“To whom will she be indebted for this compulsive courtesy?”
“To Sevagee, the Mahratta. The Princess Rochinara will be safe in his custody. Tell the Emperor, on your return, that his daughter is with those whom he contemptuously calls ‘The Robbers of the Hills:’ but Sevajee may live to dispute with him the throne of Delhi; he therefore need not deem an alliance with the Chief of the Mahrattas a disgrace.”
By this time the party who had attacked the palankeen had dispersed, leaving only their leader, and a few followers. These, when sufficient time had been given to secure their captive, suddenly plunged into the recesses of the mountains, with most of which they were familiar, and left the troops of Aurungzebe to pursue their march, with nothing to protect but their own lives. They emerged from the glen, and in their rage at losing their sovereign’s daughter, who had been committed to their custody, they sacrificed the hamauls on the spot, determined to represent to the Emperor that the treacherous Hindoos had purposely led them into the pass, in order to betray them into the power of Sevajee. They knew Aurungzebe to be an inexorable man, and feared the consequences of making known to him the loss of his daughter, whilst under their protection. He made no allowance either for accident or contingencies. Whenever anything happened contrary to his expectations, the presumed instruments of failure were generally punished, and too frequently with the loss of life. Like all tyrants, he was without pity; and his sympathies might really be said never to be excited, save where they received their impulse from something either directly bearing upon, or collaterally allied to, his own interests.
The soldiers dreaded an interview with their sovereign, who was at that time encamped near Madura, where he daily expected his daughter to join him. She had left the Deccan for that purpose, and was passing the Ghauts, when she was captured by the daring Mahratta, as already related.
The princess was borne from her guards, and carried for some hours through the intricate windings of the hills, until at length the bearers stopped before a small mountain fortress. It was still dark, but having emerged from the lower regions of this elevated range, the gloom had considerably diminished, and near objects were sufficiently visible to render the progress of travelling tolerably certain. The princess was desired to alight from her palankeen, and being respectfully placed in a sort of basket, ingeniously woven from the husk of the cocoa-nut, was drawn up into the fortress, the entrance of which was through a low portal, terminating a narrow landing-place upon the naked side of the hill. Through this, after traversing a short passage, there was an ascent by steps into the fort, which was not extensive, containing a garrison of only sixty men.
The Princess Rochinara was ushered into a small but airy chamber; and two of her women, who had been taken with her, were allowed to attend upon their captive mistress. The princess was at this time only in her seventeenth year, of an agreeable rather than handsome person, finely formed, showy, of a healthy, vigorous constitution, and sprightly countenance. She was a great favourite of her father, and therefore not under much apprehension from her present captivity, knowing that he would immediately make an effort to rescue her from bondage, and the warlike efforts of Aurungzebe had seldom failed of being crowned with success. She knew not into whose power she had fallen, but imagined that a band of mountain robbers had captured her, and intended to retain her, merely for the sake of a liberal ransom, which she was satisfied her parent would never pay, but release her at the point of the sword.
For a day or two she saw no one but her attendants, and, having been accustomed to the seclusion of the harem, she did not find her solitude at all insupportable. One of her women, who was an adept at story-telling, and had made herself acquainted with many of the singular legends of Hindoo history, entertained her mistress by relating some of those monstrous fictions which abound in those two poetical depositories of the marvellous, the Mahabarat and Ramayana. Thus the time was agreeably beguiled, until the princess became, at length, impatient to know something about her captivity, and into whose hands she had fallen. No information was to be obtained upon this interesting question. A pretty female slave daily brought the gentle captive her food, consisting of the most delicate viands and delicious fruits, but did not utter a word in reply to her questions, which only imparted a keener edge to her anxiety.
On the fourth morning after Rochinara had become an occupant of the mountain fortress, an unusual bustle announced an arrival; but nothing could be drawn from the slave when she paid her usual periodical visit; her lips appeared hermetically sealed, for not even the offer of a liberal bribe could tempt her to unclose them. Patience, therefore, was the only alternative left; and in all cases of captivity it is a cardinal virtue. The princess, however, was becoming restless;—she rejected her food—she grew petulant, and no longer listened with any relish to the tales of her favourite woman. Her eyes were often suffused with tears; but during a rather strong burst of emotion, occasioned more from the idea of being neglected than of being a captive, the door of her prison was opened, and to her surprise, not unmingled with pleasure, her captor stood before her. He was a short, compactly built man, apparently under thirty years of age. His face was round and “full-orbed,” but every feature small and highly expressive. His eye was intensely brilliant, and seemed to possess a concentration of power that could pierce through anything opposed to its gaze. Its expression was somewhat severe—restless, quick, and scrutinising; but that of every other feature was bland even to playfulness. The forehead was both high and broad, and as smooth as the surface of a mirror. There was no hair on his face, except rather a strong moustache on the upper lip, which was in perfect harmony with the true Oriental cast of his countenance. His neck, bare to the shoulder, was rather short, and as thick as that of a Thessalian bull; whilst his ample expanse of chest denoted that strength and hardihood with which he was particularly endowed. His legs were uncovered to the knee, and modelled with a neatness and upon such an exact scale of proportion as to combine masculine beauty with that physical vigour to which true symmetry is invariably allied.
The stranger stood with his arms folded before the princess, after having made her a courteous salaam. She gazed upon him at first only without displeasure; but it was evident, by the gradual brightening of her countenance, that a more minute scrutiny produced something the very opposite of dissatisfaction. She waited several moments for the visitor to address her; but he remained silent, keeping his eyes steadily fixed upon the interesting Rochinara, as if awaiting her commands. An arch smile danced in his eye, and an occasional undulation of the upper lip showed that he was not about to play the ruffian.
“To whom,” said the princess at length, in a gentle voice, “am I indebted for the constrained hospitality to which I am forced to submit?”