Chapter XV

The russet suit of camel’s hair,
With spirits light, and eye serene,
Is dearer to my bosom far,
Than all the trappings of a queen.

MAISUNA.

Although the tidings of the entire destruction of the Cashmere auxiliaries had reached his province before Afkun’s return, nevertheless upon his arrival at his castle, which he and Chusero reached in safety, shortly after their departure from Lahore, he was received with tokens of universal satisfaction. The many families who had to mourn the loss of kindred and friends, were speedily reconciled to the decrees of fate; and they deemed it the highest mark of honour which the young prince could confer upon Cashmere, that he now sought within its precincts protection, and relied upon its generosity for new resources.

Nourmahal received her consort with more ardour than she had ever before exhibited towards him. Though defeated at the Sutledge by overwhelming force, and through the fatal want of discipline manifested by Man-Singh and his Rajaputs, yet no tidings of that great battle had reached her ear, which spoke not of the subah of Cashmere as still the bravest among the brave. The fame of his actions in Lahore,--of his defence, single-handed, of the gate, when it was upon the point of being opened by the enemy,--of his ready valour when about to be trampled down by the elephants,--of his exhibition of undaunted courage and unequalled strength in the arena,--his defeat of the forty assassins, and above all, of his enterprize in breaking down the barrier which the imperialists had thrown across the Rawee, had preceded him to Cashmere. The people were proud of his renown. Nourmahal could not be insensible to the marks of warm and genuine affection lavished upon her by such a husband. Her heart, always generous, though too true to its first-born impulse of passion, taught her that it was her duty to do every thing that depended upon her exertions, to cheer him under the disappointments he had experienced, and to aid him in his efforts to repair them.

Her first interview with Chusero, however, ruffled not a little this train of dutiful thought and feeling. He was not at all like Jehangire in person, or in feature; but when he spoke, there was a peculiar expression about his eyes, which restored irresistibly to her mind, thoughts she ought never to have known. His delicately fair hands,--his long tapering fingers, were exactly those of the emperor; besides, there were intonations in his voice, when he spoke with any degree of vivacity, which came upon her ear like a spell that baffled all her resolutions.

For resolutions Nourmahal had made, during the absence of her husband, to conquer what she could not but deem the unhallowed fire that ever since her marriage had burned in her breast, and acquired more intensity every day. She was not forced into this union by any harshness of superior authority. Never was a daughter so beloved by parents, so tenderly cherished as she. What wish had she ever formed, that had not been anticipated by their ever vigilant affection? What desire could she express, which it would not have been their highest gratification to promote? Contrary to the usages of Hindostan, had she not been left to her own unrestrained, unbiassed dispositions, to receive or decline the tender of Afkun’s heart? Her affiance, was it not the result of her own free consent, and her final union, the necessary consequence of that act?

“But what a world was disclosed to me!” she thought in her solitary walk, some days after the return of Afkun. “What visions beamed upon my soul during the few last weeks of my existence, when my will ceased to be my own--after I had pronounced the words no longer revocable! Destiny! destiny! thee alone have I to blame! Can I conceal from myself that my heart knows no emotion when he, who has the best right to my affections, appeals to it for the return of his devoted love? Can I be ignorant of the hopes, the aspirations, that, without any encouragement from my reason, without any sanction from probability, and even against my consciousness of what innocence and rectitude dictate, flutter in this bosom, whenever any accidental circumstance, a passing flower, a dream of the night, or one of those impulses that, like a cloud, casts for a while its ominous shadow over me, brings back that image which I ought never to have seen?

“When shall I recover my peace of mind? The councils of the hermit had gone far towards banishing from my soul all those lurking miseries which depressed my spirits, and diverted my thoughts from their proper channel of happiness. After all, what is the happiness of which he spoke? Does it not consist principally in the consciousness that we belong to a better world, that we are treading our way constantly towards it, that obliged to act in the numberless small events of life, the slight routine of every day, we so conform to the progress of circumstances as to draw from them all the honey they contain, and to convert into wholesome medicine the bitter elements which they sometimes present instead?

“Am I overruled, as the dervishes say we all are, by a fate which we cannot overcome? Zeinedeen declares that we make our own fate, and I think he must be in the right. I am--or at least have been--free to resolve--free to reject my resolution, or to act upon it. One act leads on to another, as one thought springs from that which has preceded it. Thus the chain of life lengthens from hour to hour, and when we arrive at the end of it we find it composed of actions, the children of ideas all our own, and then we complain that this is destiny! The hermit might well laugh at such folly.

“And yet, assuredly, we are subject to some influences that are to me incomprehensible. Amongst my gazelles at Agra there were some I never could much regard. They were all dependent on my care, and I fed them equally from my own hand. But yet there were some I loved from the instant I first beheld them. Hilali was not more graceful, more playful, more affectionate to me than Zamaa, nor, indeed, so much so, for often she was so wild, so thoughtless, as apparently even to despise my caresses. Nevertheless, her eyes kindled emotions within me, her well-being excited in my heart a real interest, her gratitude, when she expressed it in her way, drew from my lips expressions of tenderness, which I had no pre-disposition to afford to any of the others.

“So it is with even the choicest flowers that are reared under my own eye. Some are splendidly painted--I admire them; some are arrayed in the most varied and agreeable colours, and I in vain endeavour to appreciate them; many are worthy of being perpetually renewed as among the best ornaments of my garden, and I take precautions that secure their perennial existence; several are justly deemed stars, for their pre-eminence in beauty, and I worship the Being who has deigned to clothe them in garments of so much loveliness. But here I light on one, modestly hiding, perhaps, in the shade, or gaily smiling in the sun, which at once wins its way to my heart, and with the power of a magician causes a fountain of delight to be born within me, which flows with fresh rapture as often as I behold the precious mystery. Whence is this, since it has not the same enchantment for others?

“Alas! do we not feel the same controlling power, chaining our impulses of a higher nature? I fondly imagined that the admonitions of Zeinedeen had cured my heart of those secret thoughts and prepossessions, which I dare not acknowledge even to myself. But one peculiar turn of expression in the features of Chusero--one occasional modulation of his voice--puts to flight all my inward reserve, and I wait for their return with the devotion of the Persian watching the first ray of his god on the summit of the mountains.

“Would that there were an end to this struggle! Shall it ever be ended? What is this prince to me? In himself nothing. I could pass through a host of such as he is without remembering the countenance of one of them. But then those resemblances which start like meteors about him--what have I not to fear from their visitations?

“Nor is this all. The emperor, will he not pursue the prince hither? Flushed as he is with victory, will he be content to resign to Chusero the fairest province in his dominions--that which it cost Acbar so much labour to subdue--the gem of gems in the diadem of Hindostan? What a wreath for a human brow! The crown of the East, resplendent with the glory of the sun, the pledge of peace, or the flambeau of war to a hundred millions of people!

“Whose is the voice--whence comes it--in the night and in the day whispering to me of the hour when that wreath of majesty shall descend upon these throbbing temples--and this hand--this feeble, trembling hand, shall wave the sceptre of so vast an empire? My brain wanders through other worlds--I attempt in vain to remember where and who I am--my very name vanishes from my recollection--when these visions--these tempests of portentous thought--burst upon my soul!

“What if the insurgent cause should be successful? The fortune of war may perchance desert the standard of Jehangire--Afkun may be the conqueror yet. Is it _his_ throne I desire to share? That is not the loyalty my father has planted in this heart. _He_ is not the lawful heir of the generous sovereign whom my infant lips were taught to bless, as the restorer of our ancient family to those honours which it long had worn, and now wears again with so much dignity. Should Chusero be the victor! Victor of whom? Of the parent who gave him existence--of his liege sovereign--and so wade through the blood of him whom he ought to love and venerate, to the possession of supreme power! Is it with the sceptre of such a king as that, I should contaminate this unspotted hand? No--sooner should it strike the unnatural rebel to the earth--if to me the strength were given!”

Kanun presented herself to her mistress, to receive her orders as to the patterns of some new shawls, which were about to be manufactured for her in the neighbouring capital. She found Nourmahal in the cedar walk, but so excited, so changed in appearance, that the timid girl hardly knew her. Not only was her countenance brightened with a degree of energy, such as the Circassian had never seen in it before, but her stature seemed to have grown higher and more erect, the personation of authority accustomed to command, and of power that disdained resistance. Kanun forgot what she had to say, and drew her veil partly over her eyes, dazzled by the apparition.

The presence of the maid recalled Nourmahal from the sea of reveries, on which her mind had been borne away; but Kanun’s quiet train of thought was not so easy to be recovered.

“I am glad at all times to see thee, my dear Kanun,” said Nourmahal, glad to be relieved from the conceptions with which her bosom was over-fraught; “when I kiss this pale soft cheek, it reminds me so well of the many happy days we have spent together, that they seem to return again.”

“Ah! they were, indeed, happy days; could _you_ but think they had returned again, we should all think so too.”

“What is going on in the castle? what are they all doing to-day?”

“The subah and the prince,--what a beautiful youth he is!--such eyes!--and he walks so like the emperor!--are gone out to the mountains with a number of rajahs, who came in from the capital this morning.”

“Have they brought any intelligence from the south?”

“Nothing of any importance, that I have heard, except that the people of Lahore opened their gates to the emperor, and that he means to hold his court there for some time.”

“Ah! I remember Lahore. It was there, Kanun, that fortune first smiled on my beloved father. I should like much to see it again, and the small hut in which we lived.”

“But you would not like--would you? to live in the hut again--accustomed, as you long have been, to palaces so superb as that at Agra, and this in which you now reside?”

“I really do not know. You perhaps would be incredulous if I were to say that I should. What matters it where one lives, if the mind be at rest? That, my dear Kanun, after all, is the great secret.”

“Ah! but how difficult it would be to descend from a palace to a hut, and at the same time carry with you a contented mind!”

“Why so? Suppose that by the fortune of war, or by some series of unforeseen calamities, I were reduced to the condition in which my beloved parents were when they first entered--aye, and for years after they took up their residence in, Lahore; think you that I should not, like them, cheerfully sit down and toil for my own bread?”

“Oh! the very thought of such a sad reverse, is dreadful. If such a thing were to happen, what would become of poor Kanun? of us all? who feel that we live only for our adored mistress?”

“Surely you would not abandon me? would you?”

“Never!” said the affectionate girl, with an emphatic emotion, that spoke the true and artless attachment she felt for Nourmahal.

“Assuredly, it would not be difficult for us to maintain ourselves. We could all do something or another. I am myself no bad hand at embroidery. I can paint a little on ivory. Some of the dresses in brocade, which, when I was under my mother’s care, I worked for myself, were supposed not to be ill done.”

“Far from it. They were truly admired for their novelty and exquisite neatness. Indeed, I heard it said, that if you had been compelled to produce many such examples of your skill, you might easily make your own fortune.”

“Well, then, you see we should have some ground to begin upon. We should all work together, some at brocade, some at painting, some at copying music, some at making transcripts of the Koran, some at tapestry, while you would amuse us with your stories; and so, I fancy, Kanun, we might be as happy as the day is long, and as rich as Emir Jemla.”

“Dear mistress, so we might; but still it is horrid to think of.”

“Jemla did not think so. He was, you know, originally a shepherd boy.”

“Ah! I did not know that. He is now, they say, the richest merchant in Golconda; and, if he liked it, might dine on diamonds every day, without lessening his store.”

“While employed as a shepherd, he was one day crossing a river amongst those mountains yonder, when his mantle, which was a goat-skin with all the hair on, fell off his shoulder, and was carried down the stream. He gave it up as lost, the torrent bore it away so quickly out of his sight. The following day, however, happening to be crossing the same river, somewhat lower down, he, to his great joy, found his goat-skin stopped by some rocks. He took it out of the water, and having dried it in the sun, he shook it to get rid of the sand with which it was encumbered, when he beheld the ground spread with a shower, not of sand, but of gold.”

“Of gold!”

“Of gold dust! Wondering whence it came, he shook his skin again, when forth fell another shower, and another, until he could extract no more.”

“Something wonderful is always happening to these shepherds. Some of the good genii, no doubt, filled his cloak with the gold, in reward for some kind action he had done.”

“I know not how that was. He dipped his skin again in the same part of the river, spreading it over the bottom, and placing a heavy stone on each corner to keep it down. He returned to find it in the morning, and after drying it in the sun, as before, he obtained from it a still more copious supply. In this manner he procured as much of the precious sand as was sufficient to load a camel, and having taken leave of his master, he set out with his cargo to Delhi, where he disposed of it to great advantage. He then returned to Cashmere, with many trinkets in gold and silver, travelling the country as a pedlar. He next purchased a stall in the great bazaar at Agra, where he appeared as a merchant, dealing in rubies, emeralds and diamonds, and not satisfied with the good fortune by which his industry was rewarded, he removed to Golconda, became a proprietor of diamond mines, and now inhabits a splendid castle, in which he retains an army of his own, and lives in all the splendour of a sovereign.”

“There is a freak of fortune! a shepherd-boy transformed into a sovereign!”

“No freak of fortune, Kanun, but the fair and natural result of well-directed industry. So let us not despair, even if we should be driven to live by our own exertions.”

“Well, if that ever should be the case, and we should happen to get as rich as Emir Jemla, we should have no great reason to complain. Was there not some emperor, in former days, who in the midst of all the treasures he could command, preferred to support himself by making sandals?”

“I never heard that he made sandals. In other respects the story is true. Mamood, the sandal-maker, as you call him, was certainly in some respects a very singular character. Like many others of our emperors, his early days were spent in a prison, where, despising the allowance that was granted to him by the state, he supported himself by his writings. It was with him a maxim, that ‘he who could not work for his bread, did not deserve it.’ Amongst other strange peculiarities by which he was distinguished, do you know, Kanun, that he never had more than one wife?”

“The barbarian! Only one wife! Ha! ha! ha! That was ridiculous. I could as soon fancy a peacock with only one feather! I hope he treated her well; at the very least he must have kept her in a shrine of gold.”

“Quite the reverse. Even when he was upon the throne, he made her do all the work of his house with her own hands.”

“What, the sultana of Hindostan make coffee and wash the cups with her own hands!”

“Aye, and change the mats, and sweep the floor, and make the fires, and mend his garments, too, when they were worn threadbare!”

“The silly woman, to put up with such tyranny!”

“Yes; but, Kanun, she loved him.”

“There we all fail, simpletons that we are, all wreck our dignity upon that fatal rock.”

“One day, when the empress unfortunately burnt her fingers while baking bread for their supper, she asked him to allow her even one maid, to assist her in her domestic toils.”

“He had not the cruelty to refuse her!”

“Indeed, but he had. It was, he said, a needless expense, which he would never bring on the state!”

“I know that if I had been his wife, he should have gone to bed without his supper for that night, at least.”

“Those hours of the day which others spend in sleep, Mamood devoted to labour,--chiefly transcripts of the Koran, which he executed with such accuracy, that no man could detect an error in his page. Upon the produce of his labour he lived.”

“He must have been an uncommon ideot.”

“Read the poems of Minhage, in which you will find him celebrated--and justly celebrated--for his energy in the field, his wisdom in the council, his justice in the seat of judgment. He was the patron of every useful science and elegant art, and a beneficent father to his people.”

“With his one wife?”

“Ah, Kanun! is it possible to love more than _one_?”