The evening came. My father and I went to the Moonshee's, but after the evening prayer time; he had his son on his knee, and a noble little fellow he was. How I shall love that boy! said I, inwardly, as I looked on his fair and beautiful features and expressive eyes. He came to me readily, and I fondled him, and displayed to his admiring eyes my beautiful sword and dagger. Azima too will love him, thought I, and he will supply the place of our daughter when she is married and gone from us.
"You have no children?" said the Moonshee; "or perhaps I ought not to ask, you may have lost them; your brow darkens at the question."
"One," replied I, "a daughter. A son, the counterpart of the Sahib Zada, it pleased Allah to take from me, when he was about his age."
"It is indeed his will," said the Moonshee; "there is no striving against fate. This boy is my only offspring; for many years I had been married, and my case was somewhat like that of the Sultan in the 'Story of the Parrot;' grey hairs were coming, and I despaired; but at last Alla was gracious, and you see the boy."
"May God grant he live a hundred years, and be prosperous," said I, "I have no hope myself."
We conversed together for some time, and on a message being given from without, I said, "You have been so pleased with the singing of some of my men, Moonshee Sahib, that they have arranged a little masque, after the manner of the Byroopeas, which they are anxious to perform before you. It will be absurd enough, I dare say, yet it will serve to pass the evening, and your son too may be amused."
"By all means," said he; "anything in the jungle is acceptable; but for your company, Meer Sahib, we should have had a dull march. I will prepare those within, so pray call in the performers."
The men came, six stout fellows dressed fantastically, two of them as women, with sitars and drums in their hands; they personated a body of Goosaeens, and danced and sang in a ridiculous manner. Where they had learned their parts, I know not, but the whole was well done, and the Moonshee's little son laughed immoderately. As we had expected, the whole of the Moonshee's people gathered round the tent, which was open on one side to admit of their seeing the Tumasha; and I observed with secret exultation that every man had two or three Thugs close to him, and one in particular behind each of them. All was ready, as I thought, and I was about to give the signal, when one of the Thugs called to me that I was wanted without. What it could be I knew not, but, excusing myself for a moment, I went out.
"What shall we do?" said Ganesha to me, in a voice full of alarm and apprehension; "Meer Sahib, the Feringhees are upon us!"
"The Feringhees!"——"Yes," he replied; "and what can we do? this good bunij will escape us. Of course the Moonshee will join them, and we may then as well think of strangling the king of Delhi, as of getting him."