1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

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A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
“Yes,” she said, boldly. “You might scold me or you might even curse
me, but I knew, what I don’t think perhaps you know, and that is that
you would have missed me had I not been ready to receive you. You
could not have done without me. You would not be here to-day, now,
free, without me.” And the girl tossed her head and drew in a long
draught of the fresh pure morning breeze that was blowing from her
own native hills and stirring in her old pride and independence.
“Ah, and so you think the Ameer did not appreciate my services; is that
your idea, Gul Begum?” the official asked, nettled.
“No, it is not, Agha Sahib,” the girl said, more quietly. “He did – he
alwa ys will appreciate your work, even more perhaps now you have left
than when you were actually with him. But he had not that perfect
confidence in you which alone can bring joy. He has seen too little of
truth and faith among his own people to trust you as you deserve to be
trusted. That is what must have been so galling to you: working and
toiling as you did, to have to stand in that Court and see him listen to
those wolves and vultures when they yelped and screamed against you,
who were as a son to him.”
“He does not trust his own son, Gul Begum,” the official said quietly.
“How can he? All his life tong he has been surrounded with intrigue,
every man fighting for himself against every other man, brother against
brother, father against son, and son against father, even wife against
husband. Think of that, Gul Begum; how can he trust any man? You
must never blame the Ameer to me. I know what you can never know. I
know what difficulties he has to contend with – the people he has to
deal with.”
The girl sighed, then threw up her head joyously again and drank in the
morning breeze. “Let us forget it all, Agha, forget it and for ever.
Forget that we either of us ever saw Kabul, ever toiled and worked and
were slaves.”
“Have you, then, no pleasant memories of Kabul? nothing you would
care to remember now you have left?” He scrutinised her closely as he
asked her, and saw the hot colour mount up into her cheeks, and noted
too her silence. What had she to say?
“Do you wish you had never seen Kabul? Would you like to blot these
four years out of your life, Gul Begum? Would you rather have stayed
with Mohamed Jan, and have given him all the services you have given
me?” he asked.
Somehow out here among the Hazara hills their relative positions
seemed somewhat altered. Here in this wild country she was a woman
of position, he a mere fugitive whom she was rescuing. He felt it
without formulating any thoughts.