# The Slave Girl of Agra/Book 2/Chapter 1

BOOK II
I. THE TARTAR SLAVE
Nine years had passed since Noren had left his home—nine years of varying fortunes in fields of battle. Noren was now a young man of twenty-five, and an officer in the army, but his estate was still under the management of the Imperial Agent. No news from Birnagar or Debipur reached Noren, and his frequent marches and counter-marches left him little time to think of home. Time dulls the first feelings and impulses of youth; separation loses its bitterness, and early disappointments are borne easily enough as years pass by. Nevertheless, recollections of his childhood—of the Palace gardens and the lake temple at Birnagar—sometimes came back to Noren, and amidst all the distractions, and even the excesses of a camp life, an image of purity and of love sometimes claimed a sigh from the weather-beaten soldier. But all recollections of the past were now dimmed, for Noren was now lying half-unconscious on a bed of sickness. He had been delirious with high fever for days and nights, strange women had nursed him in a strange land, and physicians had shaken their heads over the restless patient. But rest and kind attendance and the vitality of youth had brought him back from death's door.
He woke up one midnight. Silver cressets, suspended in silver chains, threw a chastened light on a ​gorgeous room. The walls were of sandstone, carved and decorated with white and black marble of beautiful designs. Pillars of stone rose in chaste grandeur, and were inlaid with precious stones, imitating creepers and flowers. Silken curtains hung from the ceiling, a rich carpet was spread on the floor. A fountain played in the centre and fell in a sparkling shower over an ample vase of white marble. The basin was inlaid with stones of different tints so as to deceive the eye, and the beholder half thought that fishes of various kinds were glancing under the rippling water. A perfect silence reigned, and a faint fragrance pervaded the dimly-lighted room. For a moment Noren looked around, dazed and bewildered; it all appeared a dream to him. But he was too feeble to think; he turned his head on his pillow and slept.
The red streaks of the morning were peeping through the silken curtains, and the fragrant oil lamps were flickering in their sockets when Noren opened his eyes again. The same brilliant scene met his eye—the same room, but now peopled with human figures. One elderly nurse, a Rajput woman by her dress and appearance, was lying on the floor of the room still asleep. An attendant, who seemed a Brahman lad by his holy thread, was in the corridor and had apparently been sent there to prepare food for the Hindu patient. Close by the bedside, silent and watchful, stood a young woman with dark, piercing eyes and a face of striking beauty, bronzed by toil and exposure. Her raven locks fell in ringlets from a dark velvet skull-cap, and set off her bright keen features. A rich velvet bodice, worked in gold ​but soiled by long wear, covered her figure. Her long bare arms were of singular suppleness and beauty, but had the strength of tempered steel. A girdle, the gold decoration of which had been worn off, held a short dagger; and a gauze scarf, which had been green at one time, fell in loose folds and served as an upper garment. Her petticoat was short, and disclosed loose muslin trousers, which were fastened tightly above the ankles, and her feet were bare. The girl, who was tall and slender, had a terrible fascination in her dark, piercing eyes, but Noren's eyes were too weak to notice all this. "I am thirsty, give me some drink," was all he could say. The girl disappeared like a passing vision.
"I am thirsty, give me some drink," he repeated. The Brahman lad came to his bedside and gave him some medicinal drink, and Noren fell asleep again in a few moments.
Days and nights passed, and Noren still lay in the bed. His attendants never spoke to him, and Noren saw little of them because he was seldom awake. Occasionally at night he saw or dreamt of the same tall, sinuous form bending over him in silence and watching him in his bed. And once or twice when he woke in the morning he heard light, retreating footsteps on the carpet and saw a shadow flit past his bed.
The crisis had passed, and Noren slowly recovered, and the memory of past events came back to him. He had served under Raja Man Singh in many battles, and victory had generally crowned the enterprises of that great General. Towns had been taken and sacked, and jungle fastnesses conquered ​The Afghans had been crushed and the Portuguese checked, and Bengal knew peace and prosperity under the Raja's wise rule.
But fortune left the Moguls when Raja Man Singh left Bengal in 1598. His son, Jagat Singh, was brave and warlike, but was oftener found in the hall of drinking than in the Council Chamber. The determined Afghans rose once more and recovered Orissa. It was a disastrous day for the Rajputs and the Moguls when they met the Afghans at Bhadrak in 1600. The fiery Osman Khan broke the ranks of the Imperial troops, routed the Mogul army, and slaughtered the retreating foe. It was during this flight that Noren received a bullet which laid him senseless by the side of his leader, Gajapati Singh.
Noren remembered the shameful retreat of the Imperial forces from Bhadrak to Rajmahal. By the kindness of Gajapati Singh he was carried like many other wounded officers in a rude bamboo frame. Brief time there was for rest, for the young Ruler of Bengal decided to appeal to the Emperor for reinforcements, and Gajapati Singh was chosen to carry the message. Noren, now useless in the camp, followed his leader. A long journey by boat up the Ganges was expected to give him needful rest and to restore his health, but had the contrary effect. His wound had not healed, and the cold night winds of Northern India brought on a high fever. This was the last thing that Noren remembered; he then sank into a state of unconsciousness from which he never woke again until he found himself in this strange room and amidst strange surroundings.
The Rajput nurse ceased to attend when Noren ​could take care of himself, and the Brahman lad could not understand the tongue in which he spoke. Noren was devoured by anxiety and thought; he knew not where he had been brought, or how he could escape, for he was a prisoner, and the doors and windows of the room were barred.
One night as he was revolving these thoughts in his own mind he again heard a rustle near his bed. Turning round he saw the same sinuous figure which he had seen before so often. Her keen, piercing eyes made the young man start. Her complexion was more radiant than is usually found among the daughters of India. She was lithe and agile like a beautiful young panther, and her footfall and noiseless movements also reminded Noren of a denizen of the jungle watching her prey!
"I have seen thy face, fair one, in my dreams," Noren at last spoke to her, "or, perhaps, thou hast watched by my bedside when I was almost unconscious. Speak in thy kindness and tell me where I am. Speak and help one who needs help."
The girl spoke not, but raised her bare arm and laid her finger on her lips to enjoin silence. But Noren was not to be silenced.
"Speak, strange being! Art thou the owner of this noble mansion, and hast thou given shelter to a poor wounded soldier? Thou hast, I verily believe, watched over me in my illness and saved my life—thou hast been a friend to the friendless in this strange place."
Still the girl spoke not, but stood motionless in her radiant beauty and with her gleaming, terrible eyes!
​Annoyed by her silence, Noren spoke again with some impatience. "Art thou a woman, or a daughter of the tribe of the ginii who mock at the misfortunes of men? But thy garb shows thee to be a Moslem maiden of high degree, and thou art one of the fairest of the daughters of men."
Fairy or woman, she seemed to soften at the compliment like the rest of her sex. A smile, with just a touch of mockery, overspread her face, but still the girl was silent.
Noren was encouraged. He caught hold of her white, bare arm, and spoke in a gentle voice. "A woman's heart thou hast, fair one, for a stranger. Show him a woman's kindness."
"A good long time thou hast taken to find out that I am a woman," spoke the girl at last, with a silent laughter which showed her beautiful white teeth, and her dark eyes twinkled in merriment. "Art thou sure yet I am not a sprite or a daughter of the ginii? Is my hand of flesh and blood?"
"Ay, and I feel pulsations of the warm blood which courses in thy veins."
"It seems a young soldier, though in his sick bed, knows a woman when he meets one."
"Ay, and he can read a kindly face even in the daughter of a strange land."
"Little dost thou know of my strange land, stranger, and be not too sure yet of my kindness. Thou shalt have as thou deservest."
"I ask for nothing more. I am content to have thee, fair one, for my judge."
"Why, thou art quite an adept in thy trade. Those fine words would win a fair girl even in a ​strange land. But something more than smooth words will be demanded of thee, young soldier, before many days are over."
"Name what thou requirest of me."
"The courage of a soldier, the bold enterprise of a man."
"Prove me, and judge if I fail."
"Promise not too much, for bold words do not often indicate a bold heart. Yet I have heard of thee, soldier Noren, and I have watched thee closely, and I seldom misread men's faces. Maybe thou art the man I have wished to meet."
"Speak not in mysteries, fair maiden; trust a soldier who has never yet been false to those who have confided in him."
The girl was silent for a time. Then in a low, solemn whisper, which had something in it of the hiss of the jungle, she spoke. "Know me then to be a Tartar woman, who never forgets a friend, never forgives a foe. Little did my people teach me of the religion of Islam, and little have I learnt of it in thy land of many faiths. But my mother taught me a charm and gave me a dirk—the one is for my foes and the other is for my friends."
"A friend," replied Noren, with equal earnestness, "thou shalt find in him whom thou hast tended in his illness and brought back to life. If he proves otherwise let thy dirk perform its deed."
"Thy words ring true, young soldier, and thy face proclaims truth. I will confide in thee, but beware how thou dost prove false even in thy thoughts. One more exalted than myself, powerful to reward and quick to punish, bespeaks thy faith and requires thy duty."
​"Thou speakest in mysteries still, beauteous Tartar maiden."
"Thou wilt visit a place where man's foot has never trod. Thou wilt listen to the commands of one, the fairest in the land. Thou wilt face a danger which makes a brave man quake. Ask no more to-night; rest a week yet; summon all thy strength and all thy courage for the task which awaits thee. The red light of the dawn steals into thy room, and I must depart—"
"Thou departest not, fair girl, till thou hast told me who thou art," said Noren, clutching the slender arm of the fair visitant nervously. "I must know more of this mystery."
Again a silent laughter broke from those mocking lips, and the dark eyes twinkled like those of a basilisk. "Ay, ay, thou art not new to the trade of a lover, I imagine! My mystery thou shalt know another day, ardent young man. My name is Jelekha."
She had vanished.