Now, Ameer Ali, said I, since I have finished describing your appearance, I hope you are ready to contribute more to the stock of adventures you have already related.
Your slave is ready, Sahib, he replied, and Inshalla Ta-alla! he will not disappoint you. But why has my lord described my poor appearance, which is now miserable enough? But might your slave ask what you have written?—and the tone of his voice implied that he had concluded it could not be favourable.
Listen, said I, and I will read it to you. At every sentence the expression of his face brightened. When I had concluded, he said:—It is a faithful picture, such as I behold myself when I look in a glass. You have omitted nothing, even to the most trifling particulars; nay, I may even say my lord has flattered me.—And he arose and made a profound salam.
No, said I, I have not flattered your external appearance, which is prepossessing; but of your heart I fear those who read will judge for themselves; and their opinions will not be such as you could wish, but such as you deserve.
You think my heart bad then, Sahib?
Certainly I do.
But it is not so, he continued. Have I not ever been a kind husband and a faithful friend? Did I not love my children and wife while He who is above spared them to me? and do I not even now bitterly mourn their deaths? Where is the man existing who can say a word against Ameer Ali's honour, which ever has been, and ever will remain, pure and unsullied? Have I ever broken a social tie? ever been unfaithful or unkind to a comrade? ever failed in my duty or in my trust? ever neglected a rite or ceremony of my religion? I tell you, Sahib, the man breathes not who could point his finger at me on any one of these points. And, if you think on them they are those which, if rigidly kept, gain for a man esteem and honour in the world.
But the seven hundred murders, Ameer Ali,—what can you say to them? They make a fearful balance against you in the other scale.
Ah! those are a different matter, said the Thug, laughing—quite a different matter. I can never persuade you that I was fully authorized to commit them, and only a humble instrument in the hands of Alla. Did I kill one of those persons? No! it was He. Had my roomal been a thousand times thrown about their necks and the strength of an elephant in my arms, could I have done aught—would they have died—without it was His will? I tell you, Sahib, they would not—they could not; but as I shall never be able to persuade you to think otherwise, and as it is not respectful in me to bandy words with my lord, I think it is time for me to recommence my tale, if he is ready to listen, for I have still much to relate. I have been so minute in the particulars of my first expedition, that perhaps I need not make the narrative of the other events of my life so prolix; indeed, were I to do so, you, Sahib, would be tired of writing and your countrymen of reading, for it would be an almost endless task to follow me in every expedition I undertook. I shall, therefore, with your permission, confine myself to the narration of those which I think will most interest you, and which I remember to possess remarkable incidents.