Tara: A Mahratta Tale

by Meadows Taylor

So saying, they hastened as rapidly as the rough ground and increased darkness would admit, Bulwunt Rao guiding his young master through narrow lanes and over deserted spaces, till they again emerged into the now nearly deserted bazar. It was just past midnight, for the trumpeter at the guard-house, taking up the signal from the fort gate, had blown a flourish, which was understood by the keepers of liquor-shops in the quarter. The booths were still open, as well as those of confectioners and bhung or opium sellers; but the lights were being extinguished, and the groups which had been concealed within turned into the street.

A wild company truly! Some staggering in the last stage of idiotic drunkenness from opium, others tossing their arms wildly in the air, while their obscene and fearful curses and imprecations mingled with the low muttering of the thunder, which hardly ceased, and seemed to grow nearer every moment. Many forms lay prostrate in the street—some sleeping off the fumes of drink, or groaning in helpless intoxication; and they were often beset by women, whose loosened hair and disordered garments, and the wild leer of their glistening eyes, bespoke their depraved condition. But, casting those who were most importunate violently aside, they at length gained the temple, which was close to the drinking-shop we have before mentioned, and paused for a moment near the gate, which was now shut, while all was silent within.

"Let me look over thee, Meah," said his companion, "as we have a little light, and are free from those drunken wretches. Dost thou know, Meah, I have been like them sometimes, I fear; but this sight sickens and sobers me."

"God grant it, friend, it is the only thing I have ever feared in you," he replied warmly.

"Yes, it will do," continued Bulwunt; "the disguise is complete. So—the chin scarf a little more over the end of the nose: there—no one would ever suspect you. Now, I have a plan in my head, which thou wilt say could only come of a Mahratta's brain—crooked and wilful. It is this: I think, from bazar gossip, that Tannajee and Pahar Singh are one, and that they have met at Tooljapoor at the temple, or at that old villain Bussunt Geer's, at whose Mutt Tannajee's people put up, or that they have corresponded with each other through him. It is not very long since I was there—about two months ago, Meah. They were very busy—so much so that the old fox would hardly let me stay; but I was certain there was something going on; and now I have seen Pahar Singh, I am sure he came one day and held counsel with the old Gosai. Now, if Tannajee has not been there—as I will find out, if possible—I can personate Poorun Geer, the disciple of Bussunt Geer, and we may find out more of this plot. But be thou silent—a vow of silence for a year. I dread thy courtly speech breaking out even of our rough Mahratta tongue or a Mussulmani oath. Trust to me, Meah: I will not fail thee if we meet this fellow!"

"I would we had brought the guard with us, Bulwunt," said Fazil.

"Guard!" said his companion, laughing. "Look, there are his sentinels. That fellow," pointing to a figure seated at a little distance on the ground, muffled in a black blanket, and hardly to be distinguished from an animal or a stone, "is one. I saw him shift his position so as to watch us; and I see three others in different directions, Meah; one will cough, or sneeze, or make some signal when we move—and there is old Rama in the doorway, listening. Guard, Meah! no, no; we may kill Tannajee if we are lucky, but were a guard to approach, he would be off into the deserted ground at the back, and who could find him? Now, come; and may the gods protect us!"

It was but a few steps. As they moved past, a low cough proceeded from the sitting figure on the watch, and a light streamed from the doorway as the publican, Rama, moved in.

"Did you see that?" whispered Bulwunt—"is it not as I told you? Keep your sword ready, Meah; but be not hasty, whatever you may see or hear."

So saying, they stepped into the vestibule of the shop—an open space, around which were benches of raised earth or brick, neatly plastered over. A counter with some brass measures and a large copper vase, brightly polished, containing spirit, stood at one side, and a lamp burned in a niche.