The Young Rajah

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Unhappy I am to bring it, for it is bad news,” answered the man. “The whole city is in a tumult. Mukund Bhim has been proclaimed rajah, and already more than half the people have sided with him; still there are some who remain faithful, and if your highness were to appear among them at once, the rebellion might be quelled, and your power restored. Your servant ventures to advise that you should gallop on during the night, so as to enter the city by daybreak—though the distance is great, your steeds may get over the ground in time—and by taking the rebels by surprise you may overcome them before they can offer resistance; when the loyal people will gather around you, and you may once more find yourself the undisputed ruler of Allahapoor.”

“Your advice sounds full of wisdom,” answered the rajah. “To horse, my friends! And we will not pull rein till the walls of my rebellious city appear in sight.”

The whole camp was immediately astir. The horses, unfortunately, in consequence of the rapid march of the two previous days, were ill able to gallop on for thirty miles without stopping, with the prospect of some hot fighting at the end of it. Still, march they must at all hazards.

Each horseman, before mounting, tightened up the girths of his saddle; and all having fallen into their ranks, the order to move forward was given. A strong advance-guard led the way, with their arms ready for instant use, as they knew that at any moment they might be attacked by the rebels,—who, should they by any means get tidings of their approach, would assuredly send out a numerous force against them. The rajah, attended by Reginald and Burnett, rode with the main body. There was no time for conversation, and Reginald had still to wait for the important information he was so anxious to obtain. A few words only could be occasionally exchanged. On they rode, keeping a tight rein, to prevent their horses from stumbling. Now and then a poor beast came down; and the rider, if he escaped a broken limb, had to make his way on foot, with the risk of either being set upon by a tiger, or murdered by the villagers whose property he and his comrades had plundered. The rajah hoped that he should either be able to force the gates, or that the guards would open them at his summons, and that he might thus be able to catch Mukund Bhim and the rest of the rebel chiefs while they were still locked in slumber.

They were now rapidly approaching the city. Already, in the far distance, the outlines of the domes and minarets of the temples and mosques could be seen defined against the clear sky. No rebels had appeared to dispute their progress, and the rajah began to hope that the rebellion had not yet fully broken out, and that he might still have time to crush it. He and the main body moving on, came up with the advance-guard, which had halted. The rajah inquired the cause. The officer in command answered that they had met a person who had brought tidings from the city. “Let me hear his report,” said the rajah; and a man, looking more like a wild beast than a human being, advanced from among the horsemen. He was a byraghee, or religious mendicant. His body was naked, with the exception of a narrow piece of cloth passed between the legs, and fastened before and behind to a string tied round the waist. His hair was long and matted, its bulk increased by plaits of other hair mixed with it. His body was smeared with the ashes of cowdung, giving it a most unearthly hue; while his inflamed and bleared eyes could scarcely be perceived amidst the mass of dirt which clung around them. Anything less human could scarcely be imagined than the appearance of the miserable being.

“What tidings do you bring from the city?” asked the rajah anxiously.

“Bad—very bad, O Refuge of the World,” answered the mendicant. “Last night, ere I passed through the gates, I saw your foes shouting forth the name of Mukund Bhim, their new rajah. It was reported that you had perished, and all your followers had been slain amid the mountains; and no one I met discredited the tale. Thus your friends are disheartened; but if you were to appear among them, to show that you are still alive, they would regain their courage and fight bravely in your cause.”

“But how to get among them, is the difficulty,” observed the rajah. “Tell me, byraghee, are the gates closed?”

“Not only closed, but strongly guarded,” answered the mendicant. “It would be vain to attempt to force them; your only way of entering will be in disguise. I passed, encamped at a short distance from the gates, a caravan of merchants with their camels, who had arrived too late to find admittance last night. If your highness would condescend to disguise yourself as one of them, they would consent to your entering among them,—trusting to your generosity for the reward you would bestow should you succeed.”

The rajah, after considering the matter, agreed to the proposal of the byraghee. He then invited Reginald to accompany him, while he begged Burnett to take the command of the horsemen, and to remain concealed in the wood in which they were drawn up till he could send word to them that a favourable opportunity had arrived for making a dash into the city. “The risk, I know, is great,” he added; “but I am ready to hazard my own life for the sake of recovering what I have lost.”