Historical fiction; India -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Thugs (Indic criminal group) -- Fiction
Alas! Sahib, those eyes did me great mischief--I could not withstand
them. About noon, when we had rested from our fatigue, and my men were
dispersed in various directions, scarcely any of them remaining in
the camp, the slave-girl again came for me, and I followed her to her
mistress. We sat a long time in silence, and the lady was muffled up
as I had before seen her. Despite of all my conflicting feelings, I
own, Sahib, that in her presence my home was forgotten, and my burning
desire was fixed upon the veiled being before me, of whose countenance
I was even still ignorant.
She spake at last, but it was to the slave. "Go," said she, "and wait
without, far out of hearing; I have that to say to this gentleman which
must not enter even your ears, my Fazil."
She departed, and I was alone with the other, and again there was a
long, and to me a painful, silence. "Meer Sahib," she said, at length,
"what will you think of me? what will you think of one who thus exposes
herself to the gaze of a man and a stranger? But it matters not now: it
has been done, and it is idle to think on the past. I am the widow of a
nuwab, whose estate is near Agra; he died a short time ago at Nagpoor,
on his way from Hyderabad, whither he had gone to see his brother, and
I was left friendless, but not destitute. He had abundance of wealth
with him, and I was thus enabled to live at Nagpoor, after sending news
of his death to my estate, in comfort and affluence. The messengers I
sent at length returned, and brought me the welcome news that there
was no one to dispute my right to my husband's property; and that my
own family, which is as noble and as powerful as his was, had taken
possession of the estate and held it on my account; and they wrote to
me to return as quickly as I could, and among the respectable men of
the land choose a new husband, by whom I might have children to inherit
the estate. I immediately set off on my return--ah! Ameer Ali, how can
I tell the rest! my tongue from shame cleaves to the roof of my mouth,
and my lips refuse utterance to the words which are at my heart."
"Speak, lady," said I; "by your soul, speak! I burn with impatience,
and you have excited my curiosity now too powerfully for it to rest
unsatisfied."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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