1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net
1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net 1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net
38 A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR did the fall of snow, and less than the strength of the spring or autumn gales. Nor were the y half so important, or of such general interest even to the persons most nearly concerned. Children born in the year of unusually heavy snows or some specially devastating gale bore a date, the others had none except as they might be younger or older than the dated children, and that was indefinite enough. If so unusual an inquiry was made as to the age of any individual that answer could be arrived at after a good many arithmetical calcu lations, “Well, he was born a year or two before the great storm.” “And when was the great storm?” would be the most natural rejoinder. “The great storm? That was six winters before it snowed blood.” “Good gracious, when was that?” “That was the winter before the Ameer Sahib came from Russia.” So there you had your date as nearly as you were likely to get one, and it was seldom you got as near as that. But this is digression. Two men in all the country round felt that to these unchanged scenes a change was coming. Both knew that war was imminent. The one was full of hope, he felt the change was to be for the better, more power, more riches, and consequently greater luxury; the other foresaw nothing but disaster, defeat, and ruin; the one busied himself in every township for miles around, and where he could not find time to go himself, there he sent emissaries stirring up the people, filling them with more religious zeal than any casual observer would have believed those wiry little creatures capable of; exciting their bitterest hatred against the man who had declared himself their lawful ruler, and who, moreover, belonged to a different section of the Mohamedan religio n. The other sat in his house and brooded. He, at least, seemed to have changed alread y, changed from being even tempered, full of anecdote and gaiety, fond of sport and all exercise, to a man morose, silent, preoccupied, who seldom left his home. “What are you doing here, blocking up the place when I am busy?” his wife said to him one morning. “What am I doing here?” he had replied angrily; “that’s a strange question to ask a man in his own house.” “Father, I wish you would do something for me,” Gul Begum said, coming to the rescue, as she now seemed so often obliged to do. “What! Do you want to get rid of me too?” he said sadly.
39 A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR “No, father, certainly not,” she replied, trying to be gay, and seating herself half behind him, so that she could get her arms around him, and at the same time lay her head on his shoulder, “but the sheep must be looked after. My grandfather has, I hear, a fine flock of Kohistani sheep; we want some new blood in ours. I wish you would go down and see what exchanges you could make; I could let them have some fine cows; or if they won’t exchange, we might buy a ram or two,” and she whispered something in his ear. He smiled and pulled her cheek caressingly. “I was keeping it all for your wedding,” he said pla yfully. “My wedding? Ah, I see it is you who want to get rid of me, so that is all you care about me, is it?” she said pouting. “Well, just to punish you, I’ll make you spend it on sheep.” “I don’t mean to do that,” he said, becoming suddenly stern; “there will be enough to do with what little mone y we can collect, soon.” “Yes, much to do,” she said, laughing still, and trying to ignore his sudden change of manner, “for I want a camel as well as the sheep; we really need it, father, you have not half looked after the animals lately.” “Listen, Gul Begum,” he said. “I will exchange whatever you like, and if you have sheep to sell I will sell them for you, but I won’t spend mone y, on that I’m quite determined.” Her mother had by this time gone outside; she was busy washing the cooking utensils; but Gul Begum looked sharply round the room, as though making sure there were no listeners near. “Father, what is it?” she asked eagerly. “I know there is something wrong; you have been full of anxieties and troubles for months, ever since you came back from Kabul. You went away so merrily. What has made you so despondent since your return?” He hung his head; his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, his dreams, passed in review before his mental vision. Where were they now? He threw back his arm and drew the girl closer to him, then kissed her on the forehead, but said nothing, and so they sat, in the happ y silence that can only exist where there is true sympathy, he revelling in the tender love which she poured out upon him from the fulness of her warm young heart, and she full of trust and confidence in his strength and wisdom, contented not to know if he did not wish her to, though she guessed pretty nearly the cause of his trouble. It was his wife’s entrance that broken the spell; she said nothing, she did not even look; her very presence it was that chased awa y the repose.
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39<br />
A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR<br />
“No, father, certainly not,” she replied, trying to be gay, and seating<br />
herself half behind him, so that she could get her arms around him, and<br />
at the same time lay her head on his shoulder, “but the sheep must be<br />
looked after. My grandfather has, I hear, a fine flock of Kohistani<br />
sheep; we want some new blood in ours. I wish you would go down and<br />
see what exchanges you could make; I could let them have some fine<br />
cows; or if they won’t exchange, we might buy a ram or two,” and she<br />
whispered something in his ear.<br />
He smiled and pulled her cheek caressingly. “I was keeping it all for<br />
your wedding,” he said pla yfully.<br />
“My wedding? Ah, I see it is you who want to get rid of me, so that is<br />
all you care about me, is it?” she said pouting. “Well, just to punish<br />
you, I’ll make you spend it on sheep.”<br />
“I don’t mean to do that,” he said, becoming suddenly stern; “there will<br />
be enough to do with what little mone y we can collect, soon.”<br />
“Yes, much to do,” she said, laughing still, and trying to ignore his<br />
sudden change of manner, “for I want a camel as well as the sheep; we<br />
really need it, father, you have not half looked after the animals<br />
lately.”<br />
“Listen, Gul Begum,” he said. “I will exchange whatever you like, and<br />
if you have sheep to sell I will sell them for you, but I won’t spend<br />
mone y, on that I’m quite determined.”<br />
Her mother had by this time gone outside; she was busy washing the<br />
cooking utensils; but Gul Begum looked sharply round the room, as<br />
though making sure there were no listeners near.<br />
“Father, what is it?” she asked eagerly. “I know there is something<br />
wrong; you have been full of anxieties and troubles for months, ever<br />
since you came back from Kabul. You went away so merrily. What has<br />
made you so despondent since your return?”<br />
He hung his head; his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, his dreams,<br />
passed in review before his mental vision. Where were they now? He<br />
threw back his arm and drew the girl closer to him, then kissed her on<br />
the forehead, but said nothing, and so they sat, in the happ y silence<br />
that can only exist where there is true sympathy, he revelling in the<br />
tender love which she poured out upon him from the fulness of her<br />
warm young heart, and she full of trust and confidence in his strength<br />
and wisdom, contented not to know if he did not wish her to, though<br />
she guessed pretty nearly the cause of his trouble. It was his wife’s<br />
entrance that broken the spell; she said nothing, she did not even look;<br />
her very presence it was that chased awa y the repose.