1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

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A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
“What do you want?” he asked. “Whatever it is, be sharp, there is no
time to waste.”
“I want you to let me take my mother besides two others that the
Commedan has ordered to accompany me.”
“Oh, you can take her and one other,” the soldier said, smilingly, “the
Commedan put no limit as to age.”
“Ah,” the girl said sadly, “I see you are not going to help me. Our
family has all been divided up, and some have died. There are just we
four left, and we do not want to be parted. Will you not grant me this
little favour? If you will, I will speak for you to Colonel Ferad Shah,
and he will make you a Hawaldar (Sergeant), and something more,
perhaps, some day, if you succeed in pleasing him, and do his bidding,
and mine.”
“Do you know what Colonel Ferad Shah’s bidding is likely to be, my
good woman, that you talk so lightly? Have you ever seen him?”
“I know something of him,” Gul Begum said, and a shiver passed
through her as she recalled what she had heard; but, womanlike, she
believed in her own power. “I know that he was a slave once, but that
he is a colonel to -day, and placed in a position of great trust and
responsibility, and I know that he ma y be a commander-in-chief some
day, and have it in his power to make captains and even colo nels of
those who know how to serve him.”
The man stood thoughtful for a moment. “Look here,” he said, “you
hurry up, and you can take your old mother with you. The chances are
she will be sent back, but you can take her with you and see what
happens. If she gets a beating for going where she is not wanted, don’t
blame me.”
“You mistake,” the girl said brightly, “my mother is not an old woman,
she is only wearied after a long journe y; she is an active, able-bodied
woman who can work hard, and has been accustomed to do so. She
won’t get sent back,” and Gul Begum disappeared into the tent, well
content with the result of her promises.
They had but little preparation that they could possibly make, these
poor wanderers, possessed of what they stood upright in, and nothing
more, so in less than five minutes they were on their way, Gu l Begum
riding, the others walked behind – one soldier leading the pony, two
soldiers with loaded rifles walking behind to prevent any possibility of
escape.
“How far have we to go?” Gul Begum asked. “Not far,” the man said
doggedly. He did not want to be reported as having indulged in over
much conversation with the prisoners, for in Afghanistan ever y man
and woman looks upon every other, even his comrades, as possible