Meanwhile the great ceremony of mourning for the sons of Ali drew on; the Moharram, celebrated in Hindustan alike by the Shias, who venerate their memory, and by the Sunnis, who uphold their murderers. The principal features of this celebration are processions of armed men, simulating the battle of Karbala; and the public funeral of the saints, represented, not by an effigy of their bodies, but by a model of their tombs. Loving spectacle and excitement, with the love of a rather idle and illiterate population whose daily life is dull and torpid, the people of India have very generally lost sight of the fasting and humiliation which are the real essence of the Moharram, and have turned it into a diversion and a show. But there was no show nor diversion for the citizens of Dehli that year, menaced by contending armies, and awed by the knowledge of a great crime. At length, on the 11th October, the last day of the fast, a sense of deliverance began to be vaguely felt. It began to be known that Ismail Beg was reconciled to Rana Khan, and that the latter was receiving reinforcements from the Deccan. Lestonneaux, with the formidable "Telinga" battalions of de Boigne, had already arrived; all was movement and din in the Pathan camp at Shahdara. Finally, as the short chill evening of the autumn day closed in, the high walls of the Red Castle blabbed part of their secret to those who had so long watched them. With a loud explosion, the powder magazine rose into the air, and flames presently spread above the crenellated parapets. The bystanders, running to the rampart of the town, facing the river, saw, by the lurid light, boats being rowed across; while a solitary elephant was moving down at his best pace over the heavy sands, bearing the rebel chief. Gholam Kadir had finally departed, leaving the Salimgarh by a sally-port, and sending before him the titular Emperor, the plundered controller of the household, and all the chief members of the royal family. The exact events which had passed in the interior of the palace that day can never now be known. Whether, as is usually thought, Gholam Kadir tried to set fire to the palace, that his long crime might be consummated by the destruction of Shah Alam among the blazing ruins of his ancestral dwelling; or whether, as the author of the Mozafari supposes, he meant to hold out against the Mahrattas to the last, and was only put to flight by the explosion, which he attributed to a mine laid by them, can only be a matter for speculation. To myself, I confess, the popular story appears the more probable. If Gholam Kadir meant to stand a siege, why did he send his troops across the river? and why, when he was retiring at the appearance of a mine — which he must have known was likely to be one of the siege operations — did he remove the royal family, and only leave his chief victim? Lastly, why did he leave that victim alive? Possibly he was insane.