Since leaving Attok, we had been accompanied by an escort of Sikhs, under Sirdar Lana Singh, who, it was expected, would have met the commander-in-chief on the frontier with an invitation to visit Maharajah Kurruk Singh (the reigning monarch of the country) at Lahore. Lana Singh being vested with no such authority, our original route, which lay through Lahore, was altered, and the force proceeded by a road which left the capital about fifteen miles to the East.
With a nation so punctilious in points of etiquette as the Sikhs had hitherto been, the fact of allowing the British forces to approach within so short a distance of their capital, without sending a deputation to wait on the commander-in-chief with an invitation to their court, betokened a slight which told plainly the ambiguous relations existing between the Lahore government and the British. The most probable cause of this omission was, that both the authority and intellect of Kurruk Singh being feeble, and the court itself in a turbulent and unsettled state, the ministers were unwilling that the British should be eye-witnesses of their present state of anarchy.
Dhian Singh, the prime minister, had always testified an aversion to the British, even in the days of Runjeet, according to Mr. Prinsep's account, and there is little doubt that this marked neglect was owing to his suggestion. Had they valued, or wished to court our friendship, as the old Lion of Lahore had ever done,[62] they would not have been thus tardy with their invitation, or at least, they would have made some apologies for the maharajah's inability, from ill-health or some other invention, to be honoured with an interview.
On the present occasion, we had arrived within fifteen miles of Lahore without any communication from the durbar, and at a small town named Budee, when late in the afternoon a party deputed by the Sikh government entered our camp, bringing the commander-in-chief the tardy courtesy of a request to visit the capital. Instructions having been received from the governor-general of India, conveying a desire that Sir John Keane should, if possible, visit the maharajah, the scanty ceremony was overlooked, and the commander-in-chief, escorted by the 16th Lancers, a troop of horse artillery, and a few native infantry, diverged from the route, and proceeded next morning towards Lahore, whilst the second column, under General Thackwell, continued their route by the more direct road to Ferozepore.
Having made two marches over an uninteresting country, speckled with patches of long dry grass and underwood, we arrived on the banks of the Ravee, and encamped close to the walls of Jehangire's tomb.
The city of Lahore lay about four miles distant, stretched along some gently rising ground on the opposite shore of the Ravee, but we could barely discern its locality owing to the haziness of the atmosphere. It was Christmas day, and decidedly the least merry one I can remember having passed. The gloom rivalled that of London at this period of the year; the clouds occasionally indulged us with a smart shower of rain, which, under canvas, is the most uncomfortable weather imaginable, especially when accompanied, as this was, by a piercing easterly wind, which swelled in the folds of our tents, and defied all efforts to exclude the noisy intruder. In the afternoon, the weather having cleared up a little, I visited the Emperor Jehangire's tomb, in company with a brother officer. We entered the extensive building by a gateway leading into a large square court, the four sides of which were pierced by a succession of small casements, each divided into two cells, which would have made very comfortable quarters for a Dragoon and his horse.
Calculating on the probability of their being ere long devoted to some such purpose, we found that the square would have well accommodated a cavalry regiment at its full strength. Crossing this yard, we passed under a lofty, arched gateway, and entered the gardens in which stood the tomb of the Emperor: a massive square building, of about thirty feet in relief, from the four angles of which rose the usual flanking parties, lofty and handsomely carved minarets. In the interior, we found nothing costly or worthy of note. On a platform of white marble steps, in the centre, stood the sarcophagus, made of the same material, whose sides had been chipped and defaced by the Sikhs, to exhibit their magnanimous contempt for the deceased Mussulman potentate. On ascending the exterior of the monument, we found the flat roof paved with stones of various colours, which had a singular effect, the whole constituting a pattern of great dimensions. As none of the stones were of any value, and all pretty tightly fastened with cement, the natural indolence of the Sikhs had saved this part of the structure from injury. On ascending one of the minarets, whence an excellent view of Lahore may be obtained on a clear day, we observed, at the further side of the garden, a small conical tomb, built to the memory of the far-famed, beautiful Nourmahal, wife of the Emperor Jehangire. Her pathetic and marvellous history has formed a theme for many relaters of tales throughout the east; but for the enlightenment of the few whose ears they may not have reached, I will give a brief sketch of the adventures assigned to her lot.
Nourmahal was the daughter of a ruined Tartar chief, and was born in the desert between Tartary and Hindostan when her parents were emigrating to the latter country. Overcome by weakness and fatigue on the journey, they found themselves unable to carry on the infant, and Nourmahal was left to perish where she was born. The mother, after deserting her child, was so overpowered with grief as to be unable to proceed, whereupon Aiass, the father, returned in search of the infant, which he found encircled by a large black snake. The reptile fled at his approach, and Aiass, finding to his surprise that the infant was uninjured, brought it to the mother. A caravan, shortly after, opportunely arrived, and relieved them from their distresses; and, without difficulty, the whole party reached Lahore, which was then the seat of government of the Moguls conjointly with Agra. Aiass having found a relative amongst the Omrahs of the Emperor Akbar, obtained, through that influence, a place in the household of the monarch, and rose in time to wealth and distinction. His daughter, who was called Mher el Nissa, (the sun of women,) possessed unequalled attractions of beauty, and was also remarkable for wit and accomplishments—a rare combination for an Eastern beauty.
Selim, the son of Akbar, being present at an entertainment given by Aiass, was much attracted by Mher el Nissa's graceful figure and voice; and the accomplished beauty, having accidentally dropt her veil, discovered to the happy prince such charms as had never before shone upon the eyes of man. Poor Selim, who was as much in love (as the Asiatics fictitiously term a passion of which they are ignorant) as a prince could be, applied to the Emperor Akbar to obtain for him the beautiful toy he had beheld. It was discovered that Mher el Nissa was betrothed to the Omrah Sher Afken, a Turcoman noble, who might be a dangerous enemy, and Akbar refused to employ harsh measures to dissolve the contract. The disappointed prince was therefore compelled to defer his passion and projects till a more convenient season, and Mher el Nissa became the wife of Sher Afken. After the lapse of a few years, when Selim had ascended the throne under the name of Jehangire, Sher Afken left the court and retired to Burdwan. He was recalled from thence by Jehangire to the court then held at Delhi, and the monarch testified so much regard for the Turcoman chief, that he very naturally concluded that all was sincere and disinterested on the part of Jehangire.
At a royal tiger-hunt which took place, the noble beast was marked down in the jungle, and Jehangire, knowing Sher Afken's character for strength, personal courage, and love of adventure, demanded that volunteers, to meet the tiger single-handed with a sword, should present themselves; four came forward, Sher Afken amongst them, and, whilst the others were contending for the precarious honour, the Turcoman Omrah offered to face the tiger without a weapon. Jehangire, with inward joy and outward reluctance, assented. Sher Afken advanced to the lair, and man and beast rushed into each other's clutches. The tiger made some use of his claws, and mangled his opponent; but he had to do with a hero of romance and not a mere mortal, consequently the complaisant beast submitted, and allowed himself to be strangled. The fame of Sher Afken rose with this exploit; he recovered from his wounds, and became much honoured by the people and petted by the monarch, who had many similar adventures in store for him. An elephant was sent to crush Sher Afken in his palanquin. The hero arose, and, with one blow of a short sword, cut the elephant's trunk asunder at the root, and killed him on the spot. Forty hired assassins tried to murder him during the night; he slew twenty, and generously allowed the remainder to escape. Sher Afken seems at last to have discovered that Mher el Nissa was the object of Jehangire's persecutions, and as it is considered a foul stain on a man's honour in the East to part with any of his wives, the troublesome husband retired with the sun of women, to his private residence at Burdwan. The chief of that Bengal province immediately received instructions to remove the modern Uriah to a better world, and, approaching under the pretext of a tour of inspection, but with a large retinue, the king's official visited Sher Afken, who met him unattended. The royal party soon proceeded to business; but Sher Afken having pulled down an elephant and castle, slain the emperor's agent, and killed a nobleman at every blow, was at last surrounded by archers and matchlock men, who galled him from a distance. He did not condescend to fall before his horse was killed, and six bullets, and arrows innumerable, had perforated his body; then, discovering he was mortal, the gallant and devout Omrah turned towards Mecca, threw sand on his head, and began to die. The soldiers dared not approach until he was in his last agonies. The party then hastened in search of Mher el Nissa, fearing that in the first outburst of regret for her irreparable loss she might wish to accompany her deceased husband to Heaven; but happily she was less overcome than they expected, and appeared resigned to her fate, declaring it was entirely out of regard to her husband, that he might be immortalized by his wife becoming afterwards Empress of India, that she submitted to become Jehangire's sultana.