Legendary & romantic tales of Indian history

by Hobart Caunter

One morning the Mogul camp was suddenly attacked, but the young general forming his squadrons behind their tents, soon repulsed the assailants, and pursuing them into the gorges of the mountains, slew many, and took several prisoners. In the heat of pursuit he was separated from his troops. Turning into a narrow valley, he received an arrow discharged by some hidden archer, through the fleshy part of his left arm. Heated by the ardour of pursuit, and pained by the wound, he spurred forward, forgetting that he was alone. Suddenly his horse was shot under him: he fell—but almost instantly springing upon his feet, looked round and perceived that he was not followed by a single Mogul. Just as he was preparing to retrace his steps, he saw an armed Mahratta advancing towards him. Calmly awaiting his approach, and perceiving that he was no common enemy, the Mogul cried—“Do I see the leader of the Mahrattas?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because of all others he is the man I would meet hand to hand.”

“Then you may enjoy your wish, for Sevajee stands before you.”

There was no further parley; the two leaders encountered with mutual animosity. The struggle was fierce but short. The Mogul, being embarrassed by the wound in his arm, and somewhat enfeebled by consequent loss of blood, was unable to bring his best energies to the encounter. Sevajee was superior both in strength and activity, and very soon struck his adversary to the earth by a severe sabre-stroke on the head. The Mogul, being stunned, was quite at the mercy of his foe; but that foe was as generous as he was brave. Struck with the youth and beauty of his enemy, Sevajee supported the youth’s head, and opening his vest to expedite the recall of his senses, saw to his astonishment the distinct mark of a spear-head upon the right breast. Raising a clear shrill cry, in a few moments he was surrounded by his followers, whom he ordered to lift the wounded officer and bear him to one of his mountain fortresses in the neighbourhood. The blow which he had received on the head was so severe as to render him insensible: the sabre, had, nevertheless, inflicted no wound. The numerous folds of his turban had repelled it.

Upon recovering his consciousness, the young Mogul perceived that he was in the hands of his enemy. The wound in his arm had been dressed and carefully bandaged, and in the course of that evening he became an inmate of one of Sevajee’s strongholds. On the following day he was brought into the presence of Rochinara, who greeted him with a courtesy which seemed to throw a gleam of sunshine upon his captivity.

Sevajee approaching him with a bland air besought him to bare his bosom. He immediately exposed it to the view of the princess, who, gazing at him for a moment in speechless astonishment, rushed forward, threw herself upon his neck and covered it with her tears. “My child,” at length she cried—“my long lost son, you are come here to freedom and to joy: in your vanquisher behold a parent,—in me behold a mother. That mark upon your breast, stamped there before the light of heaven had beamed upon the embryo babe, is too strong and unerring a signature by God’s hand to be mistaken.”

The youth’s astonishment was extreme, but there were certain passages in his life with which he alone was familiar, that to his mind perfectly ratified what he now heard, and elucidated what to his mind had ever been wrapped in painful secrecy. Sevajee embraced his son, who told him that a mystery had always hung over his birth, which he had in vain endeavoured to unravel. He had been brought up at a solitary village, in a family with whom, though treated with kindness, he was not happy. He had been instructed by a learned Mussulman in the literature of his country, and his natural predilection for all manly exercises naturally led him to become an adept in the use of arms. He was treated with evident deference by the persons who had the charge of his infancy, which always induced him to suspect that his birth was above their condition. At the age of fifteen being summoned to the court of Aurungzebe, he was immediately distinguished by his sovereign, and shortly raised to a post of responsibility.

The meeting between the long-lost son and his parents was one of tender and reciprocal congratulation. Sambajee, by which name he was henceforward known, was too much rejoiced at having been restored to his parents to feel any desire of returning to the imperial court.

As soon as his wound was sufficiently healed to enable him to venture out, he rejoined the Mogul army. As he was extremely beloved by the troops, among whom was a large body of Rajpoots, he had no difficulty in persuading those more especially under his own command, to revolt from the Emperor and join the forces of Sevajee. To the surprise and consternation of the Mogul general, in one night nearly one half of his army went over to the Mahrattas, and left him no longer in a condition to face those formidable enemies of the state. Breaking up his encampment, therefore, he returned to Delhi with the news of his ill success, occasioned by the revolt of the troops and their union with the foe. Aurungzebe could not repress his indignation at these tidings. He now saw that the strength of his enemy was increased to such a degree as to render him a dangerous rival!—that the harmony of his family was disturbed, and his favourite, on whom he had lavished honours and whom he had intended to advance to still higher distinctions, had turned traitor.