“Hold, blasphemer!” cried a huge gaunt devotee, the bones of whose joints were heard to clatter as he wielded his fleshless arms with the most extravagant gesticulations; “bend the knee to those holy men who have defeated the sons of darkness, and are about to place upon the throne of the Moguls a queen who shall close the dynasty of Timour, and fill the world with the children of the faithful,—for you are all aliens from the true stock.”
The prisoner turned from this filthy saint with an expression of disgust, and allowed him to rail at the Emperor and all his faithful subjects till he foamed like a gored bull with the frantic energy of his vociferations.
They now entered upon a scene of desolation not to be witnessed without deep emotion, which naturally follows wherever the melancholy consciousness arises that a vast addition has been made to the sum of human misery. For leagues, as they proceeded onward, nothing was to be seen but deserted villages; the whole country having been laid waste, and bearing the appearance of “a land not inhabited.” The jungles had been fired; and for miles the ashes left by the devouring element, and the charred trunks of trees, which had for centuries lifted their sturdy limbs amid the feebler growth of the forest, showed how terrific had been the conflagration. Not a shrub, not a blade of grass, not a single trace of vegetation, was anywhere visible; and as the stranger cast his eyes over the scene of devastation, he could not help expressing his indignation against the perpetrators of such wanton outrage.
“Ay,” said one of the enthusiasts; “we take care not to provide forage for enemies; they who visit the stronghold of the fakeers, must make up their minds to take a hungry journey. If ever you live to see your friends, you will have strange news to tell them, believe me. When holy men seize the sword, and fight in carnal battles, no mortal arm can resist them. We have taught your sovereign what it is to oppose Heaven’s vicegerents. He is already tottering on his throne. You shall see and know more anon.”
The ogre-like being who spoke had taken so much opium during the journey thus far, as to have reached that pitch of excitement to which, when a fakeer arrives, he can submit to bodily tortures altogether incredible. His eyes glared with the glassy radiance of incipient madness. Though the heat was intolerable, and the earth steamed with the intensity of the sun’s rays, like exhalations from a caldron, he leaped about, and threw himself into a thousand contortions, until his body was covered with a tawny scum from the severity of his exercise. After he had fatigued himself by these violent antics, he took a number of large needles, and having passed them through the flesh in several parts of his body, threaded them with silks of various colours, and then strutted before the party with the pride and bearing of one conscious of having performed an act for which he should receive the homage of his companions, who treated him with a reverence evidently very flattering to the spiritual vanity of this mad visionary. Having at length relieved himself from the needles, he drew the silken strings through the wounds, and then attaching to each a small pointed instrument, exceedingly sharp, turned himself round until the rotation became so violent that the outline of his figure was scarcely distinguishable. When he ceased, his body was covered with gashes and reeking with blood.
After six hours of continued travelling, with scarcely a pause, the party arrived at the foot of a small hill, which had evidently been spared from the devastation that exhibited so sad a prospect in the surrounding country. The prisoner, though overcome by the excessive fatigue of so arduous a journey, was not allowed to pause, but compelled to proceed up the ascent. About midway a considerable ruin was disclosed, upon which the last rays of the sun slanted, as it was sinking behind the low hills that skirted the distant plain. The entrance was lofty, and encumbered with fragments of pillars, which time or violence had thrown down. Within was an extensive area; on every side of it were gigantic sculptures, representing the history of some Hindoo superstition, which had been greatly mutilated by the zeal of pious Mahomedans. This building was a dilapidated choultry, and had been converted into the vestibule of the abode of an old crone, bending beneath the weight of years, and mistress of inexhaustible treasures.
In this hall, Bistamia, which was the hag’s name, was engaged in preparing the evening meal for her beggarly dependants—a thing she invariably did with her own hands. During the culinary process she appeared to mutter certain incantations over the smoking viands, which consisted of the most revolting ingredients.
When the stranger was brought before her, she eyed him with that haggard, feeble scowl peculiar to wicked old age, in which is exhibited the will, but not the power, of the demon. Her deformed and decrepit body was bare to the waist, and presented a loathsome image of living mortality.
What an antidote to the vanity of youth and the pride of beauty! Her white locks streamed over her brown, withered shoulders, exhibiting one of those repelling contrasts which the eye cannot gaze upon without instinctively closing. Her skin hung from her like the dewlap of a sacred bull, but flaccid and bloodless, as if the principle of life were withdrawn from it. The nails of her fingers had grown into claws, and seemed as if they could distil poison, like those of the Egyptian lizard.[40]
“Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red,”