Runga Naik did not come to them very often, he had many things to look after—his people, and their caste, and other disputes, such as shares of land and produce—and for this purpose he sat daily on a chubootra, or platform of earth, which had been made hundreds of years before, around the trunk of a venerable neem-tree, and where his father and grandfather, and ancestors long ago, had sat before him. This, indeed, was his public court, open to all comers; and was simple and effective, because he was patient and listened to everyone, either giving a summary decision himself or referring cases to arbitration. It was a patriarchal mode of proceeding, which was the custom of his clan; and if there were no lawyers, no agents, no pleaders, nor indeed anyone but plaintiff and defendant and their witnesses, perhaps the justice meted out was none the less efficient, and, at all events, the people desired nothing more. Sometimes Runga was absent for a few days on business with his chief at Wakin-Keyra; sometimes he went with a large escort to collect his dues or blackmail in the district west of his own territory; and whenever he did go, he provided liberally for his guests during his absence, and they had rations of flour, pulse, ghee, and vegetables direct from the house, with which the Lady Keysama did not interfere. She only, and that perpetually, threw out hints to her husband that "that great girl Zóra ought to be married; that she was ashamed of seeing her come to the house (for Zóra did pay a visit sometimes to the Beydur lady, though her castle was an unclean place to her), and that he ought to insist upon her grandfather's settling her in life; and no doubt some worthy man might be found who would gladly marry one so learned and so beautiful."
But Runga Naik had no such intention. I think he remembered that first night at Juldroog, and that Abbas Khan desired no better blessing in life than to gain Zóra for his own. Before he attempted to bring that about, it was necessary to follow up the scattered parties of Eyn-ool-Moolk's rebellion, especially the members of Abbas Khan's troop who had deserted him; and, as he thought, allowing ample time for his young friend to reach Beejapoor, he set out for the western districts in the direction of Belgaum; and yet at that very time, within a distance of thirty miles, Abbas Khan was lying in a small village grievously ill with the return of his fever and the reopening of his wound, of which the reader has already been informed. But so it is in life, when a blessing, above all things precious, lies at our very doors, we often fail to know of it, or even of its very existence. Runga had no time to lose, he thought, and his desire was to hasten to Beejapoor direct, should he have any success in his expedition. Should he have none, he could return and take on Zóra and her grandfather to Beejapoor, that the old man might lay his complaint of ill-usage before the Queen, or the King if he had returned. Runga had no idea of who the old Syud was—that was known only to Abbas Khan, whose intention was, as we know, to have him sent for; but the gracious message of the Queen had gone too late, and when all attempts to discover Zóra and the old man were fruitless.
Before he left Korikul, however, Runga Naik and his wife had come to extremities about poor little Zóra. We need not detail the gradual increase of acerbity and jealousy on the part of the Lady Keysama. Now he was going away (she put the matter in that light), who would be responsible for the girl? She herself—and she put her hands to her ears, and called all the gods to witness—would not, and could not. She had enough to do in attending to her own poor folk, about whom she knew, or could find out everything, whereas about these strangers she knew nothing. He might be very fond of the girl, there was no doubt of that; but an unmarried girl of her age and appearance, with nobody near her but a feeble old servant—well, she would say nothing herself, but let him ask the neighbours, let him ask the Choudhree of the Momins, and hear what they said about Zóra, who, she thought, was only fit now to become a public dancing girl, and if she took to that profession she would be welcome. Had she not been heard singing words that no one understood to unknown tunes? Where did she learn them? As to the defamatory part of the Lady Keysama's tirade, we decline positively to enter into it. When a woman of the Lady Keysama's temper, whatever be her station in India, or whatever her caste or sect, condescends to be abusive, her words cannot be translated, or even paraphrased; and such was the excitement the lady worked herself up into, that Runga, who had never been subjected to the like before from his wife, got fairly alarmed. "They must go," he said; "but how to tell the old man and Zóra!"
Yet it must be done. With Zóra and his old friend he must part; but with his wife, the mother of his children, the admirable mistress of his house, the respected and beloved of all, he could not part; and she had distinctly said that if the girl were not sent away, she herself would go to her father's house at Wakin-Keyra, and tell the story so that all should hear. Her father was the brother of the Rajah of the clan, whose enmity Runga Naik dare neither risk nor provoke; and he knew enough of his wife's determined spirit to believe she would do exactly as she threatened if he did not do as she requested. No; on those hard conditions he could not afford to protect Zóra; her grandfather, whom all, even his wife, loved and honoured, could not be separated from her, and, therefore, they must go.
So several days before the Brahmin astrologer had predicted one favourable for the departure of his little expedition, he went privately to the old man, knelt down reverently at the threshold of his door, and confided to him what has been recorded, and besought pardon for the apparent rudeness he was obliged to commit. The tender-minded fellow's heart, as he said, was broken by his wife, who, without cause, had put this shame on him privately, and was ready, to her own shame, to make it public. Now it was known to his friend only, and he might offer counsel in his extremity.
The old Syud was inexpressibly shocked and grieved. The very last thing he had thought possible had come to pass. Was, then, Zóra, his little Zóra, so much advanced in girlhood that it was immodest or dangerous to allow her to go about unveiled and untended, as she had used to do? Was she, indeed, of marriageable age, and in permitting her to go abroad was there even a suspicion of immodesty? He could not see, and his experience of worldly matters had faded out. Still Runga Naik, and above all his wife, could not be mistaken. Else why should suspicion and jealousy have arisen? And now a horrible thought flashed into the old man's mind. Could Runga have carried off Zóra for his own purposes? It might be so; otherwise, why did his wife suspect him? "Ya, Alla Kureem, protect us!" he cried in his misery. "We are but two helpless creatures, a girl and a blind man, trying to serve Thee! Oh! suffer us not to fall into misery, which Thou alone canst avert!"
Zóra was visiting the family of the Choudhree, or head of the weavers, that day; and she was fond of doing so, as his wife was in reality kind and motherly, and much interested in her helpless condition. That day she and her children had insisted on bathing Zóra, dressing her hair, and putting on her a suit of new clothes, for which her husband and his men had woven the materials, and his wife had made them up. And when Zóra, duly dressed and anointed, was placed in the seat of honour, and the children were decking her with garlands of jessamine, and calling her bride, their mother said gravely to Zóra, "And it is time thou shouldst be so in reality, darling, to be able to live a decent, respectable life, and bear children. I was not thy age, Zóra, when I was married; and what has thy grandfather been doing that he has not arranged this long ago? It is time thou, child, shouldst no longer have the mantle of reproach cast over thee."
"Of reproach, mother?" said Zóra, her lips quivering and tears starting from her eyes. "No one has ever reproached me; no one wants me; no one has ever asked me in marriage; and many have told me, that one of the noble Syud race would have honour in putting on the green dress, and renouncing the world, living a humble and devout life, doing good works. Oh, mother! speak no more to me about marriage, for I cannot bear it."
"Well," said the dame, "I will tell my husband what you say; but of late both he and I have been distressed by hearing things that ought not to be spoken."
"God help me!" said the girl, "for I trust in Him. I will speak to Abba when I go home, and pray him to take me away from this. No, mother, wherever we go we are Fakeers, and the world is open to us, and the ears of the Hearer of prayer are never shut. Yes, I see it all, mother, now, and we must go."