Part 19 (1/2)
It occurred to him that a visit to Minghal Khan's house might help him a little. It would at least enable him to learn for himself, perhaps, whether the chaprasi's report about the khansaman was justified. He still felt a lingering hope that the informant was mistaken. The missy sahib had much knowledge of the man, and it seemed incredible to Ahmed, with his experience of the loyalty of his comrades in the Guides to their salt, that a man who had served the sahib faithfully for years should be so utterly perverted as the chaprasi had reported. Had he not heard stories in camp of the heroic devotion shown by native servants in rescuing and giving asylum to the families whose salt they had eaten?
Had he not, indeed, seen with his own eyes in the camp on the Ridge Metcalfe Sahib, who had been saved, not even by a servant, but by a police officer, one Mainudin Ha.s.san Khan, who at the risk of his life had conveyed the sahib to Jajjar? If a police officer would do this, might not a khansaman or some other servant, bound to his master by personal ties far closer, have done as much for Craddock Sahib?
From his experiences on the previous day, he guessed that in all probability Minghal Khan would leave his house early to attend the usual morning darbar at the palace. His absence would furnish a good opportunity of calling without risk. Accordingly, he summoned his coolie, and, while the man was preparing a bale of goods, he inquired of the innkeeper the way to the great man's house. It was not far off, being on the opposite side of the Chandni Chauk towards the Delhi Bank.
He set off with his goods, found the house without difficulty, and rang the bell.
”Salaam, darwan,” he said to the servant who opened the door. ”You behold a trader from Afghanistan, who comes with some beautiful fabrics of exquisite workmans.h.i.+p to lay before the great subahdar, Minghal Khan.”
”Away, banijara!” replied the man. ”The great one is not at home; he is gone to the king's palace. And even were he within, dost think he would deign to look at the filthy rags a man like thee would bring? Away, and take thy shadow from his door.”
Ahmed, who knew very well what this meant, slipped a few annas into the darwan's hand.
”I know I am unworthy that the light of the great man's countenance should fall upon my goods,” he said. ”Yet in his merciful kindness he may deign to purchase some small thing, and then, O darwan, there will a.s.suredly be dasturi for hands that so well deserve it.”
The preliminary ”tip,” and the promise of a commission on the goods sold, had the expected effect.
”The great one is from home,” said the man. ”If you will come again, I will do my poor best to persuade him to look upon you.”
”It is a favour. How lucky art thou, O darwan, to be doorkeeper to the exalted one! By what great merits didst thou arrive at so high a station?”
The darwan's vanity was flattered. He bridled.
”Wah! It is as thou sayest, banijara. And 'tis more merit than luck, be sure. I have served the great man but two days, and live in the sunlight of his good favour. I have served other great men in my time. Even but now I came from the Maulavi Ahmed Ullah himself. Being ignorant, thou mayst not know that the Maulavi and my present master are as brothers, and two days ago I came from the Maulavi with news of the great doings at Cawnpore. And being the first--for those twenty sowars who brought the news were laggards compared with me--and sent by the Maulavi to Minghal Khan, the great man was able to acquaint the king before the sowars came, and for that he received a present of royal sweetmeats, and made me his darwan.”
”Truly it was great merit. And that matter of the doings at Cawnpore--I have heard some whispers of it, but not as thou couldst tell it. I pray thee, darwan, say on.”
”It was a glorious matter. The Feringhis were shut up there, and Dhundu Pant, whom men commonly call Nana Sahib, took a full revenge for his grievances. Thou must know he was adopted son of that Baji Rao whom the accursed Feringhis put down from being peshwa, and tried to soothe with a pension of eight lakhs of rupees. And when he died, they would not pay the pension to his son, though Baji Rao left a host of dependants for Nana Sahib to support. And when Nana made complaint of this injustice to the k.u.mpani, they gave him a rough answer: what did it matter to the k.u.mpani if Baji Rao's people starved? And when the rising came, the men of those parts made Nana Sahib their leader, and he caused entrenchments to be thrown up before Cawnpore, and mounted great guns to destroy the Feringhis. They had done well to yield, but they are even as pigs, and endured great tribulations from shot and sh.e.l.l and the want of food, and Nana Sahib was wroth, because the men clamoured to be led to Delhi. Nana Sahib is a very great man. He sent a letter to the Feringhis, in which he promised, if they would lay down their arms, to let them go safely to Allahabad. Wah! They are stupid as camels. They sent men to meet Azimullah, Nana Sahib's muns.h.i.+, and he promised to have forty boats stored with food ready for them at the Satia Chama ghat, and it was written down, and when one of the Feringhis came to see Nana Sahib put his name to the paper, the Nana shed tears of sorrow at what their women and children had suffered. Truly he is a very great man.”
”As a serpent in cunning. Go on with thy tale, darwan.”
”The Feringhis came out, and laughed with joy when they saw the boats moored, even as it had been written. They got into the boats, and some two or three began to move on the stream, when at the sound of a bugle the boatmen leapt overboard, and the sepoys on the banks fired at those laughing fools, and all the men were killed; it was a great killing; and the women were dragged ash.o.r.e and pent up in a little house, and there they are to this day, and when the Feringhis are all destroyed, then there will be white-faced wives for any who like to take them. It was a great day--and for me too. I shall by and by be rich as a shroff, that is sure. I got much plunder when we entered Cawnpore after the Feringhis were slain; and in very truth--but tell no man of this, banijara--it would not surprise me if I were at this moment richer than my exalted master himself. There is great honour in serving the King of Delhi, but hitherto little profit. That is only until the Feringhis are utterly destroyed. Then all faithful servants of the king will become great subahdars, and Minghal Khan is very high in his favour. But now there is little money; indeed, our khansaman had yesterday none wherewith to buy food for the great one, until he had sold some of the things in the house that belonged to the dog of an English hakim who used to live here. He is a good man, the khansaman, and it would do your ears good to hear him curse the vile Feringhis.”
”The great one has many servants, no doubt?” said Ahmed.
”Nay, it is not so. Besides me and Kaluja Da.s.s, the khansaman, there is but one khitmutgar,--a household by no means worthy of so great a man as Minghal Khan. But what must be will be. When there is little money, even the greatest must go short. Here is the khansaman himself, going to market in the bazar.”
He stood aside to let the upper servant pa.s.s. Ahmed looked at the man keenly. He saw an elderly man, with a grave and somewhat anxious countenance. The khansaman glanced at him as he pa.s.sed.
”A banijara from Afghanistan, khansaman,” said the darwan. ”Think you the exalted one will be in the mind to purchase somewhat of him?”
”In the mind, but not the pocket, until the thrice-accursed sons of perdition are sent to the lowest pit,” replied the khansaman, and pa.s.sed on.
”Thou hearest?” said the darwan. ”Without doubt he is a good man, and when Minghal Khan is exalted, Kaluja Da.s.s will be exalted too. He hates the Feringhis with a terrible hatred, and that is easy to understand, seeing that it was his kismet to serve them for so many years.”
”It is as thou sayest, good darwan. But it seems 'tis an ill time to bring my wares. Yet I would fain show them to the exalted one at a convenient season. I will come again, and if it should not please the great man to see me, I should have some consolation in another talk with thee. 'Tis not often a poor trader like me meets a man who has seen such great deeds.”
”And done them, banijara. Was I not among those who shot the fools of Feringhis at the ghat? Wah! One boat that had left the ghat was rowed to the other side--the pigs of English believed they might yet escape. But I was there, with my musket, and I fired, and my shot kindled the thatch that covered the boat, and it burnt with a great blaze. And the boat grounded in the mud, and I ran down and pulled out of it one of the English by the hair of his head, and drove my knife into him many times, and he died, pig that he was--though he did not squeal like a pig; the English, curse them, never squeal.”
Ahmed's blood was boiling. It was one of his own race whom this braggart menial had killed. He would have liked to end the man's account then and there, but the coolie was at hand, squatting beside the bale of goods.
For the sake of his mission he could not afford to give rein to his anger.
”It is an honour to meet one who has done such brave deeds,” he said.