1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

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A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
CHAPTER XII
THE RETURN HOME
NO ONE could have been more surprised than was Gul Begum at what
appeared to her the sudden change in Mohamed Jan’s attitude towards
her. During all the first part of her stay in his house he had noticed her
but little, and when he had done so it had always been with respect.
For some weeks, however, she had become aware of a certain subtle
change in the women of the establishment, which she had attributed to
the fact that they were tired of having a stranger constantly in their
midst; tired of treating as a guest one who belonged to a class above
themselves; tired of restraining themselves before her.
She knew nothing of the war, nothing of the turn that events had taken,
nothing of the fact that her father was now practically a fugitive among
the mountains, with a price on his head , without power, except among a
few devoted followers, without money, for he had spent it all, nor yet
that the Ameer had made a proclamation promising protection to all
Hazaras who would lay down their arms, a home to all who would seek
refuge to Kabul, rewards to all who would help him to suppress this
unrighteous rebellion. But even had she known, she would never have
dreamt that any of her countr y people would have accepted such terms
– she had been brought up by such a patriot that she imagined all men
must be patriotic. This sudden change in her position came upon her,
therefore, with a great shock. That she should be treated with
indifference was one thing, but to be struck, absolutely kicked, and
generally ill-used by the man who had been rewarded by her father for
his promise to protect her, that was something quite unexpected . And
then her letter – the letter she had written to her father – what had
become of that? How she wished it had never been penned ! Mohamed
Jan was the last person she would have wished to have had it read y by.
On reaching the house she had gone to her room, had removed her
soiled and crumpled garments, and had sat there alone till nightfall, her
limbs still aching from the blows she had received, waiting for the next
turn in the wheel of her fortune, but no turn came. Night came, and she
sat there still waiting, waiting.
Sounds of loud laughter and giggling reached her from time to time,
and her anxious, excited brain fancied that she herself and none else
must be the butt of ever y jo ke, that her humiliation must be the topic of
all conversation and the cause of all the merriment among these people
who had so evidently never cared for her, and whom she had certainly
never tried to conciliate. Proud as she was, she was obliged to admit to
herself that her grandmother’s advice, which she had perhaps carried