India

Preface

. THE Romance of the History of India is one of a series of historical tales founded on the histories of England, France, Spain, Italy, and India, which obtained great popularity when first published. The copyright of them having passed to the present Publishers, they have been induced to reproduce them in a compact form — complete in a single volume — in the belief that by so doing they will be adding to the literary pleasure of another generation.

PREFACE.

TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION. The success of the several series of " Romance of History " already published has induced the proprietor of that work to extend it in order to embrace a portion of history generally considered extremely exuberant in romantic features. The present series will be confined to the Mahomedan conquests in India, in the records of which are to be found numerous events of signal and stirring interest, which, while they develope the character of a distant people in a remote age, serve also to confirm many fine axioms of moral truth by exhibiting how, under all the variations of clime and fluctuations of circumstance, the great result of human actions is everywhere the same. This being a portion of history with which the general reader is less familiar than with that embraced in the preceding series of this work, the choice has been made under the impression that it may lead to a more extended reading of those annals which con tain some of the most interesting facts to be found in the records of ages. But while I feel that the subject is an important one, I have not been insensible to the difficulties with which it is encompassed, VI

PREFACE.

. and in proportion to the success of those volumes already before the public has my consciousness of these difficulties been raised, for, feeling that I have had greater impediments to success to overcome, I cannot but be less sanguine in the expectation that I have realized what has been so well done by my predecessors in a similar field. Romantic as are many of the events which the Mahomedan annals supply, they are nevertheless all of one tone and colouring. They want the delightful blendings and timings of social circumstances. Their princes were despots, their nobles warriors, their governments tyrannies, and their people slaves. The lives of their most eminent men, who were distinguished chiefly for their deeds in arms, present little else than a series of battles. Their principal amusement was the chase, in which similar perils to those presented in war were courted for the stern glory which followed desperate achievements.

If, therefore, in the following tales the variety should appear less than in those found in the volumes of the same work which have preceded these, the cause, and consequently the excuse, must lie in the materials. Besides this, those beautiful features of domestic life so frequently witnessed in our western world have little or no existence in the land to which the present volumes are devoted. Women confined in harems, and not admitted to the tender and endearing enjoyments of family intercourse, degraded below the dignity of their nature and of their reason, treated as secondary beings, as mere instruments of pleasure, and as created for no better purpose than to perpetuate the human race, are no longer objects either for the rich colouring of romance or the graver delineations of moral narrative.

Great variety of character is not to be found among those iso lated beings who are so well calculated to cast a glory upon the human pilgrimage, — not that variety of character does not exist, but it is not developed. All the pictures of life, therefore, among such a community will necessarily possess a certain sameness inseparable from their very nature. I have, however, endeavoured to vary the materials as much as was consistent with the regime of the history, though I sometimes found them very intractable. I can scarcely hope that I have succeeded in a labour of no common difficulty, but trust, nevertheless, that this last series of " Romance of History" may not be found undeserving of public patronage. CONTENTS. P \GR The Traveller's Dream . 3 The Idol of Somnat 23 The Royal Merchant 71 The Abyssinian Slave 100 The Rajpoot Marriage 125 The Mahomedan Nimrod 167 The Rival Brothers 203 The Siege of Gualior 240 The Pariah 266 The Defence of Chittore 304 The Light of the World 335 The Prince and the Fakeer 393 The Omrah's Daughter 424 The Revolt of the Fakeers 456 The Mahratta Chief HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

Heg. 351. (A.D. 962.) — Aluptugeen, governor of Khorassan, broke out into open rebellion and marched to Ghizny, which he subdued, and there established an independent power. Munsoor, King of Bokhara, hearing of this defection, conferred the government of Khorassan upon Abool-Hussun Mahomed, son of Ibrahim Sunjur Toorkoman, and thrice sent armies to attack Aluptugeen, which were on both occasions defeated. Aluptugeen retained his independence fifteen years, during which his general Subooktugeen frequently defeated the Indians. Heg. 365. (975-) — Aluptugeen died, and was succeeded by his son Aboo Isaac, who survived his accession but two years. Heg. 367. (977') — Subooktugeen was unanimously proclaimed king of Ghizny by the nobles and chiefs. He had married the daughter of Aluptugeen, and became as celebrated for his justice in the administration of his government as for the extraordinary popularity he acquired among his subjects of all conditions.

During the first year of his accession, Subooktugeen conquered the province of Candahar. Resolving on a war with India, he marched in that direction, and having taken certain forts, caused mosques to be built, and then returned with considerable spoil to Ghizny. Jeipal, a powerful prince of India, of the Brahmin caste, raised a numerous body of troops to oppose the Mahomedans, and brought together a great number of elephants, with a design to attack them in their own country ; but the King of Ghizny, sending an army to oppose the Indian chief, the hostile forces came in sight of each other on the confines of Lumghan. Here some smart skirmishing ensued, and Mahmood, the son of Subooktugeen, afterwards celebrated as the conqueror of India, though then but a boy, gave proofs of that valour and conduct which so eminently distinguished his future life.

Jeipal's troops having suffered from a dreadful storm of hail which killed the cattle of the army and several thousand soldiers, their general made proposals for peace, which, contrary to the advice of Mahmood, were accepted by the King of Ghizny. Jeipal, on reaching his capital, refused to fulfil the conditions, and Subook tugeen again marched his forces towards Lahore. The Indian general advanced to meet and give him battle. The Hindoos were everywhere defeated, and INDIA. B HIS TOR I C AL S UMMAR V. 2 pursued with prodigious slaughter to the banks of the Neelab. By this victory the conqueror acquired immense wealth, and a considerable accession of territory, causing himself to be acknowledged king over the conquered country, and appointing one of his officers with ten thousand horse to the government of Pishawur.

About this time died Munsoor, King of Bokhara ; he was succeeded by his son Nooh, against whom a formidable rebellion was raised by a chief named Faik. Nooh having formed an alliance with the King of Ghizny, the rebel was attacked and defeated by the latter, for which signal service the sovereign of Bokhara conferred upon Subooktugeen the title of Nasir-ood-Deen, Hero of the Faith ; and upon his son Mahmood that of Syf-ood-Dowla, Sword of the State. The rebel Faik having again collected his forces, attacked Mahmood un expectedly and defeated him, taking his baggage. The father hearing of his son's disaster, marched to his relief, routed the insurgents a second time, and thus completely quashed the rebellion. Heg. 387. (997. )— Subooktugeen fell into a lingering disorder. Being at this time at Bulkh, he determined to try change of air, and accordingly com menced a journey to Ghizny.

He had travelled only a few miles when he was obliged to stop at Toormooz, a town not far from Bulkh, where he expired, his remains being carried to Ghizny for interment. %>\t Œrafaller's glwam.

Chapter I. In

the forests of Candahar, a solitary traveller was pursuing his way. Overcome by the heat of noon he sat down on the margin of a small stream that gurgled through the thick under wood, allowing his horse to crop the fresh herbage upon its banks. The scene around him was gloomy but imposing. So thick was the growth of the jungle that the sun's rays could not penetrate, except here and there, where patches had been cleared by the char coal-burners or for purposes of fuel ; and these were comparatively few. Some of the trees were of a growth so stupendous as to im part a character of sublimity to the whole aspect of the forest. Many of them reached the prodigious height of a hundred and thirty feet, presenting a straight branchless stem, which rose like a colossal pillar from the ground to the altitude of twenty yards without a single branch or even a sprout upon its surface.

Under the vast leafy canopy which spread out above it, the wild elephant frequently reposed, and seemed, by comparison with the stately growth beside which it rested, but as some ordinary animal. It is far from the haunts of men, amid the deep recesses of the forest, or on the summit of the distant mountain, that nature is seen to develop the noblest features of her beauty. The stillness that reigns around, the solemn repose of the scene, not broken in upon by human associations, nor interrupted by the voice of human intercourse, enhance the impression of grandeur produced by the sight of objects which cannot fail to elevate the soul to pious adoration of the great and illimitable God of the universe. The stranger was impressed by the somewhat painful novelty of B his situation, and solemn thoughts were awakened in his heart.

He sat calmly gazing upon the brook as it bubbled before him, when his attention was suddenly roused by a crashing of the bushes, immediately accompanied by a loud roar, and in another moment his horse was prostrated by the paw of a huge lion. The traveller started from his seat, drew his sword, and coming behind the ferocious visitor, cut the sinews of its hind leg, and before the animal could turn, repeated the stroke on the other, and thus com pletely disabled it. The savage instantly relinquished its prey, but so tremendous had been the stroke of its paw and the succeeding laceration so extensive, that the poor horse rolled upon the streamlet's bank in the agonies of death. The lion roared with appalling fury — its eyes glared — its mane bristled — but it was unable to resent the injury it had received.

It dragged itself forward upon its fore-legs with a vain endeavour to retaliate. Its vanquisher approached fearlessly, struck it across the skull with his sword, and, repeating the stroke, laid it dead at his feet. The loss of his steed was an untoward event, and as he would now have to make his way through the forest on foot, — as, moreover, the sun had long passed its meridian, he determined to pursue his journey without further delay. Strapping to his shoulders a kind of wallet which had been fastened to his saddle, he commenced threading the thicket. His journey was long and arduous, but on emerging into an open space, he saw a doe grazing with her fawn. The latter had just been born, and the traveller coming suddenly upon them, secured the little one, while the affrighted dam fled in terror.

Pleased with his capture, he bound the fawn's legs, and placing it under his arm, proceeded on his way. He now quitted the cleared space, and plunged again into the jungle, satisfied at having procured something to relieve his hunger, should he be obliged to pass the night in the forest. When he had at length reached a convenient spot where he might pre pare a meal, he placed the fawn beside the trunk of a blasted tree and having kindled a fire by the friction of two dry pieces of wood, he was about to sacrifice the little animal, but perceiving the mother at a short distance gazing upon him with an expression of the deepest distress, he paused. The tears rolled down her cheeks — her head was raised, and her eyes intently fixed upon the stranger's countenance. They next turned upon her innocent offspring that lay bound at the root of the tree, unconscious of its danger, but still yearning for its parent.

She gradually advanced within a few yards of the spot on which the traveller stood. He retired several paces ; the anxious dam immediately sprang towards its young, lay down by it, and caressed it with an intelligible joy. On the traveller's approach she quitted her fawn with a bound of terror, but still retreated only a few yards, manifesting the strongest symptoms of maternal suffering. It was an affecting sight — an irresistible appeal to human sym pathy. The heart of the stranger was moved to pity, his bosom heaved with generous emotion, and under the impulse of a fervid and holy exultation he released the fawn from his captivity. The tender creature instantly ran to its mother, which, with a cry of joy, passed forward towards the thicket ; but before she was secluded from the sight of him who had delivered her young from death, she turned round as if with a look of grateful acknowledg ment, and plunged with her delicate offspring into the close cover of the forest.

This was an act to gladden the heart of a good man. Life is the blessed boon of Heaven, and the greatest of its gifts : to the mere animal, the loss of it is the loss of all ; and yet how wantonly does man trifle with the life of animals, to which it is an object of such high enjoyment ; for dumb creatures, having no apprehension of pain, possess the highest sense of mere corporeal fruition, so long as they are not actually suffering. The release of the fawn had softened the stranger's sympathies and impressed his feelings. Taking from his wallet a small quan tity of rice, which had been already boiled, he made a homely but grateful meal, and determined to pass that night on the spot, endeared to him by the consciousness, which it kept alive, of having performed a benevolent action. It was a heavenly night.

The light of a clear moon peeped through the trees, and seemed to dance in ten thousand phos phoric coruscations, as the slender branches, agitated by a gentle evening breeze, diverted its course for the moment, or trembled in its gentle beams. The forest gloom contrasted solemnly with the silvery light of the deep azure expanse above, and the general repose of nature, at that still hour when man retires to rest from the stir and bustle of day, added an additional tone of solemnity to the scene. The beast of prey was abroad, and, as it prowled, its occasional roar was a sort of diapason to nature's imposing harmony. The traveller having collected some dried leaves strewed them under the broad foliage of a tree, the branches of which formed a thick canopy within six feet of the ground, and casting himself upon this easy woodland couch, courted that slumber which his fatigue had rendered welcome.

His reflections were peaceful. He reverted to the occurrences of the day, and though the loss of his steed was a subject of uneasy recollection, yet it wTas more than countervailed by the happy remembrance of that little episode in the brief chronicle of his life, which he never afterwards reverted to without satisfaction — the restoration of the fawn to its bereaved dam. He lay for some time pursuing the quiet tenour of his contem plations, occasionally lapsing into a state of half-consciousness, and then reverting, by a sudden impulse of the mind, to perfect self-possession. At length, overcome by the active process of his thoughts and fatigue of body, he fell into a profound sleep, in which some of the most striking events of the past day were pre sented to his imagination, combined with new associations and invested with new hues and a more varied colouring.

He dreamed that he was visited by the Prophet, who approached him in shining garments, from which a glory was emitted so dazzlinothat he could not gaze upon it, and said — " The generosity which you have this day shown to a distressed animal has been appreciated by that God who is the God of dumb as well as of rational crea tures, and the kingdom of Ghizny is assigned to you in this world as your reward. Let not your power, however, undermine your virtue,but continue through life to exercise that benevolence towards man which you have done this day towards the brute." Having uttered these words, the celestial messenger disappeared, and the stranger awoke. The moon was still bright in the heavens, but he could not again close his eyes in sleep. The vision was too strongly im pressed upon his waking senses to allow them to yield to the gentle solicitations of slumber.

He arose, and watched the clear " pale planet," through the trees, as it slowly marched towards the horizon to make way for the brighter dawn. The dews fell heavily, and a thin silvery mist began to rise and invest every object with an ashy tint, as the moon gradually faded in its far descent behind the distant hills. The grey dawn at length broke slowly over the plain, but was not perceptible to the traveller's eye until the valleys were flooded with the young dewy light. The mist had thickened. The leaves of the trees dripped with their liquid burthen, and every spot that was not protected by a mantle of thick foliage, presented a bloom of moisture from the atmosphere, that seemed tinted with hues from fairy-land. Each blade of grass curved under its watery load, bending its delicate neck as if proud to bear the pure deposit of the skies.

Every thing was clothed in the same soft drapery, which was shaken off by the morning breeze, when each object \ resumed its natural variety of hue, and harmonious conformity of light and shadow. The traveller gathered together the leaves on which he had slept, kindled them, and taking a small cocoanut hookah from his wallet, smoked his chillam ; then, making a scanty meal from the cold rice, refreshed himself with a draught of the dews which he had allowed to drip during the night into a plantain leaf doubled up in the form of a cup. Although his repast was a spare one, it was taken with a pure relish, and having once more strapped his few articles of baggage upon his shoulders, he prepared to resume his journey ; but first turning his face towards the holy city, he offered up his devotions with pious fervour, and supplicated the protection of Heaven through his wanderings.

As he pursued his solitary way through paths to which he was a perfect stranger, he could not help recalling the vision which had haunted his sleep. It had come so vividly before him that he more than half persuaded himself it must have been intended to be a direct revelation from Heaven, and yet, that a man without a name, without a home, a stranger in the land, should become the monarch of a powerful empire, seemed one of those impossibilities only to be dreamed of, but never realised. To his calmer reflections, the night-vision appeared nothing more than the lively operation of a fancy excited by sleep, and which had been rendered the more keenly alive to impressions from certain peculiar coincidences of events that had deeply in terested him, and from those reflex images presented in slumber in consequence of the strong feelings which those coincidences had awakened within him.

Nevertheless, in spite of the apparent unreasonableness of the thing promised, the utter improbability of such an event taking place, and the force of his arguments upon the folly of harbouring such a thought, he could not expel from his mind the singular revelation of that night

Chapter II. The

traveller now pursued his way through the intricacies of the jungle, with much difficult}- and equal patience. He had not long quitted the spot of his last night's repose, when, entering a small glade where the wood had been cleared, he per ceived a group of eight men, seated round the glowin^ embers of a fire, some smoking, and others apparently devouring the last of their morning's meal. Knowing that retreat would be of no avail to secure him from their hostile intentions, if they were enemies he boldly approached, and inquired his way to the nearest hamlet One of the men rose, and meeting him, said with a sumificant laugh, " Perhaps you wouldn't mind ending your journey here ?" " Indeed but I should. If you can direct me on my way, well; if not, I have no time for parleying." " Good ! but travellers that pass through these woods are in the habit of paying for safe-conduct."

" I require no guide, and therefore must decline the tribute." "Hark'ye ! Do you think your single arm a match for eight pair? Be advised, and lower your tone. We live here by our good wits, levying contributions when the opportunity invites, and living on what the forest provides, when such opportunities fail us. We must have what you carry upon your shoulders, your money, and your provender, if you have any. When we make our de mands, remember we take no denial." " Then I am in the presence of robbers?" " Ay ! and what then ?" " This, that I shall not submit to your exactions, though you had a hundred, instead of seven, to back you !" The robber laughed; and, turning to his comrades, said, " Here's a fellow that wont be plucked without fluttering ; we must try blows to bring down the game, if he chooses to be deaf to per suasion.

Come," said he, turning to the traveller, "get rid of that unsightly hump upon your shoulders, and show how straight a man you are when you stand upright, without an incumbrance." "Life," replied the traveller, " is only to be valued at its worth; and I am ready to relinquish mine, if it be Allah's will, in defence of my property. 'Tis no great matter for a man to die, who has known little else than crosses in this world, and has nothing better to look forward to. Take heed then, though you be robbers, and such are seldom merciful, how you impede the progress of a des perate man." Saying this, he retreated towards a tree, against which he placed himself, and drawing his sword, declared his determination to resist to the death. The robbers paused, surprised at the determination to oppose himself against such palpable odds ; but, in order to prove how the hero had miscalculated his chances, one of the men discharged an arrow, and transfixed his sword-arm, pinning it to the tree.

The traveller immediately snapped off the shaft, and raised his arm to strike, but it fell powerless beside him. He was instantly overpowered and disarmed ; but upon examining the contents of his load, great was the disappointment of the bandits. They scattered its contents upon the ground, deriding the stranger's risk of his life for property so valueless. " Well," said the robber who had already spoken, " as he keeps no purse, we must make one out of him. His limbs are of the right mould, and your purchasers of slaves will give something for a sturdy labourer. We'll bid you good-bye when we can provide you a master who knows how to pay for being furnished with a brawny pair of shoulders, that he may lay his own load upon, without carrying them under his own head. Come along ; you shall rest quietly till that awkward puncture in your arm is healed, and then you shall be shown the way to the next hamlet."

The stranger's arms were bound with his turban, and he was forced to proceed between two of the bandits They entered the thicket, and after a walk of about five minutes, stood before several rude huts, formed in one of the closest recesses of the forest. These hovels were constructed from various growths of the jungle, a small square spot having been cleared in front, where the outlaws smoked, cooked their curries, and held their councils. Each hut accommodated a family, for all the men were married. As there was no spare dwelling for the stranger, one was im mediately constructed by a couple of the robbers, and completed in about two hours. It consisted of a few slight bamboos, driven into the ground at intervals of a foot, under the soilage of a low tree, which formed the roof. These bamboos were crossed with smaller canes, and the interstices filled with broad leaves and dried grass : the turf being cleared from within, the habitation was complete.

On the third day after his capture, the traveller was commanded to prepare for a change of condition. His wound was doing well, but the arm continued useless. His hands had not been released from the bandage by which they were confined when he was made captive. He was brought out into the area before the huts. THE TRAVELLER'S DREAM. n "Now," said the principal bandit, addressing him, "what say you to a change of life, in the mode at least ? We are robbers ; our business requires quick heads and stout hearts. You are a brave son of a good mother : what say you to a union of interests with 'those who, as you see, know how to live, and when pro visions get scarce, are not over nice in appropriating them without purchase ?" " I fear," replied the prisoner, "that I have too quick a con science for a robber.

You had better not trust me : I should betray you." " We'll run the risk ; a brave man never can discredit his courage, and to skulk in the track of treachery is the choice only of cowards. We'll trust you." " You would act then with a fool's discretion ; for brave men should be honourable, and 'tis an honourable act to proclaim rogues, who are the bane of society : — not to proclaim them would be an act of treachery against honest men." " In truth, I did not take thee for an honest man, though I did for a brave one ; but I suspect thee to be neither, and only fit to rub a horse's crupper, and perform the slave's drudgery. So be it, thou shalt soon know thy vocation." " These bonds are thy security," said the traveller, raising his hands, which were still tied with the turban. " Cowards are always brave, when they are beyond the reach of danger.

Does it become thy manhood to insult a maimed and unarmed man ?" This appeal, though it galled the pride, roused the better spirit of the robber, and he said : — "Well! our notions of valour may be like our notions of honesty ; therefore, let both be a divided question ; but, since you decline joining your fortune with ours, you must settle our demand for home and nourishment, and as you seem to have no gold of your own, we must turn you into a dis posable commodity, and get something for our trouble and care of you." The stranger now proceeded with his captors, and, after a march of some hours, they reached a village bordering upon the forest. It consisted of a few miserable huts, and its inhabitants were of the lowest class. Shortly after their arrival, a merchant made his appear ance, who purchased the prisoner from the robbers ; and he was left with a stranger in the new and unenviable character of a slave.

This was anything but a realization of his dream ; it however satisfied him, if he harboured a different conviction before, that dreams are the mere fantastic creations of an excited brain, and he felt ashamed of having allowed so flimsy an illusion to obtain one moment's influence over his mind. There was nothing to be gained by despondency, and he resolved to submit to his destiny, with a secret trust in God, and a determination to direct the tenour of his life according to the pure suggestions of a rigid and inflexible conscience. So soon as he had become the merchant's property, the latter examined his wound, and, having carefully dressed it, as carefully felt his chest and limbs, in order to form some idea of the texture of his muscles. This preliminary settled, he expressed himself well satisfied with his purchase.

The merchant was a little shrivelled man, with a light brown complexion, exhibiting a dull ochreous tinge, as if in him the whole biliary structure were placed in his head. He had a thin straggling beard, so scattered over the corrugated surface of his sharp-pointed chin, as to give him the appearance of a senile hag, rather than that of a venerable slave-dealer. He was accom panied by several athletic attendants, who amply made up in bone and sinew for the deficiency of their master in both particulars. Having asked his new slave a few questionsj respecting his former habits of life, and thus ascertained that he had been accus tomed to those hardy exploits likely to have inured his body to endurance, calculating that he should make a handsome profit by his bargain, the thrifty chafferer ordered him to be carefully attended to.