The Slave Girl of Agra/Book 3/Chapter 6
VI. SHE MISSED A THRONE
A pilgrimage from Bengal to Benares and Mathura had more of romance and even of perils in the olden times than a voyage from Calcutta to the North Cape or New York to-day. Every new town had its attractions, every temple claimed worship and gifts, every annual fair by a sacred river was a gathering of races. Women who ordinarily never left their village made long journeys on foot, or by boat or bullock cart, when going on pilgrimage; and they traversed the whole of Northern India with its jungles and hills, its cultivated fields and crowded cities. And when they returned to their native village, perhaps after months of travel, they had wonderful tales to tell by the evening fire to listening fellow-villagers about many lands and many peoples.
Nobo Kumar's widow had set out, however, never to return to Debipur. A group of women followed in her train, and were enabled by her bounty to visit the sacred places of Northern India which every Hindu woman longs to see. Hemlata, and Saibalini, too, had some female companions and attendants, and Sirish and Gokul Das, accompanied with a suitable guard.
The journey to the banks of the Ganges was performed by land, the ladies of Debipur being carried in covered litters, and others following on foot or in bullock carts. The Ganges was crossed, and the whole party arrived at Rajmahal.
A halt of several days was made there, for Sirish and Gokul Das had much to do, and found their task more difficult than they had thought. The Kanangoe of Bengal could sell a defaulting estate, but could not withdraw an Imperial Agent without the Emperor's orders. The ladies spent their time in seeing the crowded shops and the graceful palaces of this city, then the capital of Bengal. It was a humble copy of the proud capital of India. The fort of Rajmahal frowned on the Ganges, and temples and mosques raised their graceful domes and minarets to the sky. The principal Bazaar was crowded by traders from many parts of India, and manufactures from the East and West were exhibited before the wondering eyes of the pilgrims from Debipur.
Gokul Das had many friends in Rajmahal which he had often visited before, and Sirish, now Zemindar of Debipur, was welcomed by the principal residents of the place. The ladies, too, received many invitations. Nobo Kumar's widow seldom went anywhere, passing her days almost entirely in temples; but Hemlata went through a round of visits as she had never done before. It was a new experience to a woman from the country now visiting a large city for the first time.
One invitation came to her which puzzled her not a little. It was from the wife of a Moslem Jaigirdar, who was on a visit to the Court at Rajmahal, and who occupied a house in the Mohammedan quarters of the city. Word was sent by the Jaigirdar's wife that she had lately come from Agra, and would much like to meet the lady of the renowned estate of Debipur who was going to Agra. And a hint was also given that she had some news to tell of the young Zemindar of Birnagar, who was at Agra. Hemlata's heart throbbed at the news, and a tear for a long-lost friend glistened in her eyes. She came to her husband to ask his advice.
"Go and see her, my dear wife, for she is a great Begum, and her husband is one of the proudest and bravest of the Moslem Jaigirdars of Bengal. Go and see her, and press her for some news of Noren, if she has any to tell. Gokul Das takes joy in giving us the most alarming news about our absent friend; I would fain learn something that is reassuring. Would it not gladden thy heart, Hemlata, to learn that our dear Noren is safe and well?"
"It would," Hemlata softly answered.
"Then go and bring news of him. I shall myself seek the bold Sher Afghan and ask him if he has any news from Agra."
A day was fixed for the interview, and Hemlata went. Her litter was taken into the inner apartments which are occupied by women, and the beautiful Mihr-un-Nissa, bedecked in jewels and pearls, came out to receive with honour the great lady of Debipur.
The evening lamps were lighted, the room was decorated with mirrors and pictures and graceful curtains, and the genial and beautiful hostess, one of the loveliest of her race and sex, offered a seat covered with cloth of gold to her guest as she occupied another. Her dark eyes gleamed and her red lips were wreathed in smiles. And yet as Hemlata gazed on this woman of surpassing sweetness and beauty, she read in that fine marble brow a depth of thought and a soul of command which almost filled her with awe.
"Much honoured am I, sweet sister, that thou hast condescended to pay me this visit. I had heard a great deal of the House of Debipur and of the greatness and goodness of its new Lord, and I wished not to leave Rajmahal without seeing his lovely bride. Hindu ladies seldom visit us, but thou art kind, dear lady, as thou art beautiful."
"Nay, Begum Saheba, it is I who am honoured by thy invitation. My husband has heard of thy noble husband, and a braver Chief lives not in this land. It is my good fortune to meet his august Begum."
"Thou speakest sweetly, lady, as thy looks are sweet. Verily Bengal is the home of beautiful women with soft eyes and sweet, musical voices. But call me not august, dear sister; call me a sister and a friend, for such I should like to be unto thee."
"Thou art kind and condescending, sister Begum. It becomes thy exalted rank."
"Little of rank have we, gentle sister, and we are but strangers in this land. My husband needs friends, powerful and great as thy husband, for many are those who would like to see him fall; and I too, though a Moslem, would cherish a Hindu lady of thy position and virtues among my dearest friends."
The sweetness of Mihr-un-Nissa and the ring of truth and sincerity with which she spoke had their desired effect. In a few moments Hemlata felt at her ease, and spoke pleasantly and freely to her hostess, as to a friend she had long known.
"Tell me something about thy home at Debipur; tell me, sister, something about thy people."
"Our house is in mourning, sister Begum, for my father, who was its head, died not many weeks ago. My mother goes to Mathura to pass the remainder of her days in religious devotions, and we shall see her settled there before we return home."
"So I have heard from my slave-girls. Thy father left no son, they told me, and thy husband has succeeded him as Zemindar of Debipur?"
"That is so, sister. He, too, comes from a distant branch of the Debipur House, and there was some talk of my father adopting him as a son, for such is the usual custom among the Zemindars of my race. But my mother loved me greatly and would not part with me, and so my parents gave me in marriage to him."
"Thou speakest sweetly, dear sister, and I see thy pure, innocent soul in thy gentle words. Mayst thou be happy in life, as thou art born to wealth and wedded to worth. Troubles have never crossed thy path, nor long wanderings, as has been my fate."
"Nay, troubles we have had, sister, and wanderings too. For my father lost his estate for a while during the wars between the Moguls and Afghans, and was in exile when I was born. Two years after my birth we came to Birnagar."
"Ha! Didst thou say Birnagar? Why, I have heard of that estate too—from—perhaps from my slave girls. Is that estate far from Debipur?"
"The two estates adjoin each other, but they have been rival estates for many generations, and there have been wars and dissensions which have kept them apart."
"And sometimes alliances, too, which have drawn them together; is not that so, my sweet sister?" asked the Begum, with an arch smile.
"Surely thy slave girls keep thee well informed, sister Begum. What thou sayest is true."
"My slave girls are stupid, dear sister. But I tried to know something of this Province and its Chiefs before I came here. Tell me why thou wert at Birnagar, and how long thou wert there."
"Why, sister, my father lost his estate, as I told thee, and was appointed a manager of Birnagar by the Emperor's orders when the heir of Birnagar was a minor. We lived there for some ten or eleven years before my father was restored to his own estate of Debipur."
"I understand it now, sister, and I suppose the minor of Birnagar has now come of age and owns his own estate."
"No, sister, his is a sad story." Hemlata paused a little, and then went on. "He was exiled from his estate, was wounded in battle, and was carried to Agra. Perhaps, sister, thou mayst have heard something of him in Agra." A tear, which Hemlata vainly tried to conceal, moistened her eyes.
"His name?"
"His name is Norendra Nath."
The lights of the room had grown somewhat dim, and neither of the ladies wished them to be brighter. A slight colour had tinged Hemlata's brow, while the Fair Persian looked down and her face was inscrutable.
"We Moslem women," spoke Mihr-un-Nissa, after a pause, "are kept in strict seclusion in Agra, and know little of the men who frequent the Emperor's Court. Yet of him I have heard, for the physicians of Queen Jodh Bai attended on him during his illness."
"And did they cure him, sister Begum, and is he completely restored to health?" The voice of the inquirer betrayed the eagerness of an anxious heart, which was not lost on Mihr-un-Nissa.
"Thou seemest much interested, sister," she said, smiling, "in the fortunes of the heir of Birnagar. The royal physicians cured him, and the great Emperor himself honoured him with a personal audience. We women hear something of the distinguished strangers who come to Court, and those who have seen Norendra Nath have told me that a handsomer Chief they have not seen, even in the Court of Agra."
"May the All-Merciful bless thee, loved sister, for this happy news." Hemlata could speak no more, tears choked her voice and blinded her eyes. Mihr-un-Nissa, with a woman's inborn politeness, seemed not to notice this, but the penetrating glance of her half-closed eyes were fixed on Hemlata.
"I am glad, sister, I have been able to give thee news which relieves thy anxieties; thou must have known this youth well when thou wert at Birnagar."
The red blood mounted to Hemlata's forehead as she said, in a scarcely audible voice, "I knew him—when we were children."
"But he is a man now, sister, and one of the handsomest of the Chiefs who surround the Emperor, so I have heard. Perhaps my fair sister of Debipur, who has seen him, can tell me if this report is true."
"He was a handsome boy, but we have not met since we were children."
"And a high-spirited and passionate youth, was he not?"
"So they said."
"And noble and generous, as became the descendant of a noble House."
"That, I believe, he was." The room was getting a little too warm, and Hemlata wiped her brow.
"And he knew thee from thy childhood, and left thee in thy early youth to be a soldier? Pardon a woman's curiosity, sister; a woman will think of these things."
The thought came into Hemlata's mind that this was woman's impertinence rather than woman's curiosity. She was a little confused as she answered, "He became a soldier, Begum Saheba, under Raja Man Singh's orders, and according to the high traditions of his House."
A burst of laughter from the Begum added to the confusion of Hemlata. "I think little of the high spirit of thy friend," said the Begum, "if any orders, the Raja's or the Emperor's, could take him away from so sweet a companion as thyself."
Hemlata was the gentlest of women, but annoyance and anger were depicted on her forehead. The Begum seemed not to notice this, and went on with her wicked inquiries as a surgeon operates with his unfeeling knife.
"But perhaps, dear sister, I do him wrong. He is brave, so I have heard, and he is faithful in his heart. Perhaps he has not quite forgotten the companion of his boyhood, for rumour says Norendra Nath hath not taken a wife."
Hemlata rose from her seat. She was feeling giddy, and the room was stifling. She bowed to her hostess, and spoke in a voice which trembled.
"Permit me, Begum Saheba, now to depart, for it is getting late. Among our race young men seek no brides, and young girls choose no husbands. Parents arrange our marriages, and our religion teaches us to be faithful wives to those with whom we are united by God. And He blesses all true women, who devote themselves to their husbands and perform a wife's duty on earth."
The fervour of Hemlata's last words was not lost on her hostess, but Mihr-un-Nissa's game was not yet over. She was playing with her guest as a kitten plays with a poor wounded bird.
"Seat thyself for one moment, sweet lady of Debipur; thou hast been exceedingly kind to pay me this visit, leave me not so soon. I know the teachings of thy religion, which are also those of mine; but our Mullahs do not always control a man's wandering fancy, do they, my love?"
"But such wandering fancy is sin, Begum Saheba," replied Hemlata. "A man thinks not of a wedded woman without committing sin."
"But men are sinful, my sister, are they not? And they will sometimes think of women torn away from them and wedded to others, will they not? And, strange as it may seem, the wedded women, too, sometimes pardon the men who preserve their fair images in their manly hearts, do they not?"
This was positively wicked! What is worse—this was perhaps true! Hemlata, burning with anger and shame, rose from her seat again as she replied, "I expected not this from thee, Begum Saheba, when I came to see thee to-night. I am deeply indebted to thee for the good news thou hast given me. Permit me now to depart."
"Sit thee down, my sister," said Mihr-un-Nissa, now in a graver voice, "for I have a tale yet to tell. These eyes have seen young Norendra Nath—it matters not how or where. I have seen Princes and Chiefs in my day, but I have seen few who have a truer soul than the friend of thy childhood. And I tell thee more, gentle sister, if a woman's eyes can judge truly, Norendra Nath has not yet forgotten the girl he loved as a boy."
Hemlata trembled, and felt as if she would faint. She had not the power to make a reply.
"Pardon me if I have caused thee pain and sought to know something of thy past life and that of Norendra Nath. Trust me, it was not a woman's curiosity, or a woman's cruel disregard for a sister's feelings. A strange fatality has made two lives similar."
There was a pause. The lamps were very dim, and Hemlata could scarcely see the face of the strange woman who spoke so strangely.
"I have known of another woman who was loved by a man, one of the highest in the land of Hind. That woman is now the wife of another, but her lover carries her image in his bosom to this day."
Hemlata rose to depart.
"Ay, my Hindu sister, such things have happened on earth among Moslems and among Hindus. I seek not to probe thy secrets further, and I crave pardon for the pain I have caused, but thy life has a strange interest for me. It is strangely similar to that of—the woman of whom I have spoken. She is true and faithful to the brave man to whom she is wedded—but she has narrowly missed a throne!"
Thus spoke Mihr-un-Nissa, who was a true and faithful wife to Sher Afghan, but who could scarcely help remembering sometimes what she might have been. Did she dream, as she sat alone in that dimly-lighted room after her guest's departure, that the proudest throne of Asia would still be hers?