1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

8
A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
he had much more influence with his tribe than had the nominal chiefs,
and was ever ywhere looked up to and respected.
They were chattering, of course, those girls. How could it be otherwise
in any nation, when twent y young female things were sitting together
in a group? But these girls had something special to talk about;
evidently something more than usually interesting was going on, and
every now and then one would pout and look dissatisfied, perhaps even
a little sad, or another would laugh and look coy and happy, and knock
over the companion squatting beside her who had evidently been
chaffing her; nothing rude or rough in the push that had sent her
neighbour sprawling, only play which was in no way resented; but
there was a good deal of noise, and certainly no one was thinking of
work, when another young woman stepped from the vizier’s dwelling
and joined them. Her dress was exactly similar to theirs, her hair black,
her mould distinctly powerful, but there the resemblance ceased, for
she was tall – full head and shoulders taller than any other girl present.
Moreover, she had fair, smooth skin and a bright complexion, large
intelligent eyes, a nose instead of a knob in the centre of her face, a
well-shaped head placed on a well-shaped neck, long, well-shaped feet
and hands, and a step as elastic as a deer’s, carriage erect and
dignified. This was Gul Begum, the pride and beauty of her tribe, her
father’s hope and jo y, the object of many an ill-natured remark from
the less well-favoured of her sex. Alas! That it should be so.
“What are you all doing here making such a noise?” she asked. “Ah,
Dilbhar, you here?” she broke off, suddenly frowning, “go to your
work, bad girl. Are the pots and pans all cleaned, the meat washed, the
rice ready, that you sit idling here?” The girl thus addressed slunk
quietly awa y. “But who have you here?” she went on, spying among the
group the cause of all the laughter, all the chatter and excitement
“Miriam? Now, Miriam, what did I tell you?”
A wizened, cunning-eyed old woman in the centre of the group looked
up coaxingly. “You told me what no young girl, least of all you , my
lovely child, could possibly mean,” she said.
“I never sa y what I do not mean,” the girl replied firmly. “I told you to
go and not come back. We don’t want you here, making our girls
dissatisfied, putting foolish notions in their heads, making them
neglect their work. We don’t believe your promises, and we are not
afraid of bad omens.”
“Oh, aren’t we?” whispered one girl squatting at her feet to her
neighbour. “It is all very well for Gul Begu m, she was born under a
lucky star, but it is different for us who have to work now as girls and
will probably have to work harder still as wives.”
“Come, just this once, give me an old pair of long leather boots or a
little salt and I’ll tell you your fortune, and such a fortune too, my fair