1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

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A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
remaining with the children who could drag their wear y limbs no
further, had begged to stay behind and watch their little ones die,
promising to rejoin the party as soon as the last struggle should be
over; and the soldiers had let them stay, partly under the firm
conviction that, like the little ones whose death was inevitable, these
feeble old bodies would never reach their destination, and partly also
because the y knew that as slaves their market value would be
absolutely nil. But if the oldest of the party had dropped out from
among the ranks and were sitting b y the roadside in the last state of
exhaustion, others seemed somehow to have taken their places in the
most extraordinar y way.
The middle-aged women, many of whom had been stout and well built,
if not comely, when they had set out, were now mere shadows, their
tanned and wrinkled skins hanging in folds across their but too
apparent bones. Even the young women looked twice their age, and
many were worn with grief as well as suffering. Amo ng these was Gul
Begum. Her father was her idol, her ideal, and he, thank God, was so
far safe; but little Marwari had been her darling, her comforter and
adorer. She missed her every hour. In all her sufferings in the days that
were past it had been of the little sister she had thought, and the warm
soft hand slipped tenderly in hers had been her so lace during many a
sad and anxious hour, and now she was gone, gone where the sun could
never scorch her more, where no stones would cut her little aching feet,
and where there were rivers and fountains in plent y to slake that
burning unquenchable thirst.
As she had trudged on the tears had chased each other down her
sunburnt, wind-tanned cheeks, and had fallen one after the other on her
travel-stained skirt and shawl, but no sob had escaped her – only the
tears welled up and fell, then welled up and fell again – she was too
tired for more; nature could make no further effort. Properly clad, and
at her own leisure, she could have accomplished the distance in half
the time and without so much as turning a hair; but this weary, steady
march, barefoot, all through the scorching noontide, with the helpless
little ones depending on her when their own strength flagged, had taxed
even her strength to the ver y uttermost.
The night she arrived in camp, however, she slept – and slept soundly –
and next morning, except that her feet were both swollen and cut about
by the stones, she felt fresher and brighter than she had done for some
days. Shereen, too, and many of the other girls, had recovered their
spirits and had begun wondering what the next move was to be. They
had had an abundant supper over night, so for the first time for several
days the y were not hungry. Besides, they were not under nearly such
strict rule as they had been, and some even talked of flight, but it was
mere talk. Not one had either strength or courage to attempt it, and,
moreover, for all the apparent carelessness, they felt that the y were
closely watched. Towards noon there seemed more stir about the camp.