snakes living in their sleeves or in the breasts of their tunics. Again, there were others who seared their tongues with hot wires, or scored their arms or breasts till the blood flowed, or put live scorpions into their mouths.
In short, if I, the writer of this chronicle, enumerated all the sects and their particular professions and means of getting their livelihood, my readers would see plainly, as the old Dervish did, that these were but contrivances to get money, or to lead dissolute lives under the pretence of a godly vow. "And what," he said, "could a quilted cap and an iron rod like the Kullundurs, or black turbans and clothes like the devotees of Shah Zinda Mudar, signify as aids to the Turreequt?" He therefore said to his friends,—
"All these divisions of Fakeers are delusions, my brothers, and many of them are delusions of Satan, and work for the ruin of souls. My own faith is simple, and my course of life is also simple. Whatever I have been able to do, either in the relief of the sick or the casting out of evil spirits, I have effected under the invocation of the noble Saint Peer-i-Dustugeer, the Prince Syud Abd-ool-Qadir, on whom be peace! Should there be any professors of his doctrine or ceremonies in this great assemblage, I pray ye, friends, bring him or them to me, that I may make a public profession, and be received into the sect as a Moorsheed (scholar, or novice). I shall henceforward be a Fakeer, and fight for the faith under the banners of my chosen Lord."
The Moolla of the mosque, the secretary, and the Kazee, who had each become devotees of other sects, would fain have had the old man join that which they themselves had professed; but after much earnest and learned discussion they could not succeed in weakening their guest's resolution, and they let him have his way. A professor of the Qadirea doctrines was soon found, who was a respectable and learned man from Golconda, who had taken the degree already, and, in conjunction with our old friend, a fitting day was soon named and fixed. What a pleasure, too, it was to receive visits from the officers of the troops stationed at Sugger, who were mostly Dekhanies! How pleasant to hear the old surnames, which he had not heard for years! For here were Bylmees, Alla-ool-Moolks, Siah-poshas—white standards, black sunshades—and many others, whose familiar war cries he had heard in the field. And the commander had the Akhbars, or news-letters of Beejapoor, and left them for Zóra to read to her grandfather.
How pleasant it was to hear of old names, and of the King's progress against the armies of Ahmednugger; watching every movement of the enemy, yet not striking a blow; but striving to bring them to reason. Then in one of the latest, the arrival of Abbas Khan was mentioned, and the accusation against him and the trial by ordeal, and the praises of the young man and description of his noble bearing before the Queen, a stripling as he appeared before a giant, were, you may be sure, dear reader, read by Zóra with feelings of exultation she could not repress. She even set to work and copied the whole passage. Then also Meeah's appointment to command the reinforcement for the King, and his march out of the city; and that Runga Naik accompanied him. So he was well, Zóra thought, with glistening eyes and beating heart, and has cleared himself before all, even his Queen. I think her grandfather was too much bound up in his Turreequt to care much about the Beejapoor news, though he appeared to rejoice at Abbas Khan's victory; but in the Akhbar of the next day, in which the discovery of Osman Beg's treason was detailed, and read by Zóra with emotion, and that he would be tried before the Queen, the old man suddenly burst out into an unexpected display of feeling. Hitherto he had not complained of the outrage to Zóra, except at first, but now he was passionately excited. "Spare me, O Lord!" he cried, raising his hands to heaven. "Spare me to help thy justice before men; then Thou wilt give me tongue to speak his shame who purposed shame to my child—yea, shame and insult. Ameen! Ameen!" and again he relapsed into silence. "Thou dost not say Ameen, girl," he said at length.
"The Lord, who forgives our sins, can do as He wills, Abba, in this matter, and forgive if it be good," replied Zóra, gravely. "Yet I can say in truth Ameen and Ameen to whatever He willeth. Doubt not, Abba, that truth will be declared, for so my heart tells me daily, and that this our journey is the way to its attainment."
He was again silent for awhile, and then said, "And hast thou forgiven him, Zóra?"
"I have forgiven him," she replied, humbly. "He can do me no harm; and, under the protection of the Lord, he did me none. For what he purposed to do, Alla will judge."
"And where didst thou learn this, child?"
"From your own lips, Abba," she said, humbly; and going to him, bent down and kissed his hands and his feet. "From your own lips, Abba. Dost thou think I forget thy teaching, when all who hear remember it?"
"I am rebuked, Zóra, and justly so. If I do not what I bid others do, of what use is this Turreequt? Let him be mentioned, no more between us. No, he cannot harm thee now; and let the Lord deal with him as He pleaseth;" and the old man lay down and fell asleep.
Everything had been arranged as to the initiation. The Musháekh from Golconda, who was a learned and wealthy man, who lived in an ancient saint's garden and shrine near that fort, and was much respected by the King, had been one of the audience when the first of the Dervish's sermons was preached, and he had continued his visits to the mosque every day, and after the last he was brought into the old man's apartments, and introduced to him. He had believed that the venerable preacher was already a Musháekh of high degree, and was considerably surprised by his request to be now allowed to enter the order, and fixed the second day afterwards for the ceremony, giving a detail of what would be needful. And we will not say what culinary preparations were made under old Mamoolla and a staff of cooks, who were hired and put under her orders; but there were sundry pilaos, birianees, kabobs, and other savoury and delicate viands.
The cooking, which was for over a hundred Fakeers of all denominations, had begun early in the morning, and before noon the Musháekh arrived, accompanied by his friends, and took his seat in the mosque. Then our old Dervish came forth, and many wild-looking Fakeers, who had assembled, were led by the Kazee and the secretary, and being presented to the holy man, they placed their hands on his head and bade him welcome. Being asked whether his choice of the Saint Peer-i-Dustugeer was a true one, the old man produced a diploma he had received in Tunis, where he had become a disciple, and which had been sealed with the seals of eminent men. This the Musháekh put to his forehead and eyes, and kissed it; and it was handed round for the edification of all who were present; and no other certificate of the performance of the first ceremony being needful, the admission to the second was proceeded with.
Strictly speaking it would have been advisable to have had all the hair shaved from the old man's head, beard, eyebrows, and chest; but because of his age this was dispensed with, and a few hairs were cut from each with a pair of scissors, and his nails pared. Then he was bathed carefully, and his new garments, carried before him, accompanied by chaunts from the Fakeers, were given to him one by one, and certain texts of the Koran repeated. Lastly, his crown, or cap, which had been beautifully embroidered by Zóra, was placed on his head. It was of green velvet, and his new tunic was of green muslin, with a green scarf over all. After that he had to recite the four forms of belief. He was asked three times whether he acknowledged the Musháekh his spiritual leader and guide, and the whole of the assembly as brethren, and he replied he did. Whereupon a loud shout arose that he was welcome in the name of all the saints, each man calling out that of his own.
After that the crown, which had been removed, was solemnly put on his head again; his grave cloth was hung about his neck with spices and perfumes; a new loongee, or waist cloth, was put on, and a round piece of mother of pearl tied round his neck. When all this was completed, the Musháekh took several sips out of a cup of sherbet, handing it to the old man, who drank it all, while the Musháekh at the same time bestowed the new name which he was to bear hereafter. This was Luteef Shah, or King, every properly elected Fakeer bearing that title; and when the new name was pronounced, every one greeted it with a joyous shout. Then the feast began, which had been so liberally provided, that hundreds of the poor of the town were satisfied as well as the Fakeers, and the installation of Luteef Shah was long remembered.
"When you have remained three days in your present grade," said the Musháekh, "we will raise you to our own, for we are more in number here than is needed by the order; but it will be a simple matter in comparison with this, and confined to our degree alone." We may, however, spare the reader the detail of these ceremonies, which were, in truth, simple enough. They all paid a quiet visit to the tomb of Sofy Surmust, which is a short distance to the north of Sugger, and is a most unpretending earthen mound, whitewashed; and a carpet being spread, the head Musháekh delivered a short address to the old man, requiring him not only to repeat the confession of faith, but confess all the sins of his life to be known to God, and to declare in the presence of the Almighty and that assembly that they would never again be repeated.
After this had been done, the instructor repeated all the names of the chiefs of the sect as they had descended from the founder and inherited; and a copy of this, which is called "Shujra," was given to the novice, who was asked whether he acknowledged. A few gold pieces, as part of the ceremony, were presented to the Moorsheed, for the old Dervish was still rich; and the sale of Zóra's pretty caps, drawers-strings, bodices, and other articles, had produced much more than she anticipated, and the evening collection more than sufficed for their maintenance. In any case they had still enough to bear the heavier expenses at Gulburgah, for the highest order of all, which the old Dervish, under his new title of Luteef Shah, was determined to attain from the descendant of the most celebrated saint in the Dekhan, Syud Geesoo Duráz, the lineal descendant of the original Wallee, who had come from Northern India years ago, and become the spiritual leader of the Moslems' Bahmuny Kings.
"I am going there myself," said his new friend, "for the Syud is a great man, and what is more, a truly devout man, which some of his race have not been. He will welcome you warmly, I know, for he is, besides being my superior in a religious sense, my truly loved and intimate friend. I think he will not object, and I have met with none so worthy of the highest honour as yourself. The representatives of the Saint Syud Abd-ool-Qadir, of Oodgeer, and of Sheykh Fureed, of Gooty, and perhaps others, will be present, who knows? The anniversary at Gulburgah is a very world of religious zeal, where, if I mistake not, your daily discourses in the mosque will be attended with the best results; you had better therefore come with me, for my hareem is with me, and your child may need both society and protection. We are well guarded, too, for your kind Sovereign sent soldiers with me, who are enough to protect us both."
The proposal was a welcome one, and, after explaining the vow he had made to beg his way to his destination, wherever that might chance to be, our old friend finally agreed. It was impossible for him to walk long stages day after day, but he could at least do as he had done when he and Zóra entered Sugger. "Yes," he said, "the Lord carries us on, and finds new friends and protectors as we go; we desire He will lead us to some resting-place, where, like our friends from Golconda, we may find peace."
As to Zóra, she was supremely happy. The wife of the Musháekh who had performed the ceremonies was a comparatively young woman, related to the Saint of Kullianee, a man of the highest temporal and religious distinction. She had heard of Zóra through her own women, and welcomed the girl kindly. Zóra had gone to her in her Syud's dress at first, and was shy, as she always was; but when her Abba was in the mosque, and when she could gain time, she ran across the street to the Musháekh's lodgings, and soon became intimate with her; nor was it the less pleasure to the lady that during the journey onwards she should have so pleasant a companion.
Gulburgah lay to the north, and, therefore, the day of the Rujub-ool-Ghyb was again Wednesday. Before that, however, a curious scene occurred between the secretary and her grandfather, which Zóra, who was seated in the inner chamber of the house, working diligently to complete an order for some new caps, which she had to finish before she left, overheard involuntarily. The worthy secretary was speaking with her grandfather on the subject of the Turreequt generally, and, indeed, as was his wont, using gross flattery, which the old man always detested, and checked sometimes in not very mild language.
"If I were the blessed messenger of the Lord Himself you could not flatter me more," said the old man, roused out of his ordinary submission to such inflictions. "I pray you cease, and be silent, as it behoves a modest man like you to do, Meer Sahib. If you want to pray, why not step into the mosque, and offer your prayers to the Most High?"
"But your holiness can assist me in my desire. You can intercede for me, and without you my prayers will gain no favour."
"I object to two things in your speech, Meer Sahib. First, that I should be called your holiness, which is a title for Wallees and Owleas only; and secondly, to knowing aught of your prayers and desires, which I cannot assist."
"But you can assist them," persisted the secretary. "Huzrut, Huzrut, I am beside myself; unless you help me I shall go mad."
"Now, God help thee, poor man," returned our friend. "Why shouldst thou go mad? Art thou poor, I cannot help thee; art thou rich, pray Alla to send thee grace to spend it. Thou hast no children! Well, I have given thy wife a powerful charm, and I pray it may be efficacious; but still, once more, if any fair one hath captivated thee, go to the gipsies, and others who sell charms, and they will take thy riches for them; but come not to me, my friend, for in that case thou wilt become my enemy."
"Oh! say not so Huzrut; say not so," said the man, prostrating himself. "We are alone, and I fear, yet I would conceal nothing. I love Zóra-bee, your grandchild, and I cannot live without her. Pity me, and grant my prayer. See, I eat dust, I cast it on my head; I am your supplicant, and our friend the Kazee is here, and we could at least be betrothed, and I would follow you till——"
Now, while Zóra within was bursting with suppressed laughter at seeing the little fat secretary sprawling on the ground before her grandfather, she saw too, through the screen, ominous signs of a storm gathering upon the dear old man's face; nor was it long before it broke.
"Thou, Meer Sahib, thou, to ask for the only child of one who is vowed to God. Hast thou considered her birth, her position, and thine own? Hast thou no perception of thine own meanness? Oh, good man, verily thou hast eaten dirt, much dirt, and I feel the helplessness of age and blindness to be a bar against thy chastisement for the insult. Hast thou said aught to her? Get up and speak!"
"I—I—I. No—no. I could not be so rude; but if thou wilt permit me, I will send a vakeel to her to-morrow."
"Thou shalt do no such thing; she can tell thee herself. She hath seen thee often, and is not afraid of thee. And thou hast another wife, O mean blockhead! Zóra! Zóra!" he shouted, "come hither. God forgive me if I have been rough with him," he continued, as Zóra approached the screen hanging across the door, and said, "I am here, Abba, but I must stay within."
"Nay, I cannot tell thee," said the old man; "it is too ludicrous. Let the Meer Sahib speak for himself." And without further ado, the secretary got up, adjusted his turban, which had become awry, pressed his waistbelt down on his hips, twisted up his moustachios, and, in short, improved his appearance as much as was possible, and began to address the girl in the most high-flown language he could command. He quoted line upon line of Persian poetry, comparing her to the rose and himself to a nightingale. He discoursed on the loves of Joseph and Zuleeka, Potiphar's wife, of Abraham and Zuppoora, and would have proceeded after the same fashion, but the old man burst into a peal of laughter so hearty that the tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Enough, enough!" he cried, "O Meer Sahib; I am not used to laughter, and thy speech is irresistible. What sayest thou, Zóra, wilt thou have this jewel among secretaries, whose tongue is sweet as honey, to be thy husband, and share his love with the lady we have left?"
"He is very kind to me," said Zóra, with a mischievous tone of raillery in her voice. "Very kind, and I am utterly unworthy of him. Should so great a man as a Rajah's secretary stoop to a Fakeer's granddaughter? Touba! Touba! Fie! Fie! And what would his wife say?" And Zóra could hold out no longer, but laughed in her turn.
"Come, Meer Sahib," said the old man, "let us be friends again, and forget this folly. Return to thine own wife and comfort her. Thou knowest thy life would not be pleasant if she heard of this. Go, now, lest others tell her. Go, and God's peace be with thee, and my blessing, though it is little worth. Go."
So the poor man departed not a little chagrined. But there is an old proverb, that men with small round heads, and thin, long beards, do foolish things, and in this case, at all events, there was no error.
Zóra was coming in to speak to her grandfather when the Kazee entered the court. "What have you been saying to the Meer Sahib, Huzrut? I met him in the street crying. I think I can guess; but no matter."
"What did he tell you?" asked the old man.
"Well, that my services might be required, and I was not to return home."
"Indeed! It is a strange conceit," returned the other, and the conversation passed into other subjects. They were to set out on the morrow, and it had been arranged to travel by Shahpoor and Gogi; for when the old Syud had heard that that town was so near, he could not resist the opportunity of paying his devotions at the tombs of the Kings he had served; and in the morning the whole party mustered by the mosque and set out on their way northwards. Next day he would be at Almella. Would anyone be alive who could recognise their once prosperous master?