by Harold Lamb
“And when the goshawk mates, where will you find the female bird?"
“In the eyrie of her mate."
“Aye, Nureddin. Now while the heat of love, rising from the center of life in the human body, which is the stomach—"
“Nay; the kidneys." This was a debated point between the two.
“Nay; the Frankish philosophers claim the heart, yet the wisdom of Arabia, allied to the lore of Avicenna, proclaims it the stomach. The heat of love dulls the keenness of the brain. Yet Aristotle, who is the master of learning, proves by experiment that when animals mate the male is rendered doubly alert and jealous of danger. So with human beings, Nureddin—for we are naught but higher beasts—"
“The Buddhist priests claim we are animals reincarnate—"
“Then Kargan is a buffalo reborn. Yet what I would say is this: Rao Singh will be thrice as wary now as heretofore, on behalf of Kera, whom he has taken to himself. Therefore he will be crafty
in selecting a retreat. Yet his instincts will lead him to flee near his homeland."
Nureddin raised his brows. “Jhilam?"
“Not near the castle. That were madness. Or supreme cleverness, such as—"
“Only Shaista Mirza possesses."
“Nay, but near to Jhilam are barren hills."
“Aye, lord; north of the lake."
“Yet he will not ride to the country of Kargan Khan. So perchance Rao Singh may be found north of the lake. Send riders out to over-cast the countryside."
Shaista Mirza stretched back on his cushions, his eyes closed. Frequently he was in bodily pain bred of his disease.
“Send a messenger to the Mogul saying that by his favor I, Shaista Mirza, will hunt down the lawless defiler of the seraglio."
“And Kargan Khan?"
The Persian opened his eyes, and their stare was baneful. “Nureddin, I have a thought that mighty omens are foreboding events in my favor. I ask for your wisdom, gleaned from the stars. Are the coming days favorable to me? Is my star ascendant?"
There was genuine anxiety in his voice. Like many men of genius Shaista Mirza trusted much in the potent element of destiny. Nureddin considered.
“The season of Taurus is past, lord," he responded. “Yet the days of Capricorn, of the Goat, are auspicious. Aye, your birth-star is high. Great events may be forthcoming."
“Then," cried Shaista Mirza, “we will deal with Kargan Khan —not now but later. First we will find Rao Singh."
V
It was cold among the deodars midway up the long slope that led to the Himalaya peaks. Animals here bore a thicker coat than those south of the Wular lake.
Yet in the Wular davan—valley—towered precipices, and in the base of these were caves. It was at the upper end of the davan
where the gorge terminated in a rock-tangle that Ahmad Rumi had his hut, and the hut was but cedar slabs placed across the entrance of a cavern with skins of mountain sheep within to lie upon, and a cleft in the rock overhead to carry off the smoke from the fire.
Not that Ahmad Rumi could cut himself firewood. The Kashmiris of the forest saw to that—and likewise brought fish at intervals. But now in the first moon of the early Winter of the year 1609 they brought also smoke-cured mutton and goat's milk.
For instead of one there were now four in the Wular davan. And the Kashmiris ran from a great distance a few at a time to look upon the face of the son of Sattar Singh and his bride.
They were small squat men in ragged gray woolen tunics and round hats, and their women in shawls. They came a few at a time in spite of the cold. They came from their mountain nests, from the caverns by the lake and from the valleys as far distant as the border of Baramula, which was the land of Kargan Khan and his Kirghiz.
In fact many of them were Kirghiz—those that boasted ponies and felt yurts, and were of the breed of the northern steppe. And so it happened that Kera of Kargan, who was the mate of Rao Singh, felt no terror at sight of the ragged groups, for they were like to her own people, the Kirghiz, whom she remembered from her child-days.
They asked no gifts from Rao Singh, knowing the tale of his misfortune—how he had been kept as a prisoner at the Mogul's camp. In that Winter the verdant land of Jhilam was rife with poverty, arisen from the tithes of Shaista Mirza, and few but the aksakals of the Kirghiz yurts possessed two horses.
It was a strange court that Rao Singh held. His bride, daughter of a Kha Khan and a beauty among the women of the Mogul, had no better quarters than the hut of Ahmad Rumi, which had been given up to her and her lord. She lacked the jewels and the perfumes bestowed upon their women by the southern ameers.
Her lord owned but two horses, and only one of these better than the average—and his sword. He had no wealth, for he had been shown no favors by Jahangir—consequently none by the nobles of the empire, to whom Jahangir's disfavor was a potent ban.
Yet Kera of Kargan did not complain. She was happy in Rao Singh. Kera was barely at the verge of womanhood—a shy, darkfaced girl with splendid black hair that matched her eyes and a free spirit bred of her early life on the steppe. She was round of arms, with strength in her youthful limbs. This was well, since a woman of the hotter climate, accustomed to the luxuries of Hindustan, could not have survived the days in the hills.
She sang to herself and bound her silver ornaments in her long hair by aid of the mirror of the spring near the cavern. This she did to make herself fair in the sight of Rao Singh, who was her lord.
“Eh, my lord," she had said, “may it not be that we can ride to the encampment of Kargan? It would be well that we should do this, for evil tales will be whispered to him and he will hear naught that is good of you if I am not the messenger. Yet great is his love for me, and he will take heed when I speak."
“Nay; you are mine, no longer Kargan's," Rao Singh had replied fiercely.
He did not add that patrols of horsemen had been seen near the lake, or that the Kashmiris had reported search being made for the two. It would have been courting danger to venture from the valley.
Here the forest men kept guard vigilantly, and they were reasonably safe. Moreover the chance of discovery was lessened if they stayed in one spot.
“Who shall safeguard you, Light of my World," whispered Rao Singh, his dark eyes aflame with the beauty of the girl, “but me?"
Kera sighed. “We have many enemies, my lord. I have a woman's thought and wish that we could seek the Baramula and the might of Kargan. He has many horsemen—and his anger is quick. Who can pen the waters when the dam has burst? Let me speak with him and win his pride to our favor."
“Nay," said Rao Singh again, “will the Khan of Baramula look with favor on one who is an outcast? The time will come—so says the wise Ahmad Rumi—when I shall ride to meet Kargan with horsemen at my back as one chief to another."
So it happened that the pride of the youth kept Kera from sending a messenger to the Kirghiz. In this he blundered perhaps. If Kera had had her way it might have altered the events that came to pass in Jhilam during the space of that moon.
Kera was content to obey her lover. Cheker Ghar, who liked the cold little, still bestirred himself to amuse her—saying naught of his disappointment at the poor fortunes of Rao Singh.
“Ho, Flower of the Hills," he would cry, “when had a woman such rare followers? Here is Ahmad Rumi, who is councilor of owl-like wisdom and can repeat his Muslim proverbs and legends with the art of one who is schooled in chronicles and books. And I, my lady—behold the chosen buffoon of the imperial bazaar!"
He waved his lean hand toward his precious leopard-skin and salaamed.
“Aye, even unworthy I—unworthy in the fragrant splendor of your beauty—yet a paladin among conjurers, buffoon and mimic without a peer—"
Whereupon he gathered his cloak about his scant form and strode about in the semblance of an ameer until Kera clapped her hands in delight.
“Behold," he chattered, rejoiced to see her merriment, “a eunuch of the royal seraglio."
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He puffed out his dark cheeks and bound his voluminous turban in the Turk fashion and clutched a stick, which he bore before him like a scimitar, scaling his voice to the shrill pitch of one of those unfortunate creatures. Rao Singh, even, smiled at his performance, and Ahmad Rumi turned his sightless eyes toward the mimic in gentle approval.
Secretly Cheker Ghar turned up his nose at association with the blind Muslim; yet he spoke not of this dislike, nor of the many things he did in defiance of the dictates of his caste for the sport of Kera of Kargan.
“If," ventured Rao Singh, “that was the likeness of him you named Bara, you need not fear he will call you to account. I left my knife in the chief eunuch's ribs."
“Ho, verily?"
Cheker Ghar smiled broadly.
“Then my heart is light, for the Purified One was such but in name, and he was like to a thriced-defiled swine that has eaten of filth."
The conjurer had an uncanny knack at mimicry. So great was his skill that he frequently confounded Ahmad Rumi, who thought that Rao Singh or another addressed him when Cheker Ghar spoke.
With others than the light-hearted Kera he took his profession with grave seriousness. He was at such times not so much the buffoon as the Hindu master of magic. Only for her would he powder his face white and make idle sport. Cheker Ghar loved her as a dog loves its mistress, and this love was to bear fruit in due course.
Often he would sit squatted opposite the fire from the legend-teller while Kera and Rao were together on the hillside and their Kashmiri followers were on watch.
“Harken, Son of the Owl," Cheker Ghar whispered to the Muslim, “and tell me what is this you hear—"
A plaintive cry floated through the cavern, coming apparently from the cleft overhead.
“It is kulan, the wild ass, calling."
The cry changed to a grunting, snapping torrent of sound, echoing from a corner of the cave.
“The wild pig of the jungle!" muttered the blind man. “Bismil-lah—does such an animal of filth approach?"
“Nay," said the mimic seriously, “have no fear; I will guard you from defilement."
He bellowed suddenly, hoarsely.
“The mountain buffalo, the yak, calling to its mates, Cheker Ghar."
A shrill, grunting moan issued from the Hindu in such a fashion as to appear as from a distance. Ahmad Rumi lifted his white head.
“A camel complains under its load as the pack is bound on by the camel man."
“Aye," assented Cheker Ghar, pleased. “Yet there is no yak, and no camel in the valley. Is it not magic then?"
“There is no magic but the will of Allah."
And so the days passed under the cloud of danger with scant food and comforts until Bember Hakim found his way to the hut; and with him came Khlit.
The wanderer entered quietly into the life of the valley, asking nothing from Rao Singh and providing his own meat, which he obtained in ways best known to himself.
He constructed a shelter of sheepskins not far from the cavern. Khlit disliked to live under a roof, and so pitched his yurt in a pine grove where his horse could be picketed.
Ahmad Rumi removed his prayer-carpet and skins to the yurt, where he fell to talking much with Khlit. The life suited the Cossack, and the davan provided good concealment from the riders who searched the hills.
The Kashmiris had reported that the Mogul cavalry were no longer questing for Rao Singh, but others kept up the pursuit. So well chosen was the hiding-place in the valley that it had not been noticed. The rock walls were sheer on one side, and on the other was dense forest. Nothing was to be seen from the lake side, and from the overhanging peaks the davan appeared nothing more than a break in the forest.
By now the searchers were striking farther afield to the North, and Rao Singh felt that they had escaped discovery. He himself began to make excursions to the haunts of the Kashmiris at the urging of Ahmad Rumi, who felt that the coming of Rao Singh would work a miracle of some kind and aid the suffering peasants of Jhilam.
“Verily," he assured Khlit, “is he not the son of Sattar Singh, who extended the hand of mercy to the wound of my suffering?"
“He is a man half-grown," grunted Khlit, “who loves a woman. What skill has he in warfare?"
“Eh, he may adorn the pearl of love with the diamond of mercy," said the legend-teller wistfully. “Allah grant I may see him Lord of Jhilam. I have prayed much, but the span of my life draws to an end."
He showed the Cossack a white garment wrapped beneath his clean tunic. It was a winding-sheet.
Except with Ahmad Rumi Khlit talked little. Rao Singh and Kera were wrapped up in each other, and Cheker Ghar in Kera. Khlit from long habit made no advances and kept to himself.
Rao Singh and his small colony entertained no distrust of the wanderer, for the reason that Khlit was an outcast such as they. They had heard from the Kashmiris that he was banned by the Mogul, and they knew that, having slain by chance two men of Shaista Mirza's, he could claim no alliance with the Persian.
As for Bember Hakim, he occupied himself in collecting herbs, a task which took him away from the valley for long intervals, and otherwise accepted his hard lot with characteristic philosophy.
“Now, my lady," quoth Cheker Ghar, squatting at the feet of Kera, “we have a physician of the court. What lack we now?"
He rose and began to move around, limping after the manner of Bember Hakim and uttering pseudo-learned remarks on the Arabic sciences until he saw her smile.
“Naught save the protection of Kargan Khan," she said, leaning her smooth chin on her arms. “Would I might send Khlit to him with word from me!"
“The rider of the black horse performs errands for no one, Flower of the Hills. His look fills me with a fear. It is like a wolf, looking into the distance."
He shook his turbaned head moodily. “A wolf—aye, for he is not one of us. And when did a wolf do a kindness to others?"
He sighed. “As for Kargan Khan, methinks the Kirghiz would welcome you to his yurt, my lady, but we others would have our blood let from our veins by his sharp sword."
Now it happened that it was night when Cheker Ghar said this, and they were seated by the fire in the cavern, Rao Singh being absent on one of his rides.
The hour grew late, and Kera, wearied with the tricks of the conjurer and becoming anxious for her lover, left the fire and sought the sheep path by which Rao Singh would ride back to the davan. She walked swiftly for the night was cold and she knew the way leading to a rock—a favorite resting-place of their guards—by the trail. But recently the Kashmiris had given over their vigil as the pursuing bands had not visited the vicinity.
Kera wrapped her sheepskin khalat about her slender shoulders and tripped along in her light leather boots. Unlike the women she had lived with in Hindustan, the solitudes of the forest held no fear for her. She passed between giant pine-trunks and slipped around trailing junipers. A scanty fall of snow had rendered it easy to follow the trail, outlining the bulk of tree and rock.
She seated herself on the stone she sought, drawing up her knees under her chin for warmth. Then she lifted her head alertly. She had heard a heavy tread along the sheep path. Her pulse quickened at the sound.
She had been moody that night, perhaps because of the absence of Rao Singh, perhaps because of the tales of Ahmad, who had been depressed in spirit. The legend-teller had said that he had a premonition of danger.
Kera stared at the dark form that paced toward her, coming from the valley. Opposite the rock it halted, and she heard Khlit's voice.
“Have you a fear, little girl?"
It was a deep voice without pretense of anything but gruffness. Kera sat up straight, her heart still beating swiftly.
“What seek you?"
Up to now she had felt more uncertainty than pleasure at Khlit's presence. The Cossack was not one to impress women favorably. Yet Kera was not afraid of him. She watched—seeing him dimly—while he scanned the trail, then leaned a
gainst the rock with folded arms, his head on a level with her own.
“I seek that which is a thorn in the side of Rao Singh," he said slowly.
Kera hissed angrily.
“I? A thorn? Dolt! One without understanding!"
She fumbled in her girdle for the dagger that she carried, but Khlit did not move, nor did he look at her. He was watching where the pine-branches took shape slowly against the sky and the gleam of the many stars paled as the moonlight flooded the vast spaces of the air from a hidden quarter somewhere behind the hills.
The snow summits were turning from dull gray to silver, and the shadows deepened. Shafts of silver shot through the branches, forming a tracery in the snow, outlining the sticks and rocks that had been invisible before.
“A thorn, Kera of Kargan. You are a woman and you love. See you not that Rao Singh is brooding?"
The girl considered this silently, peering at Khlit as if she tried to read his meaning in his face. She no longer felt disturbed at his presence.
“Aye, Khlit, my heart has told me that. Yet it is for me that Rao Singh has a foreboding."
“Ahmad Rumi has talked much. He is full of words. He has told me you left a silk couch in a velvet tent to be by the side of Rao Singh. Yonder hut is a poor shelter for a woman—they are like to birds who seek a soft nest. Is it not so?"
The Kirghiz girl laughed softly. “Who does not like the touch of silk? Yet with Rao Singh lies my path and my heart. My pride is his strength; he is a mighty lord."
“Without a follower save for yonder mummers. Kera, would you ride back to the tents of the Mogul? Then your body would again lie in ease."
Again Kera laughed, resting her face sidewise on her arms, which were clasped over her knees.
“Ho, the fool is a mighty fool," she whispered softly. “He is blinder than the poor Muslim. He has the wisdom of the dullard yak. Aye, though Ahmad Rumi said that he had once been Khan of the Horde. Nay, Ahmad Rumi lied, for you, Khlit, are the one that is—" again her laugh echoed softly—“blind. More blind than the teller of legends."
She glanced up the trail hopefully at the sound of a falling twig, and sighed.