1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

67
A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
country. Why continue all this strife and bloodshed? We have been at
war all one summer, and look at the result. Where are our crops?
Another year and there will be a famine such as has never been known
in all time. Give in, father,” she pleaded, “give in.”
He drew her closer to him and kissed her brow fondly. “You must be
patient, m y child, and trust to the leaders of our nation. This is not a
case where one man can act alone. Much lies in the Sa yad’s hands and
much in the hands of the other Mullahs. I confess I have but little hope
myself. I would have none were it not that these men, from their
priestly office, can travel ever ywhere and anywhere practically
unnoticed, and can stir up people that we chiefs have not the means of
reaching. We shall all have to practise the greatest self-denial and
patience. Will you help me to instil this both by example and precept,
my flower?” And the girl promised.
That she kept her promise was proved many times during that long
winter. Many of the men had been killed or were disabled, and there
was much distress throughout the village, especially among the
labourers and their families, and in spite of Halima’s grumbling her
daughter cooked, and Dilbhar carried many a dish of nourishing food
and many a piece of well-baked bread to the homes of the sufferers. It
was a hard, but in many wa ys a satisfactory, time to Gul Begum, and
did much to prepare her for the far harder time that was before her.
Early in the spring news was again received as to the activit y of the
Afghan soldiers on the Hazara frontiers, and Ghulam Hossain among
many others prepared himself for what all felt was to be the final
struggle.
Again a messenger from Ferad Shah came to demand Gul Begum, and
again he was sent back assurances that the girl was married and no
longer lived in the village.
“You must prepare yourself to return to Mohamed Jan,” her father said
when the message was communicated to him. “I cannot protect you
here. It was perhaps not the wisest plan to have adopted originally; but
it was the best I could devise at the moment, and now there is no
choice. You cannot be protected by any one else. This time I will take
you to his house myself, and will promise him such rewards for your
safe keeping as cannot fail to tempt him.”
Gul Begum resisted all she could. She wept, she entreated, but all to no
purpose. Ghulam Hossain was inexorable, she must return to the house
of the man on whom she had been named.
“You must be diplomatic,” her father told her, trying to cheer her, “you
must show no airs of superiorit y with these people. Help the women
with their household work, and Mohamed Jan with his animals, as you
do me. In that way they will grow fond of my precious child, and will