# The Slave Girl of Agra/Book 4/Chapter 3

III. THE WOMAN'S VOICE
To Norendra Nath also sleep came not that night. Something which Prithwi Raj had spoken to him, or which he had spoken to Prithwi Raj, lingered in his mind and gave rise to a train of thoughts. The image of Jelekha with her untutored impulses and wild fancies recurred to him again and again. And as he listened to Jamshid's rude harp, or hummed some old songs of Bengal, his mind travelled to past scenes and past events.
"Thou poor child," he said at last, "hast commenced a wandering life too early. Hast thou no home?"
"A minstrel-boy has no home, Master."
"No parents to look after thee?"
"My parents died when I was an infant."
"Where and how hast thou lived then, my boy?"
"Near the Agra palace, Master, where so many like me wander about to pick up a living as best they can."
"'Tis a sad life, child."
"Not so sad either, Master, for Omrahs and Mansabdars sometimes deigned to listen to my harp, and Prince Prithwi Raj has been kind and generous."
"Hath the Prince taken thee to his service, dear child?"
"Service suits me not, and wages I would not take, for I wish to come and to go at my will. I have ​followed him since he left Agra, and he gave me food."
"At Agra didst thou ever play on thy harp in the palace?"
"Often, Master; it was in the palace I earned my living."
"And didst thou ever play before the Princes of royal blood?"
"Before Princes, Master, and Princesses too. And Queens and Begums sometimes sent for me and listened to my music."
"Why, thou art a lucky minstrel then. Who sent for thee?"
"Ask me no names, Master, for I know not one from another. But a great Rajput lady—wife of the Emperor and mother of his eldest son—was kind and generous to me, and I would sing her praises all my life if I knew her name."
"It is Queen Jodh Bai thou art speaking of. A kindly heart she has for all strangers."
"Maybe, Master. And I have played before the Chief Queen, and before a Persian Lady of great beauty who was once her guest. There was none in the palace so beautiful as she."
"Ha! knowest thou her name?"
"Little can I remember of the names of those great ladies, Master. But they say the eldest Prince once sought her hand."
"The very same! Why, it is Begum Mihr-un-Nissa thou art speaking of. Hast thou ever seen woman so beautiful, so dignified, so commanding?"
"Master has seen her then?"
​"Hush, hush, child. Thou art a shrewd dog in spite of thy innocent looks. But tell me how thou wert taken to her."
"She heard me one evening as I was playing to the eunuchs and the slave women of the palace, and she was pleased to send for me."
"I wonder not, child, thou likest thy trade if Queens and Begums have loved to hear thy music. Didst know many of the women slaves?"
"They are a wicked lot, Master, with secret passions and secret jealousies. I was always afraid of them."
"And didst thou know among them a Tartar slave who belonged to Queen Jodh Bai, and whom they called Jelekha."
"Her I feared most, for she was the wildest and fiercest among them. They said she was mad, and they talked of chaining her in a palace dungeon."
"No dungeon will hold Jelekha again, my boy. She is free as the winds of her native mountains. But why did they call her mad?"
"That I know not, Master. But they said she was born of a woman who was not a woman, but one of the tribe of the Ginii. She could call them at her will, and they heard shrieks and wild laughter in her room at night. Has Master ever heard any such sounds?"
"I have heard them often, child, in Agra, and I heard some strange sounds here to-night. But there are beings on earth wilder than the spirits of the air. Go on with thy story, child. What more didst thou hear of Jelekha?"
"She would commune with the spirits of the air, ​so the people said in the palace, and spells and charms would come from her lips. And once they saw her walking with a sprite."
"Indeed! and in what shape did the sprite appear?"
"Why, they say the sprite came in the shape of her sister. And when the chief eunuch challenged it with his sword, on which texts from the holy Koran were inscribed, the spirit disappeared in a line of smoke, as you see when you blow out a candle."
Noren was listening gravely to the child's story. But here he was overtaken by a fit of laughter so violent that the frail bedstead on which he reclined shook under him. It was some time before he could recover and bid the boy proceed with his tale.
The minstrel boy went on. "You will not laugh, Master, when you have heard the end of the story. Jelekha entered the gate alone, and when she went to the rooms of the Persian lady—what is her name?"
"Thou speakest of Begum Mihr-un-Nissa, I suppose."
"When Jelekha was in the rooms of that Begum the sprite appeared once more by her side, and this time in the garb of an Eastern Chief."
This was no matter for laughter. If the story of a man's entrance into the palace Zenana was known and talked about there, Noren's life was not safe in Rajasthan or in Bengal. "Go on!" he cried in a low, hoarse voice.
"The Eastern Chief," went on the boy, with the same imperturbable coolness, "had a noble face, Master, and a true heart, and he held Jelekha kindly and spoke to her tenderly. But the ​Persian lady is a great magician, and can read into the hearts of spirits and of men. And she said to the Eastern Chief that he was a true soldier and a true lover, but his heart was in the Far East."
Surprise and terror seized Noren as these strange words came out of the lips of the little urchin sitting at his feet. He looked again and again at the minstrel boy in the dim light of the lamp. Was he the poor innocent beggar boy that he looked? Did he know more than his lips had uttered? Did he commune with the spirits of the air, or learn the secrets from Jelekha herself?
The boy's innocent and inscrutable face told no secrets. He sat silent and humble, nursing his little harp, his only joy and companion on earth.
"Finish thy tale, Jamshid. Thou hast gone too far to stop short here. I would listen to the end."
"There is little more to tell, kind Master. The Eastern Chief vanished in a line of white smoke. Jelekha disappeared the same night from the palace. The chief eunuch was found in a pool of blood the next morning."
Noren could bear it no more. He walked out into the darkness of the night.
The night wind whistled over the bare rocks and through a few acacia trees scattered over the place. The silent stars shed a faint ray, making darkness visible. The sentries were at their posts at some distance from the tent. And from within the tent came a flood of music, such as Noren had never heard before from the minstrel boy.
The calm of the midnight had its effect. After ​half an hour he entered his tent, more composed, and made the young minstrel sit by him.
"I do not quite understand thee, my boy, nor thy tales about ginii and sprites. But listen to me. I have a word of warning for thee.
"Thou knowest too little or too much, my child. Thy tongue might be cut out for uttering elsewhere what thou hast said to me to-night, and someone's head might fall. Forget the idle tale of an Eastern Chief inside the palace Zenana. No man on earth hath orders to enter those precincts save the Emperor and his sons. And forget the romance about sprites vanishing in smoke. Such idle stories have cost their narrators dear before now.
"An Eastern Chief wounded in battle came to the outer fort, and was nursed by the Tartar girl thou speakest of. She is an honest girl, brave and true, and if the palace slaves have told tales against her, forget them, for they are lies.
"The Tartar girl sighed for her freedom, and the Eastern Chief helped her, as he would help any woman in distress. That was all; the rest of what they said of her is fable.
"I care not, boy, if thou knowest it, for it is known to others—the Eastern Chief who helped Jelekha is myself."
The boy hung on his master's words like one rapt, and then spoke with evident emotion. "I trust you, Master, for truth is writ on your forehead and rings in your words. I will never believe you could be false to man or to woman."
"Thou speakest of things thou dost not understand, my child, but thy words are grateful to my ​ears. I am but a poor frail man, Jamshid, but among my sins, which are many, I do not reckon that of having ever deceived any woman who trusted in me. Perhaps the memory of one, whom I loved when I was a boy, has saved me from this." Noren's voice had sunk into a whisper. But he added with a smile: "Thou wilt perhaps comprehend these things when thou art a man. Be a true man whatever thy failings."
The innocent boy looked up to his master in surprise and said, in his innocent way:
"But I do comprehend these things, Master. Men marry women whom they love, do they not? Why did you not marry the girl whom you loved?"
"What an inquisitive boy thou art," said Noren, still smiling. "She was but a girl, Jamshid, and her pure, innocent heart never knew what I felt. She has perhaps married a better and a worthier man; I have never loved any other woman on earth."
The boy rose to trim the lamp, which was burning low. The lamp went out and there was utter darkness in the tent.
There was a long silence, for none spoke. At last the boy said, in a low voice, "The hour of midnight is past, and if Master permits the minstrel boy would retire."
"Go, my child, and take my blessings as thou wouldst accept no other reward. Be happy in thy life."
"A wanderer has no troubles on earth, Master. Many are the places I visit and many are the people I ​meet. Has Master any errands which I can do, any message I can convey?"
"None, child."
"The Prince of Bikanir will return to Agra soon. Has Master any message for him, or for anyone else he knew in the palace?"
"None, child. I know very few in the palace, for I was in a bed of sickness. And yet fain would I know something of her who nursed me so kindly and left me so strangely. Fain would I know that Jelekha the Tartar girl is safe and free and happy."
"Thou mayst know of Jelekha," said the boy, in a hollow voice, "if thy heart desires it."
"What dost thou mean?"
"Messages come from those who are far away, if they are not forgotten."
"Thy words are strange, my boy, and I understand thee not."
"I knew of a woman who was once saved by a warrior. And long after, when he was alone, she appeared before him, and sang and played to him, for he had not forgotten."
"Is this another of thy ghost stories, my child? Can we see those who are far off?"
"The mind can see when the body sleeps."
"Thou speakest still in riddles, child, and I am bad at reading them. But go, my boy, and mayst thou be happy in thy life and merry in thy wanderings. And if ever thou meetest Jelekha, tell her that as long as Norendra Nath lives he shall never, never forget that brave, that true-hearted girl who nursed him in illness, befriended him in peril, saved him in danger. ​On earth I may not meet her again, but her kindness will live in my memory."
A long pause ensued. There was a tremor in the strange voice of Jamshid when he spoke.
"And she, too, hath not forgotten. As the moth pursues the flame, she hath followed you, unseen and unknown, over hill and dale, through town and forest. A woman's heart beats even under the livery of a slave, a woman's faith abides. She thirsted to know more, and to-night she knows it. Kismet severs, and Kismet is all-powerful. Kismet severs you, too, from her you seek, whom you will find in the Golden Temple of Mathura on the festive night of the full moon. Cherish her in memory alone, as Jelekha will cherish a memory in her native mountains. She parts, but a Tartar never forgets a kindness, and Jelekha will not forget—a friend. Farewell!"
Noren started at the voice, which was a woman's voice he had heard before. But the tent was silent and dark. Jamshid had gone.