1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

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A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
you go), you will be sent to a Kabul prison. Have you any idea what a
Kabul prison is?”
Gul Begum shivered. She had an idea, only she felt nothing could be
worse than what she had seen and heard in this beautiful garden, and
Hazara-like, again she wished to throw off her present burden and let
the future concern itself with the next one when it came. For the
moment she was satisfied to get out of the difficult y in which she then
found herself.
“Bibi,” she said, “I know what must be my fate, because I know what
my fate has been. I know I am beautiful, and I know if once Ferad Shah
sees me I shall be in difficulties. Do not be offended at my suggesting
such a thing, the idea is indeed abhorrent to me: he may for a time
place me even above you. Let me go before such a thing can happen.
Send us to the big garden to work there as I have su ggested.”
“But how about the other women? Your women as well as mine?”
“My women wish to leave with me,” the girl went on, “and as to yours,
tell them that in a long conversation with me you have discovered the
truth about us, and that as a punishment you are going to get rid of us.”
The lad y smiled. “There are many amo ng them who would think that a
strange punishment,” she said.
Gul Begum bent forward and took her hand. “Whatever happens,” she
said, “whether I succeed or fail, I wish to thank you now, before the
immediate future is known to either of us, for the gracious way in
which you have listened to my request. Whatever you may be to others
you have been kind to me, and I am for ever grateful to you. I would
serve you if I could.”
For a moment the horrors of the house, the scene with the slave girl, all
was forgotten. She only felt grateful for the helping hand that was
being stretched out to her in her trouble. It blotted out for the time
being all other details. She was not wise enough to analyse motives,
she did not go for character stud y. Had she done so she would soon
have found that Ferad Shah’s chief wife was a most typical Afghan.
Idle, luxurious, treacherous, capricious, capable of the most unheard of
cruelties, but with certain generous impulses, and possess ed of a
gracious courtly manner when it suited her to assume it; a willingness
to help another so long as it cost her nothing, a willingness, prompted
to no inconsiderable extent, b y her desire to show her position and
influence. Somehow, too, this girl had a power of flattering her. What
she said and did came straight from her heart, any one could see that.
There was nothing in the least artificial about it. Ferad Shah’s wife felt
this, and it pleased her.