Confessions of a Thug

by Meadows Taylor

Accordingly the next morning, instead of pursuing the road we had taken, we turned back, and after a few hours' travel halted at a small village a few coss distant from the one we had left. But little had I calculated on that woman's love and wild passions. Before the day was half spent we saw her palankeen, attended by her men, advancing towards the village by the way we had come. What was to be done? I was for instant flight into the wild jungles by which we were surrounded, and where she would soon have lost all traces of us. But Peer Khan and Motee would not hear of it. "It would be cowardly," said they; "there is no occasion thus to run before a woman; and why should we expose ourselves to dangers from wild beasts, and the unhealthiness of the forest, on her account? And," added Motee, "if she follow us now, depend upon it it is not on your account, but because she is now determined to go to her home as quickly as possible."

"It may be so," said I; "whatever her plans may be they will not influence my determinations." Yet my mind misgave me that she would again follow us, and a short time proved that my suspicions were right. The slave came by stealth to my tent, disguised as a seller of milk, and I followed her, for I knew not why her mistress had sent for me, and why she now sought me after our last meeting.

I reached her presence, and again we were alone. I armed myself against her blandishments, and determined to oppose them with scorn, that she might again quarrel with me, and leave me for ever. I cannot relate to you, Sahib, all that passed between us; at one time she was all love, seeking to throw herself into my arms, and beseeching me to have pity on her—for she felt that her reputation was gone—in words that would have moved a heart of stone; at another, violently upbraiding me for my perfidy, and bidding me begone from her sight; yet, each time as I turned to depart, she would prevent me, and again implore me to listen and agree to her proposals. At last I could bear with her no longer. I was provoked with her importunities, and vexed at my own irresolute conduct. I bade her farewell, and was quitting the shed, where she had put up for the day, when she screamed to me to come back. I returned.

"Shurfun," said I, "this is foolishness, and the conduct of children; why should we thus torment each other? You have heard my determination; and could you offer me the throne of Delhi, I might share it with you, but my heart would be hers who now possesses it, and you would live a torment to yourself and me. Jealousy even now possesses your heart, and what would not that passion become when you were in intercourse with the object you even now hate, and whom you could not separate from me?"

"I care not for your words," said she; "I care not for the consequences; I have set my life and my fame on the issue of this,—and refuse me at your peril! As for your wife, I hate her not. Does not our law allow you four wives? Is it not so written in the blessed Koran? You cannot deny it. Even I, who am a woman, know it. I would love Azima as a sister, and your children for your sake; and can you refuse wealth and a future life of distinction for them? Oh, man, are you bereft of sense? See, I speak to you calmly, and reason with you as I would were I your sister."

"I would to Alla thou wert my sister," I said; "I could love thee fondly as a sister, but never, never can I consent to this unhallowed and disgraceful union. Yes, Shurfun, disgraceful! disguise it with all thy flattering and sweet words, yet it is disgraceful. Do you dream for a moment that your proud family would receive as your husband, as the sharer of your property and wealth, a man unknown to them, one who has no family honours, no worldly distinction to boast of, and with whom you have picked up a casual acquaintance on the road? I tell you they would not. Go therefore, I beseech you, to your home, and in after years I will send my Azima to see you, and she shall pray for blessings on the noble woman who preserved her husband to her."

She sat silent for some time; but the fire was not quenched within her; it burst forth with increased violence, when I vainly thought that my temperate words had quenched it for ever. Again she bade me go, but it was sullenly, and I left her.

I had not been an hour in my tent when the slave again came to me.—But perhaps, Sahib, you are tired of my minuteness in describing all my interviews with the Moghulanee?