Chapter X

Ye Heavens, for this in showers of sweetness shed
Your mildest influence o’er her favoured head!
Long may her name, which distant climes shall praise,
Live in our notes, and blossom in our lays.

SOLIMA.

Although Kazim was generally respected throughout the tribe, of which he now formed a member, for his personal character and his great acquirements, yet he could not conceal from himself, during the solitary rambles in which he frequently indulged among the mountains, that this was not precisely the kind of existence he had prefigured for himself at Samarcand. Of the ordinary necessaries and conveniences of life he enjoyed a sufficiency, and there were even those among the tribe whom he might look upon in the light of friends. But their intellect did not commune with his. There was no person near him with whom he could converse, upon equal terms, on any subject derived from history, science, or even popular poetry or fable. The habits of a wandering nation, whether warlike or pastoral, were such as he felt could never be congenial to his tastes. He had no pleasure in assisting to water the herds, or in preparing the materials of the huts, or in going through the domestic occupations which every new day brought with it. The sports afforded to others by the mountain, the plain, or the jungle, were to him so many occasions for toil, from which he derived no gratification.

Mangeli was, indeed, in herself, a little world, to which his busy thoughts and stirring aspirations frequently fled for repose. When he beheld her engaged in the duties of her simple household, and read in her lighted smiles the pleasure which she felt in rendering their humble home orderly, because it was shared with him, he yielded to the rush of delightful sensations that thrilled his whole frame. But when he remembered that he would soon have to provide for more than Mangeli, and that his present means or prospects afforded no hope that their offspring would ever be raised above the grade of mere shepherds, he blushed with shame at the degradation which he had, however innocently, brought upon the once noble and distinguished race of Ayas. His thoughts upon this delicate point were by no means hidden from the partner of his life and fate, who, without any other instruction than that which he himself and affection had given her, was enabled to read upon his brow the sentiments that were passing through his mind, even where they did not break out into expression. No commentary, however, that could wound his feelings ever escaped her lips on those occasions. She was contented with her lot, such as it was; but, at the same time, she never failed to assure Kazim that wherever he was, she should be equally happy. She could live with him in their hut, wherever it might be raised from time to time; or she could wander with him over the desert or the mountain, should it be his wish to try his fortunes in those distant countries, of which he had so often made mention.

One day, when Kazim happened to extend his mountain rambles beyond their ordinary distance, he was surprised, on looking towards the south, to behold an enormous ridge of snow shining in the sun, above the clouds, in which, at that season of the year, the Himalas were usually concealed from view. While he was gazing upon the sublime spectacle, his attention was suddenly attracted by the sound of a voice quite near him; when, turning round, he beheld a dervish resting on a long staff, which he held with both his hands.

“I have been anxiously in search of you, Kazim Ayas,” said the stranger, “since your fortunate escape from Karaman. You won my admiration at Samarcand. There you were the master of the whole circle of knowledge, and what are you here? I followed you to Arjun--I followed you to the obscure cottage in which you buried yourself on the banks of the Ilamish--I followed you to Karaman; and where do I at length find you? Among a tribe no better than the sheep, from which they derive their subsistence! For shame, Ayas! one of your Tartar race--you, who might restore your house to more than its former splendour by your talents--to waste away the most precious years of your existence among these inglorious hills! To Hindostan, I say, the moment the snows are gone. Behold the Himalas, which lift their heads above the clouds. Be their ambition yours; and, like them, the sun of glory shall yet shine upon your brow! To Hindostan, I say, when the snows are gone!”

Kazim, overcome with surprise, in consequence not less of the words addressed to him, than of the manner of the stranger, whom he remembered to have seen somewhere before, stood petrified before the dervish, doubting whether the vision was not supernatural. Nor was this feeling at all diminished, when, on removing his hand from his eyes, on which he had pressed it for a moment, as if to recall his wandering thoughts, he saw nobody near him, nor even the trace of a footstep on the spot where the dervish had stood. He called out in an agitated voice, repeatedly, but he received no answer, except the faint echo of his own exclamation. The incident astonished him, the more he thought of it. He ran here and there among the snow-crowned crags, and looked down the precipices, and at each side of the ridges, but nowhere could he discover the least symptom of the stranger. He remained on the mountain, still expecting the return of the dervish, until the approach of night warned him that it was time to terminate his excursion.

When Kazim informed Mangeli of his adventure, she playfully looked into his eyes, and in her simple and bewitching way asked him, if he had not fallen asleep on the hills, and dreamt what he had told her? When he endeavoured to assure her of the contrary, and described his interview with the stranger, as well as the very tone of voice in which the mysterious words were uttered, she still declared herself incredulous. At the same time she added, that she well knew he could never be contented to pursue the kind of life in which he was now detained; and that, if at the breaking up of the winter, he resolved to abandon the tribe, she would be prepared to go with him even to Hindostan, through every difficulty and danger. Kazim was almost angry that he could not induce Mangeli to believe the story which he had related, extraordinary though it was; but the more he reflected on it, the more he was induced to waver about the certainty which he had felt at first; and eventually, he was inclined with her to suspect that the dervish was the creation of his own fancy, heated by much meditation on the circumstances in which he was placed. Whether it was a reality or a vision, however, such was the impression it made upon his mind, that the pastoral manners and occupations of the friendly tribe appeared to him, after that day, more monotonous than ever, and he resolved, at all events, to effect a change in the present obscure routine of his existence.

The long winter of those regions at length approached its term. Suddenly the zephyrs of the spring came from the groves where they had hitherto been sleeping. The icicles that depended from the precipices, over which the torrents had formerly dashed in their course, as well as the snowy mantle so long spread over the hills and plains, disappeared at once, as if by the command of a magician. A rich carpet of green herbage every where met the eye, interspersed with the snow-drop, the gay crocus, the modest primrose, the cowslip, and a thousand wild flowers, which seemed to rejoice in the cheering rays of the sun. The mares and their young galloped over the soft turf, wild with renovated joy. The lambs that were newly born, frisked about, calling occasionally to their dams in a tumult of merry sounds, and running races with each other down the declivities of the hills on which they were at pasture. Nature dressed herself out as for a holiday; the trees were filled with birds that made the air resound with their music, and even the floods that rushed from the heights, subdued their usual uproar into an enchanting murmur.

Kazim hoped that the tribe would now think of changing their abode, and that he might, during the general movement, easily separate himself from them, without informing the kind prince of his intentions. He could give no cause to that worthy ruler of an innocent people for the resolution which he had adopted; he felt that even the mention of such an idea would be received with surprise and regret, if not even with anger, by every one of his new friends; and as he really had no excuse to offer for his conduct, which could appear to them in the least degree reasonable, considering the unambitious habits in which they had all been brought up; he convinced himself that his best plan would be not to consult them on the subject. But the spring came without suggesting any desire on their part to change their temporary residence. The pasturage around them was excellent, as well as abundant; and until it was exhausted, it seemed that they would be disinclined to further emigration. Kazim therefore determined to make immediate preparations for his expedition, but with as much secresy as possible.

Selecting an intensely dark night for his purpose, he put together the few articles of value which had been presented to him from time to time, by the prince and other members of the tribe, and placing the package on his camel, he led the animal cautiously beyond the precincts of the camp, Mangeli walking with him hand in hand. His horse he left behind, justly apprehending that it would be rather an incumbrance than an auxiliary to them in crossing the vast solitudes which lay between Astracan and the frontiers of India. Then lifting Mangeli to her seat on the back of the camel, he walked by her side, assisting her to retain her position until she was in some measure accustomed to it. Pursuing their way through the outskirts of the camp without any clue to guide them, they had the satisfaction to find themselves soon ascending the mountains by which it was surrounded; and as the day dawned, they faintly descried the huts of their late friends through the mists which still floated over the valley. They looked back more than once upon those habitations with feelings of regret, remembering the hospitality and affection with which they had been uniformly treated by every individual of the tribe. A ridge of the mountain at length shut out the camp from their view, and the sun rising gloriously in a cloudless sky, enabled Kazim to shape his course towards the town of Arcan, where he hoped to exchange for money the few Persian shawls and trinkets of which he was possessed.

Mangeli, though less fatigued by her first day’s journey than she expected she should be, saw with pleasure towards evening the domes of Arcan shining in the distance. Here they took up their abode for the night in the public caravanserai, where Kazim had great difficulty in selling his small merchandize to some Armenians, whom he met there on their return from Bokhara to Astracan. When he looked at the fund with which he was thus furnished, and compared it with the long route which they still had to traverse before they could reach Lahore, he felt as if he had been already thrown on the wide ocean of the world, without a single friendly star to light his way. He had not the courage to communicate to Mangeli, the inadequacy of the store with which they had already commenced their expedition. Recommending himself and his beloved wife to Providence, he led forth his camel with its precious burthen from Arcan the following morning.

The adventurous pair continued thus to travel constantly from day to day, stopping during the night at such towns or villages as they met with in their line of journey, until at length Mangeli was attacked by a violent fever, which for a while threatened to put an end to their enterprize altogether. This unfortunate event, besides delaying them far beyond the time when they had calculated on reaching India, exhausted the slender means with which they had been provided. They had now parted with every thing they possessed, except the camel and the shawl in which the sacred relics of their father had been wrapped. The former Kazim was at length obliged to exchange for a wretched horse, in order to discharge the debts which he had contracted during the illness of Mangeli; and had it not been for the charity of some good villagers who dwelt on the borders of the great desert, they would have perished of hunger before they entered on that perilous portion of their journey.