1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

131
A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
“Then will you take her by force?” the Chief Secretar y said, still
laughing. “A fine thing that for a man of your age. How old are you,
Mir?”
“That is not the questio n,” the old man replied testily; “you have
promised me a girl. I have seen her. I fancy her. I shall keep you to
your promise.”
The Chief Secretary loved a piece of fu n, none better. “She is a
handsome girl,” he said, “a beauty according to Hazara taste, but she is
very big and strong, and you are rather old, good friend. I would not
push the matter too far were I in your place, it might be dangerous.”
This constant allusion to his age nettled the old man, who, though some
sixt y summers – rather more, perhaps – had come and gone since he
first saw da y, was hale and heart y still, and as he rose and angr ily
threw his dark blue lungi (a cotton shawl, heavy and strong) across his
left shoulder, he seemed to the casual observer to be hardly past his
prime. His complexion was fresh, his eyes clear, his carriage excellent,
his beard was long and flowing, and d yed a glorious rich black.
“You have seen the girl yourself, and doubtless fanc y her,” he said, “I
do not blame you there; she is a girl any man might fanc y; but I blame
you that your word should prove as smoke, useless vapour, that ever y
wind of passion blows in a different direction.”
“Nay, sit down,” the young man said, “now I will be serious. Believe
me, I fancy the girl not at all; she is dirt y, idle, and generally
incapable, but she has thrown herself on my protection, and I have
promised her a trial.”
“You promised her a trial? How could you such a thing? You had
promised her to me.”
“But I have lots of other girls, and you shall have your choice. I care
for one no more than I do for another. You shall choose one for
yourself.”
“So I will, and I have chosen Gul Begum.” Again the Mir flung his
lungi impatiently over his shoulder, but this time without rising. The
Chief Secretar y seemed a little irritable also. There were not six men in
all the kingdom from whom such opposition was to have been expected,
and this man, who was he? A holy man, no doubt, but a mere village
peasant, a dependent partly on his bount y.
He sat tapping the floor with his stick for a few minutes, then
impatiently called a servant up to speak to him. “Do you see this
carpet?” he said, and he gave it a more vigorous tap. “It’s a disgrace to
you, and a disgrace to me. It is full of dust. Have it taken out and
beaten, and the floor underneath well cleaned, or, hark you, the beating
that you should have given to the carpet shall fall on your shoulders.