1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

12
A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
“Ah, well, but you and Gul Begum were born on the same da y, at
almost the same hour and same spot,” another put in somewhat
viciously; “whatever is her fate is yours, Shereen, that’s clear.”
“How so?” asked the chiefs daughter indignantly; “would you have my
fate as hers? ‘Rejected – a prisoner – a slave?’ she may have held her
nose too high, but what have I done that I should share the same fate?
Why thrust her ill-luck on me? Besides, I was born after her by several
hours, and a very little time makes all the differences in the world .”
“No one thrusts ill-luck on you, it’s the stars,” Dilbhar said sadly.
“Who can fight against them? They are far beyond all reach, past all
control. They make one’s Kismet.”
“Did they make your Kismet, black-faced one?” Shereen asked
petulantly; “did they cause your disgrace?” She was angr y at the
allusion to the horoscope she had thought forgotten, but which, though
she denied its accurac y, in her heart of hearts, she dreaded.
Dilbhar, insulted, rose angrily; this perpetual allusion to the past was
unbreakable, and a quarrel seemed imminent when a shadow felt across
the group. It was Gul Begum, with her earthen milking vessel in her
hand; she was on her way to the plain to milk the sheep.
“Dilbhar, it’s milking time,” she said quietly. There was a strange
authoritative way about her, which compelled obedience, and Dilbhar
slunk off to the house for her vessels, and the group was soon
dispersed, for Gul Begum had caught Shereen’s eye, and without
uttering a word, had conveyed a reproach which, though it stung the
chiefs daughter, incited her to do something more dignified than
gossip, and repeat the idle tales her cousin’s soul abhorred .
And Gul Begum walked on, without once turning her head to note the
effect she had produced. She was thinking – dreaming shapeless
dreams, not of the Kabul prince, not of Bamian. She could hardly have
put her own thoughts into words, for they were all unformed. The y
carried her far beyond the Hazara Hills, be yond Bamian, beyond the
Court of the Iron Ameer, the man whose word was law, who swept
who le villages, whole tribes, off the face of the earth, if the y dared but
disobey his orders, or even seem to question him.
Of him she thought often. She would like to see him just once, the man
with the bushy b lack beard and the brow that was like the sky o n a
thundery day, now bright as sunshine smiles, now fierce and terrible as
he showered volleys of curses on the terror stricken men who stood
before him, dealing death with ever y flash from those relentless eyes.
He must be wonderful! What power! Yes, she would like to see him,
and see his wives; he had many she knew. How many? What were they
like, and had they power too? How much authorit y la y in their hands?
Was there a special favourite perhaps? One who dared face him on the
stormiest days, one who could dispel the clouds and coax back the