Legendary & romantic tales of Indian history

by Hobart Caunter

The royal fugitive now thought that he was beyond the reach of pursuit, and, in a state of enviable tranquillity, threw himself upon a rug in a corner of his hovel. He was too happy to sleep, and lay thinking upon the splendid prospects opening before him, and which appeared on the eve of consummation. The first man in the empire had armed in his cause; the whole imperial army appeared favourable to his pretentions, and few or none of the principal Omrahs, so far as he could ascertain, had declared against him. He was secure in the affections of the most beautiful princess of her age. Being young, in high health, and in the vigour of early manhood, he foresaw nothing but enjoyment.

As he lay pondering the happiness which his full and joyous heart flattered itself was in store for him, he seemed to be carried into a new but delightful world, where the visionary was not to be distinguished from the true, but where there was nothing of the one or the other to arrest that full tide of fruition which was flowing in upon him. His very body appeared to be lifted above this gross earth, and though it was reclined upon a coarse rug, within the small dirty sty of a Bheel, it was at that moment alive to sensations of thrilling delight. The soul was too buoyant to be tied down to the material pleasures of this gross world, but soared with the imagination into a new field of bliss, where, though it was entranced in a delusive dream of the moment, this was nevertheless one of those exquisite fictions which have all the glow and vividness of the most distinct reality. These happy visions at length gave way to a profound sleep; his senses were steeped in an unconsciousness so absolute that no perceptible image passed over the fine speculum of the brain, which the heavy breath of slumber had rendered too dull for reflection. In the midst of his stubborn repose he was roused by sounds that portended evil. He listened; the clash of arms was distinguishable, and presently blended with the shouts of conflict. Morning had not yet dawned, but the stars were bright above, and there was sufficient light to distinguish objects not very remote. The prince was staggered, he knew not what to think. It occurred to him that part of the garrison, from whose custody he had escaped, must have traced him to his retreat, and were in the act of attempting a rescue. Impelled by his apprehension for the princess, he rushed towards the hut which she occupied, but to his consternation found it deserted. None of her attendants were at hand. The shouts of battle still sounded in his ears; he bounded forward, but was almost immediately surrounded. Being unarmed, he could offer no resistance. How suddenly was the beautiful fabric raised by the enthusiastic ardour of hope subverted! His hands were instantly secured, and he was ordered to proceed between two soldiers, two preceding and two following.

Light streaks of grey were beginning to dapple the horizon. The prince was now made acquainted with the nature of the late conflict, which he already partly suspected. Sultan Shariar, having been apprized, just before the princess quitted her home, that she had projected a plan for the delivery of Dawir Buxsh, had ordered a strong party of troops to follow in her track, suspecting that she was about to proceed to the place where his competitor for the throne of the Moguls would lie concealed, if he should succeed in effecting his escape. The princess, the better to cover her design, quitted her home under pretence of making a pilgrimage to an ancient mosque raised by one of the early Mahomedan conquerers. Her intention was no secret to her father, who ordered her to be followed at a convenient distance, and brought back when she should have reached the place of her destination, with the Prince Dawir Buxsh, if he should be discovered there. This order had been executed with such success that both the princess and her affianced husband fell into the hands of the detachment from Shariar’s army, as has been already detailed.

As the dawn advanced the troops were galled by arrows from the Bheels, who lay in ambush in the various thickets of the jungle. Not an enemy was to be seen, and yet the frequent wounds received by the Sultan’s soldiers as they descended the hill told with a forcible eloquence how deadly were the foes by whom they were surrounded. In order to keep their body as compact as possible, that it might present less surface to the arrows of the foe, they marched in close column of six deep, dividing in the centre, where the princess was borne in her palankeen, and the prince, guarded by six soldiers, brought up the rear. The column was dreadfully galled as it proceeded. Several soldiers fell dead from the arrows of their secret foes. There was no evading the peril, and no possibility of reaching the bowmen, who were so intimately acquainted with every intricacy of the jungle that the moment they were pursued they disappeared among the thickets, where it was impossible to follow them.

The prince was vigilantly guarded; but in passing through a dark hollow of the wood, the two soldiers on either side of him received at the same moment an arrow in their temples, and expired on the spot, the four others being likewise wounded, though not mortally. A party of Bheels darted from the covert in an instant and seized the captive, but were impeded by the brave resistance of the four wounded soldiers, until a party of the main body came up and put those bold mountaineers to flight. In the struggle, their royal prisoner received a severe sabre-cut on the back part of his arm, which was bound up tightly with his turban to prevent the effusion of blood. Happily for Sultan Shariar’s troops, their march through the jungle was not a long one, or they would have been more than probably cut off to a man.

Upon gaining the bottom of the hill, the detachment entered a naked plain, in which, after a short march, they halted near a village, under a tope or grove of mango trees. Such however was the severe execution done among them in their progress through the forest, that upon numbering their force, they discovered that fifteen out of a hundred had been killed, and thirty-two wounded, nine of whom they were obliged to leave behind them at the village, to the care of the native surgeons. The prince’s arm was here examined, but the hurt, though severe, was found to be only a flesh wound; which being dressed, the detachment proceeded on its march after taking a slight repast, and halted a second time at another village, about two hours before noon. Here the prince began to suffer considerable pain from his wound. He became feverish and depressed. He requested to be allowed an interview with the princess, which was refused. The reaction of disappointment soon increased his feverish symptoms to an alarming extent. He was now as despondent as he had been previously exhilarated, and saw nothing in the future but gigantic miseries, or the shadows of departed joys. His heart sickened; he gave way to unmanly sorrow. His ardent spirit, which had been elevated to the highest pinnacle of hope, sank at once into the very lowest depths of despair. He felt as if the stroke of death would be a blessing. His fever increased to such a degree that he was unable to proceed, for he had hitherto been forced to march like a common soldier. In consequence of his illness a rude litter was provided, upon which he was placed, a coarse cloth being thrown over it, to exclude the scorching rays of the sun, and he thus proceeded, borne upon the shoulders of six men. No entreaties could induce the officer commanding the detachment to allow him to hold a moment’s conversation with Shariar’s daughter, who was guarded with a vigilance that defied evasion. She was, however, treated with the greatest respect, and every attention paid to her comfort; while her cousin, on the contrary, had not only been treated with marked disrespect, but subjected to many painful indignities. Of this his companion in sorrow was ignorant. Still, although every wish she expressed consistent with her security was immediately granted, yet her earnest solicitations to see the prince were refused. She therefore proceeded in silence and in sadness under this bitterest privation of her captivity.

The illness of Dawir Buxsh was studiously kept from her knowledge, nor until they reached their destination was the circumstance of his having been wounded made known to her.

Upon their arrival at Shariar’s camp, the prince was consigned to a tent which was rigidly guarded; and the father having upbraided his daughter with treachery, gave her into the custody of some of the female attendants of the harem, who took her to a tent in the rear of the encampment, likewise surrounded by a numerous and vigilant guard. Her ordinary attendants were withdrawn; the men distributed in different divisions of the army, and the women sent to other services.

The royal prisoner was kept in rigid confinement; and though his fever became high and threatened to be fatal, not even a servant was permitted to wait upon him. He was deeply galled at this indignity; but the guards derided his expostulations, and he was left to struggle against his malady as he best might. The strength of his constitution prevailed. On the third day the violence of his fever abated, and his wound began rapidly to heal.

Shariar, hearing that the Vizier was advancing towards him with the imperial army, which, though less in number than his own, was composed of choicer troops, was afraid of proceeding to extremities against his prisoner, lest it should weaken his own cause by casting upon him the slur of having murdered a nephew and lawful heir to the throne. He was nevertheless in hopes that harsh treatment might aggravate the fever which the prince’s wound had induced, and thus, by removing out of his way a dangerous competitor, leave the road to empire comparatively clear before him.