Confessions of a Thug

by Meadows Taylor

"Go," said my father; "Alla Hafiz! be sure you return quickly."

It was noon before he returned, but it was with a joyful face when he did come. After many profound salams, he exclaimed to my father, "You have indeed been fortunate; your good destiny has gained you a good bargain. I have got thirty thousand six hundred rupees for the whole. We had a long fight about it, and wasted much breath; but, blessed be Narayun! your slave has been successful,—see, here is the Sahoukar's acknowledgment."

My father took it and pretended to read; I was near laughing outright at his gravity as he took the paper and pored over the crabbed Hindee characters, of which he did not understand one,—nor indeed any other; for he could neither read nor write. "Yes," said he, gravely, "it is satisfactory. Now, how am I to be paid?"

"The Sahoukar will arrange that with you in any way you please," said the Dullal; "ready money or bills are equally at your service; but as all transactions are generally at six months' credit, the interest for that time, at the usual rate, will be deducted."

"And if I take bills, I suppose the interest will be allowed till I reach Benares, or whatever place I may take them upon?"

"Certainly."

"Good," continued my father; "do you attend here with the Sahoukar, and we will settle all about it, and he can take away the merchandize whenever he pleases." So the Dullal departed.

It was now about the time when the tazeas were to be brought to the edge of the river to be thrown into the water; and, as the Karwan was not far from the spot, I proposed to my father to send for our horses and ride thither to see the sight. He agreed; the horses were quickly brought, and we rode to the bridge over which the road passes into the city. Taking our stand upon it, we beheld beneath us the various and motley groups in the bed of the river; there were thousands assembled; the banks of the river and the bed were full,—so full, it seemed as if you might have walked upon the heads of the multitude. The aftab-geers, and the tinsel of the various tazeas, glittered in the afternoon sun,—the endless variety of colours of the dresses had a cheerful and gay effect; and, though it was nothing to the grand appearance of the procession at night, still it was worth looking at. The tazeas were brought one by one by the various tribes or neighbourhoods to which they belonged, and thrown into the pools in the bed of the river, for deep water there was none, but there was sufficient for the purpose; and as each glittering fabric was cast in, it was assailed by hundreds of little ragged urchins, who quickly tore the whole to pieces for the sake of the ornaments; and there was many a warm contest and scramble over these remains, which excited the laughter of the bystanders.

One by one the various groups returned towards their homes, looking wearied and exhausted; for the excitement which had kept them up for so many days and nights was gone. In many a shady corner might be seen lying fast asleep, an exhausted wretch, his finery still hanging about him, his last cowree perhaps expended in a copious dose of bhung, which, having done part of its work in exciting him almost to madness during the preceding night, had left him with a racking brain, and had finally sent him into oblivion of his fatigue and hunger. The Mohorum was ended: we stayed on the bridge till the time for evening prayer, when, repairing to an adjacent mosque, we offered up our devotions with the others of the faithful who were there assembled. This done, I told my father I should again visit Zora, and most likely remain at her house all night: he bid me be sure to return early in the morning, on account of our business; and having promised this, I departed.

I rode slowly through the now silent and almost deserted streets: the few persons whom I met were hurrying along to their homes, and had no common feeling or interest with each other as before. I passed along the now well-known track, and was soon at the house which held all that was most dear to me on earth. I sent up my name and dismounted; I expected the usual summons, and that I should see that countenance I longed to behold welcoming me from the window. I waited longer than I could assign a cause for in my own mind; at last my attendant returned, and as he quitted the threshold the door was rudely shut after him, while at the same time the casements of the windows were both shut. What was I to think of this? Alas! my forebodings were but too just. My attendant broke in upon my thoughts by addressing me. "Her mother, whom I have seen," said he, "bid me give you her salam, and tell you that her daughter is particularly engaged and cannot receive you. I ventured to remonstrate, but the old woman became angry, and told me that she had behaved civilly to you, and that you could not expect more; and further, she said, 'Tell him from me that he had better act the part of a wise man, and forget Zora, for never again shall he see her; it will be in vain that he searches for her, for she will be beyond his reach; and I would rather that she died, than become the associate and partner of an adventurer like him; who, for all I know, might inveigle her from home, and, when he was tired of her, leave her in some jungle to starve. Go and tell him this, and say that if he is a wise man, he will forget her.'"