CHAPTER LXII.
There is nothing, perhaps, more effectual to deaden, if not to relieverecent misery, than the sensation of rapid motion. Leaning back inthe palankeen, with the doors now shut, and the fresh breeze blowingrefreshingly through the open blinds, Tara felt herself hurried swiftlyand smoothly along, while her attention was at once occupied anddistracted by the occurrences of the journey. Sindphul, its temple andtrees: the lane which was the bed of the rivulet, through which thebearers plashed rapidly: the village gate now shut, and its bastionsmanned with men to keep out marauders: the long shady narrow lane,overhung with trees;--then, beyond, the plain, covered with richcrops of grain now ripening: the shouts of the men and boys, perchedupon their stages in the fields, slinging stones at birds: the song,drawling and monotonous, of the bullock-drivers at the wells,--were allfamiliar objects and sounds to the desolate girl being carried rapidlyby them. Would she ever see them again?
As they passed their own garden, she looked among the trees--perchanceshe might see Sudba, the old bullock-driver, or Puresh-ram, thegardener; but there was no one visible, else she had cried out to them.Were they dead, too? Ah! how often had she wandered among the treesthere with her mother, and watched the butterflies among the flowers!The bearers stopped to change opposite the wicket gate, and she couldsee the bright beds of white jessamine, unpicked as yet, and largemarigolds, and white and yellow chrysanthemums, which the men weresaving for the Dussera. Who would gather them now? Over them, the samebright yellow and white butterflies were hovering in hundreds, andthe fierce green and blue dragonflies chasing each other, or dartinghere and there, quick as thought, and glistening in the sun. Then sheremembered the omen in her garden as she sat spinning, and fell back onthe pillow shuddering. It was true. She remembered too that the birdhad sat for a while, and twittered a sweet low song. Was he that bird,that noble, gracious youth, who had spoken to her so gently, so kindly?She tried to follow the thread of this thought back, but failed. Hermind was sadly confused and wandering, now reverting to the omen, nowto the objects she was passing, and the people they met:--who werethey? what doing? whither going?--to the horsemen, the monotonous trampof whose horses never ceased, some behind, some before, some aroundher,--fierce, dark-bearded fellows, whose very proximity she wouldhave dreaded before,--who were now guarding her respectfully by hisorder; while the kind old man, to whose charge she had been speciallycommitted, rode close to the side of the litter, and where the path wasnarrow, asked her, through the blinds, if she were well, and wantedanything.
Fazil, son of Afzool; she remembered the name. It was strange toHindu lips, but had a musical cadence, which her memory retained asshe repeated it to herself. Fazil, son of Afzool; and he had a sisterZyna. What would she be like? Would she be kind and loving to her? likeRadha? Was he not beautiful, and very fair, almost ruddy.
Into all these channels, confused, and whirling her mind hither andthither like dust and straws before the wind, her thoughts wandereddreamily, apparently avoiding the bare, hideous fact that all weredead whom she loved--all who had protected her up to last night. Butthis would not long be denied its place. It was a horrible reality notas yet fully understood:--which her gentle mind could not grasp.
Dead! who saw them die? They were alive last night,--who had killedthem? If she had seen them die, that, indeed, would be surety. No, itwas not true. They could not be dead,--they could not have left herso helpless. It was some fraud, some deception. She had not gone far:Sindphul was close by: she would run and sit in the garden, and waitfor her mother; and she half-opened the door of the litter. Shere Khanrode by it, erect and stern, but bowed down to her as the door moved."Do you want anything, lady?" he said. "Go to sleep; it will rest you."
The voice, kind as it was, dispelled the other thought, and broughtback the bitter reality of desolation and the events of the night.How she had been lifted up--and the girl Gunga's laugh of triumph andmockery rang in her ears, and was before her eyes now, as she pressedher hands against them: the rude men who carried her down the steps:the fearful shrieks and din in the temple: the shots and blows, growingfainter as they carried her away: and, above all, the voice of MoroTrimmul, exulting with Gunga that they were safe from death, and hadTara captive. "To Rutunjun first," he had said, "and then----"
"From that worse than death he saved me," she thought, with a shudder."Fazil saved me--Fazil, son of Afzool--else I were helpless withMoro now. And they were dead--her people, all dead? Yes, the detailFazil had related was brief and circumstantial. The Bhopeys would notlie--why should they? They were weeping, and had taken him up dead.Her father, a negro had killed him, they said. She felt no hope couldcome out of this detail. They had lifted him up and put him.... No,she could not follow that. That beloved father, dead--disfigured withghastly wounds!--mother, whom Janoo had seen dead, and Radha ... all?He had said so. How could he--Fazil--know of Janoo, or the Bhopeys, herfather's dependants, so as to deceive her with names?"
So, round and round, whirling, dashing hither and thither like themotes in a sunbeam, staying nowhere, sometimes utterly blank, thegirl's thoughts ministered to her fast growing misery. The hot dryeyes, red and swollen, looked out sometimes vacantly as the bearerschanged shoulders. She felt powerless to move, careless as to whatbecame of her. As the reality of the death of all, pressed on her mindoccasionally with greater force, she sat up and gasped for breath,and again fell back upon the cushions; then the monotonous cries ofthe bearers as they shuffled along rapidly, and the dull tramp of thehorses, with the sense of motion, were relief from mental agony: and,after a time, she slept.
The action of setting down the litter, awoke her with a start. Undersome trees not far from a village gate, there was the small hut of aFakeer. Shere Khan was speaking to the old man, and the troopers weredismounting from their horses. Shere Khan came to her.
"I have sent for the Josee's wife," he said. "The Syn here says she isa kind woman. She will bring you water and something to eat. We resthere while the men get their breakfasts, and the horses are fed. Fearnothing. Open the litter,--it is cool and pleasant in the shade underthe trees," and then he left her.
So it was. She opened the door and looked out. A small grove of mangotrees, with a smooth green sward below them, and some cattle and goatsgrazing there in the cool shade; a boy and a girl tending them lookedinquisitively at her, and the girl came up shyly and sat down by her.
"Do you want water, lady?" she said. "I am the Josee's daughter, andthose are my goats. I will go and tell my mother you want water. Youare a Brahmun, are you not?"
Tara patted her head in assent--she could not speak; and the girl ranaway, crying to the lad not to let her goats stray.
By-and-by the child and mother returned, and the latter brought acopper vessel of water and a drinking-cup.
"Here is water, lady," she said; "will you get out and wash your face?Surely, I know you," she continued quickly, as Tara turned her face toher. "Where have I seen you?"
"No matter," said Tara, "I do not know you."
"Perhaps not," said the dame drearily. "So many travellers come and go,and ... but no matter. Shall I cook anything for you? will you come toour house and bathe?"
"No," said Tara; "they will go on presently; I will stay here."
"Come hither, Ooma," she said to the girl, who was standing apart, andshe whispered to her; "go, and come quickly," she added aloud.
"Do not send for any one else," said Tara; "I am well."
"Are you not ill?" said the woman. "Ah, your eyes are red and swollen."
"I have a headache," replied Tara; "it is so hot."
"Yes," said the woman, sitting down, and putting her arm kindly roundTara, and pressing her head against her own bosom,--"yes, you looktired and weary, but it will pass away. Wash your face and hands,and your feet--it will do you good, and refresh you. Put out yourfeet--so--I will wash them."
The cool water was refreshing as it was poured over her hands and feet;and after the woman had dried them with the end o
f her saree, she againlaid Tara's head against her breast, and patted her as though she wereher own child.
"You look so weary," she said; "have you travelled far?"
"From Tooljapoor," Tara replied.
"Is all well there?" asked the woman. It was a common question with nomeaning to the asker, but of how much to Tara!
She could not answer, but clung, almost convulsively, to the kindbreast on which she had laid her head.
"I see," said the woman; "so young and rich, and yet thou art insorrow, lady--rest here." And she drew her the more closely to her, andpatted her as before. So they sat till the child came back, who broughtupon a plate, covered with a handkerchief, a few simple sweetmeats andsome parched rice. "Eat," she said, "if ever so little; eat a bit of'Luddoo,' and drink some water." Tara shook her head, and only nestledthe closer to the soft bosom: it was strangely like her mother's.
"Poor thing, poor thing," thought the woman to herself, "what can ailher? Perhaps her husband is unkind. Eat, my rose," she said aloud,"eat this." And she broke off a piece of the cake and put it to Tara'smouth. "I made it myself, and it is quite pure and clean. Eat it; openyour mouth." Tara did so mechanically, and she put it in.
Tara tried to eat, but her mouth was dry and hot; she could notswallow, and felt choking. The woman saw it, and rubbed her throatgently. The hardness and constriction seemed to relax, and she was ableto swallow what she had taken, and to eat a little more, the womanfeeding her.
"Good," she said kindly, "try again by-and-by. O lady, what heavy griefis on you that no tears come? Can I do aught for you?"
"Nothing," said Tara; "only do not leave me while they are absent."
So they sat silently. If Tara could have wept, it had been well; butthat blessed relief was not to come yet. She was quiet, however,sitting there, almost stupified, resting her head against the woman'sbreast, who still patted her. Every now and then the great, sore, hoteyes looked out drearily. Some of the goats and cattle browsed underthe trees, others had lain down resting in the shade. There was nosound but a faint rustle of the breeze among the leaves, the dim buzzof flies, and the droning song of a man, at a well in a garden near,singing to his bullocks, and the distant plashing rush of the water asit was emptied from the bag into the cistern.
And so they sat, till one by one the bearers gathered near them, andtied up their hookas on the palankeen as before. Then the horsemen cameup, and she heard Shere Khan asking her if she were ready, and tellingthe bearers to take up the palankeen. Tara had put the gifts she hadreceived at the shrine under her waist-band, and remembered them. Asthe palankeen was taken up she took them out and put them into thewoman's hand, who, expecting perhaps a few copper coins, stood lookingat them in amazement.
"May your grief pass from you, and may God be merciful unto you, mychild," said the woman. Ere Tara could reply, a bearer had shut thedoor, and the men ran on with renewed vigour.
Yes, the little change had refreshed her, and she again fell asleep,mercifully: and it was evening, and the shadows were lengthening fast,when she became aware that they approached a large town, passed througha busy bazar crowded with people, then emerged from it; crossed over abridge, from which a large piece of water was visible on the left hand,and the towers and bastions of a fort washed by it; then the gloom ofa deep-arched gateway, and light beyond. A respectably dressed elderlywoman, in Mahomedan costume, took hold of the side of the palankeen,and ran along with it a short distance.
"Stop," she cried to the bearers,--"this is the place; put it down andgo away."
Then Tara saw several other women advance and hold up a heavy sheet soas to screen her as she got out, and the door was opened; and Goolab,for she it was, speaking a rough dialect of Mahratta, bid her comeforth. As she did so, and stood there, Goolab "took the evil off her,"as was her custom;[13] and other women coming forward with plates,on which were coriander and mustard seed, waved them over her. Thuswelcomed, Tara now stood waiting a signal to advance; and Goolab,seeing her trembling violently, put her arm round her, looking withwonder at the richness of her apparel and the heavy gold ornaments shewore, her exceeding beauty causing respect and silence even from theloquacious and privileged nurse.
"Enter," said a low sweet voice from within a curtain hanging across adoorway, which was slightly opened.
FOOTNOTE:
[13] Women pass their hands over the person on whom the ceremony isperformed from head to foot; then, turning the backs of their handsagainst their temples, make all their knuckles and finger-joints crackloudly. This is done to avert consequences of Evil Eye.
Tara: A Mahratta Tale Page 64