1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

11
A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
little room for conjecture here. And it was all true, of course, not one
of all that eager group had any doubts as to that.
“What’s that story about the Governor of Bamian’s so n, Dilbhar? You
ought to know. You’re in their confidence.”
“No one is in Gul Begum’s confidence,” the girl thus addressed
replied; “she never seems to take much notice of their plans; she’s a
strange girl, as I always tell you. When men come to the house, it isn’t
she who waits on them, or fetches the water. She will take her father
his food and her uncle his, perhaps, but after that, awa y she goes, and
neither her mother nor any one else can dra g her back. The fact is, her
father spoils her.”
“The fact is, she’s flying at other game,” put in one.
“The Governor of Bamian?” questioned another.
“Or perhaps a Kabul prince?” suggested a third.
“God knows,” whispered a girl who was evidently the ce ntre of
attraction, and who must have remained behind after the others had
scattered in the morning, as she alone seemed to have heard what had
passed between the Vizier’s daughter and old Miriam. “Whatever it is,
remember the curse, ‘Rejected – a prisoner – a slave.’”
“Ah! That’s it, I see it now; she’s flying too high. What was it you said
about her pride having a fall? Tell us again, Shereen?”
“’Your pride must have a fall. You will have dust to lick, and tears to
dry,’” repeated the girl thus addressed, with more gusto than such
direful words spoken of her cousin would seem to warrant.
“Have you heard anything about her horoscope, Shereen?” asked one
older than the rest, who had not hitherto mingled in the general
conversation.
“Her horoscope? No, that is one of the things I have against my uncle;
he never will have horoscopes made out; he does not believe in them;
and as my father was awa y when I was born, I have no true horoscope
either. My uncle was left in charge of the family, of course, but as he
takes no interest in these things, he had nothing done at the time, and
no one specially marked down the moment of my birth.”
“I thought you had had your horoscope cast,” Dilbhar said
thoughtfully, “and wasn’t there something strange and not altogether
lucky about it?”
Shereen reddened, and seemed put out. “You’re thinking of some idle
tales told long afterwards when the hour and even the exact day of m y
birth had been forgotten; that does not count. What is the good of
bringing up old foundationless gossip that is best forgotten?”