1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

97
A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
Three times the soldier thu ndered with the butt end of his rifle, before
his summons met with any response, and each time he cursed, not the
man who should have admitted him, and did not, but his father, and his
grandfather, and his wife’s, and other relations’ forefathers, in the
usual Afghan st yle. At last an old man appeared in the doorway, in a
state of fury, equal to that of the soldier, and in his turn commenced
the same style of greeting.
“What sense have you that you thunder at my master’s door in that
manner?” he asked. “Are we all your servants that you expect
admission the moment you choose to rap at our door, son a low-born
barber that you are?”
“Cursed be your fathers, then, why did you keep us waiting?” asked the
soldier angrily. “Are we dogs that we should be left standing outside
the gate in this way awaiting your good pleasure? See, I bring you a
new mistress, the last who had found favour in yo ur master’s e yes, and
she is travel-stained and weary. A nice story she will have to tell your
master of the wa y in which you received her.”
“I was at my prayers, blasphemer,” the old man said more quietly,
noticing the woman on horseback. “Could you not have guessed the
cause of the delay and have waited a little more patiently?”
The soldier, sending that he, or rather the rider, had made some
impression on the irate old man, was about to add a good deal more,
but Gul Begum herself interposed.
“Enough,” she said, “now that we know you were at your prayers, there
is nothing more to say. It was not so very long that we had to wait after
all.”
“Who are you?” the door-keeper asked quite civilly, noticing the air of
authorit y with which she spoke, “and why do you come here?”
“I am the daughter of the Vizier, Ghulam Hossain,” she said quietly,
“and have been chosen by your master, and sent here by order of the
Commedan of the camp over yonder,” indicating the direction from
which she had come. “We have ridden all day to get here, and are tired
and hungry.”
“It is passing strange,” the old man said, eyeing her. “You are a likely
girl enough, but I have no orders about you whatsoever, and hardly
know what to say.”
“You are not likely to,” the soldier again interrupted, “if you don’t go
to the right source for your information. If you choose to address
yourself to me instead of to the woman, I might be able to give you the
information of which you do not seem to be possessed. I have a letter
here for your master from my Commedan which will explain ever ything