"May the blessing of the Prophet and the twelve Imams be on you and your posterity!" cried the old lady, when she had recovered breath to speak. "May the gracious Alla keep you in his protection, and may the lady Muriam and the holy Moula-ali bless you! You have made a desolate house full again, and have changed our weeping to joy. What can I say more? Who could have thought it was our Zora when a cart stopped at the door? Zenatbee was just saying that it was that vile wretch Sukeena, come to pretend condolence, while in reality she rejoiced at our misfortune, which left her without a rival; and I was saying—no matter what I was saying—when we heard a faint cry, as if of astonishment, and a bustle, and we did not know what to think; when in rushed our lost Zora, our pearl, our diamond; and then I thought my old heart would break with joy, for my liver seemed to be melted; and I have done nothing since, Meer Sahib, but sit opposite to her, and stroke her face with my hands, and gaze into her eyes, to assure myself that I am not mistaken. Inshalla! to-morrow I will send five rupees to every shrine in the city, and distribute sweetmeats to fifty beggars in the name of the Imam Zamin; besides, I will have a tazea made, and will no longer wear these mourning garments. Ah! Meer Sahib, if you knew how I have sat day after day, and wept till I am reduced to a mere shadow of what I was! and all my friends tried to console me, but in vain; I would not be comforted." And her tears flowed afresh at the recollection.
What the old lady was before her grief commenced I cannot pretend to say; but in her present plight she appeared the fattest woman I had ever looked upon. We sat conversing and relating our adventures until the evening fell; and I spread my carpet for prayer. "Ah, he is a good Syud," said the old woman; "I like to see the young fond of their devotions; but it is ever thus with the noble race from Hindostan."
I was preparing to take my departure, when they one and all cried out against it. "What! leave our house before you have broken bread and drunk water with us?" It was not to be thought of—I must stay—dinner was prepared; they were just on the point of sending for me when I came; and, above all, it was the ninth day of the Mohorum; and I must stay, were it but to see the procession of the Nal Sahib. That sacred relic, one of the shoes of the horse the blessed Prophet rode when he fled to Medina, would be carried in grand procession, and I should never have a chance of seeing the like again. These reasons, and many imploring looks from Zora made me speedily determine; so, sending away my horse and the man, with a message to my father to say I should not return, I gave myself up to a night of enjoyment, such as I little expected when I parted with Zora in the morning. The dinner was excellent, and the old lady's cooking unexceptionable. There were all sorts of curries, with but a mouthful in each little cup, but still sufficient of each to leave an exquisite flavour in the mouth, only to be replaced by another surpassing it—pilaus of various kinds, and sweetmeats; and, to crown all, some delicious wine of the infidels called the Francees, which the old lady pronounced not to be wine, but sherbet, and allowed to the Huzoor himself, the great Sikundur Jah. It certainly was very delicious, and elevated the spirits. At the end, after taking a whiff or two, she carefully wiped the mouth-piece, and presented me with her own hookah, the fragrance of which was beyond that of ambergris or musk. I was in paradise!—I was intensely happy!
"You have heard me sing," said Zora to me, "when I was in captivity, and, after the fatigues of travel, in our little tent, where there was no scope for my voice; now my heart is glad and bounding, and you shall hear me again—may the Prophet pardon me for singing during the Mohorum!—and you shall say which you like best; my sister shall accompany me till I am tired, and I will then accompany her."
A saringhee was brought; Zenat tuned it, and, taking the bow, played a short prelude. It was one of the most entrancing sounds I had ever heard. Zora surpassed all her former attempts; it was ravishing to listen to her; and her sister, who was a perfect mistress of the instrument (a strange thing for a woman), gave it its full force of melody and expression. You know, Sahib, how nearly it accords to the human voice; and now, as accompaniment and song rose and fell together, it appeared as though two of the richest, fullest voices were pouring forth strains such as angels might have come down from the skies to hear.
But at last the noise of drums and shouting outside became so great, that both gave up in despair. "A plague on them all," said she; "and I in such voice, that I could have sung to you all night! And have I sung well?"
"Ay, have you," said I; "but methinks the first song you ever sung to me, at the palace in Oomerkhér, will dwell longer on my memory than any I have heard since."
"Ya Alla!" exclaimed Zenat who had moved to the window; "was there ever a sight so magnificent! Come and see; 'tis passing fast, and will be soon out of sight."