India -- History -- 1526-1765 -- Fiction; Maratha (Indic people) -- History -- Fiction
"Only to cut these strings," he said, with a hard laugh, recovering
himself and dividing the cord which was tied round the paper containing
the gold anklets. "Look, Gunga!" and he held them up to the light, and
shook them till the little bells on them clashed gently.
"Thou art good," she said, looking up as he held them above her, still
shaking them; "they are very, very beautiful, but thou wilt not give
them to me, for thou hast not got Tara. Ah! thou hast just come from
her, and wilt not give them. Go! go back to her."
"But my sister is her father's wife, and these are heavier than Tara's.
I have not broken faith with thee, Gunga," he replied, "nor my oath at
the Pâp-nâs temple. Take them--they are thine henceforth. And now wilt
thou go with me, Gunga? I have prepared a horse for thee, and Bheema
can walk."
"To the end of life," cried the girl, who had risen to her knees to put
on the anklets, and who now clasped his feet,--"to the end of life!
Kill me if thou wilt, Moro Trimmul, who would care? It would be no pain
to Gunga."
CHAPTER IX.
A thick heavy rain was falling, which had lasted nearly all day without
intermission, and the afternoon was now advanced. The sky was one
uniform tint of dark grey, in which, near the horizon, some yellowish,
lurid colour occasionally appeared. Dark masses of cloud came up slowly
from the south-west at times, causing a deeper gloom as they passed
overhead, accompanied by bursts of rain, which sometimes fell in
sheets, deluging the ground, and dashing up muddy spray from the soft
earth. The air was stifling; and there was a strong sulphurous smell
with the rain, which increased the disagreeable effect of the close,
hot atmosphere. Sometimes a gentle breeze, hardly sufficient to give
the rain a slanting direction, arose, and felt refreshing; but as the
heavy clouds passed, it died away, and the rain fell perpendicularly
again, with a constant monotonous plash, which, coming from a wide
plain, sounded like a dull roar.
Little could be seen of the plain itself; for not only was the rain too
thick to allow of any distance to appear definitely, but there was a
steamy mist rising from the previously heated earth, which increased
the already existing dimness and gloom. Sometimes a few trees in the
vicinity, which appeared tall and ghostly in the grey light and thick
air, stood out more in detail as the rain slackened for a while, and
seemed to give promise of breaking; and on these occasions two villages
became dimly visible; one of them nearly a mile distant, the other
perhaps half a mile farther, situated to the right and left of what,
in dry weather, was a well-beaten road-track, but which could only now
be known as such, by being bare of grass, and by the slightly raised
banks, covered here and there by low bushes, which bounded it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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