Legendary & romantic tales of Indian historyCaunter, Hobart
History
Legendary & romantic tales of Indian history
Caunter, Hobart
India -- History -- Fiction
There being no shelter near, the husband fixed the handle of his
umbrella into the ground, and throwing over it a thin palampore,[33]
formed a kind of rude tent, under which his wife might repose without
immediate exposure to the unwholesome night air. She was exhausted with
fatigue; her tongue was parched with thirst, and the rapid increase
of circulation too plainly told that fever was fast coming on. To
attempt to depict the husband’s agony were a vain endeavour. Without
food--without water--his wife actually in the pains of labour--with
no hope of relief--in the midst of a vast wilderness, which even the
wild beasts shunned as a solitude where only death and desolation
reigned--he had no thought but that both must lie down and die. The
sufferings of his hapless companion were appalling, yet she bore
them without a murmur. The severity of her pangs aggravated that
thirst by which she had been so long and so grievously oppressed. He
had but one alternative, and did not hesitate to adopt it in such a
trying emergency. His wife’s agonies were every moment increasing. He
quitted the insecure canopy which he had erected for her temporary
accommodation, seized his dagger, ran to the pony, and, in a paroxysm
of tumultuous anxiety to save the life of the object dearest to him
upon earth, plunged it desperately into the animal’s throat. Having
caught the blood in a wooden trencher, he bore it to the tent.
During his short absence, his wife had become a mother. The cry of the
poor babe raised within him, at this moment, emotions of parental joy;
but these were in an instant stifled by the consciousness of those
awful perils by which he was surrounded. He put the bowl to the lips of
the suffering mother; she took a small quantity, and was in a slight
degree refreshed. He now kindled a fire upon the wide blasted desert,
and broiled some flesh of the animal which he had just slaughtered. It
was tough and rank. The juices, however, of this unpalatable repast
subdued in a degree the yearnings of hunger and the dreadful pangs of
thirst.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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