The hunchback and Ashruf reappeared after a while in their new costume, which was that of Jogies, or religious mendicants of that part of the country. Orange-coloured turbans and garments, purposely torn and ragged, yet withal scrupulously clean; large strings of wooden beads about their necks, wrists, and ankles; black blankets, to keep out cold or heat, thrown over their shoulders after a graceful and picturesque fashion; and the lute and small drum they had used before. The faces of both were smeared with whiting, and the broad trident of Vishnu was drawn in red and white paint upon their foreheads. The hunchback would perhaps have been known by his figure; but Ashruf, from the smart Mussulman boy, gaily dressed as became his master's favourite attendant, was utterly transformed, and could not possibly have been recognized.
"Shabash!" cried Bulwunt Rao and Fazil involuntarily; "it is complete—no one could know you."
"Except by this hunched back of mine," said Lukshmun, "I would wager that I went anywhere as anybody you please, Meah,—from the holiest Syud down to the lowest Kullunder—from the Secretary of Ramdas Swâmi himself, to what I am now,—and was not discovered. Hindu or Mussulman, 'tis all the same—only I must have a religious garb on, Meah Sahib: for my mind, you see, having that turn naturally, I am most at home in one. Did any one suspect us when we sang ballads in the ambush at Jowly, and found out what Moro Trimmul wanted to do? or in Wye, when we saw Tara? O Meah! this is a joyful errand, for I shall pay a rupee to a Brahmun, and get bathed in the river—just where they were going to burn Tara Bye—to wash away my sins, and be absolved from shedding a Brahmun's blood. The gods forgive me if I killed him!"
"I hope you did," returned Fazil, laughing: "and now, here is a purse of gold, tie it round you, and use what is needed; and here are the letters which are to be put into Vyas Shastree's own hand. If he cannot get mine read, this ring and her letter will be enough. If they are gone to Poona, or back to Tooljapoor, send Ashruf back to me, and go on thyself."
"To the top of Mount Méru, or the lowest deep of Nurruk," cried Lukshmun, snapping his fingers. "Fear not; we will bring them, lad—won't we? and, master, if I have to go on, and can send thee a letter by a sure hand, may I take on my son here? I cannot sing ballads without him."
"Ah yes, my lord!" pleaded the lad, joining his hands, "to bring them to her."
"Good," said Fazil; "I trust you both. Go, and be discreet, and God's blessing and mine be with you."
"And now, my lord," said the hunchback, "let us sing one ballad before we depart—one that she must know well: it will give her hope. Go and tell her that some singers are here who know the ballads of the Bâlâ Ghaut, and will sing her one. She will recognize the tune, for I have heard her father sing it, and they say he wrote it for her, for her name is in it. We shall sing it before Vishnu Pundit's door at Wye."
"As thou wilt," replied Fazil; "I will tell her;" and he arose and went to the inner court door. "Do not follow me," he said to them—"she can hear from hence, and there are women within—it is private."
Fazil had watched Tara as the prelude began, and he beckoned her to the door. "Come and listen," he said; "they are singers of your own country, and I have brought them to sing a ballad to you." She arose, and Zyna followed her.