  Sing something, Jymul Rao! for the goats are gathered now, And no more water is to bring; The village-gates are set, and the night is gray as yet, God hath given wondrous fancies to thee:—sing! Then Jymul's supple fingers, with a touch that doubts and lingers, Sets athrill the saddest wire of all the six; And the girls sit in a tangle, and hush the tinkling bangle, While the boys pile the flame with store of sticks. And vain of village praise, but full of ancient days, He begins with a smile and with a sigh— "Who knows the babul-tree by the bend of the Ravee?" Quoth Gunesh, "I!" and twenty voices, "I!" "Well—listen! there below, in the shade of bloom and bough, Is a musjid of carved and coloured stone; And Abdool Shureef Khan—I spit, to name that man!— Lieth there, underneath, all alone. "He was Sultan Mahmoud's vassal, and wore an Amir's tassel In his green hadj-turban, at Nungul. Yet the head which went so proud, it is not in his shroud; There are bones in that grave,—but not a skull! "And, deep drove in his breast, there moulders with the rest A dagger, brighter once than Chundra's ray; A Rajpoot lohar whet it, and a Rajpoot woman set it Past the power of any hand to tear away. "'Twas the Ranee Neila true, the wife of Soorj Dehu, Lord of the Rajpoots of Nourpoor; You shall hear the mournful story, with its sorrow and its glory, And curse Shureef Khan,—the soor!" All in the wide Five-Waters was none like Soorj Dehu, To foeman who so dreadful, to friend what heart so true? Like Indus, through the mountains came down the Muslim ranks, And town-walls fell before them as flooded river-banks; But Soorj Dehu the Rajpoot owned neither town nor wall; His house the camp, his roof-tree the sky that covers all; His seat of state the saddle; his robe a shirt of mail; His court a thousand Rajpoots close at his stallion's tail. Not less was Soorj a Rajah because no crown he wore Save the grim helm of iron with sword-marks dinted o'er; Because he grasped no sceptre save the sharp tulwar, made Of steel that fell from heaven,—for 'twas Indra forged that blade! And many a starless midnight the shout of "Soorj Dehu" Broke up with spear and matchlock the Muslim's "Illahu." And many a day of battle upon the Muslim proud Tell Soorj, as India's lightning falls from the silent cloud. Nor ever shot nor arrow, nor spear nor slinger's stone, Could pierce the mail that Neila the Ranee buckled on: But traitor's subtle tongue-thrust through fence of steel can break; And Soorj was taken sleeping, whom none had ta'en awake. Then at the noon, in durbar, swore fiercely Shureef Khan That Soorj should die in torment, or live a Mussulman. But Soorj laughed lightly at him, and answered, "Work your will! The last breath of my body shall curse your Prophet still." With words of insult shameful, and deeds of cruel kind, They vexed that Rajpoot's body, but never moved his mind. And one is come who sayeth, "Ho! Rajpoots! Soorj is bound; Your lord is caged and baited by Shureef Khan, the hound. "The Khan hath caught and chained him, like a beast, in iron cage, And all the camp of Islam spends on him spite and rage; "All day the coward Muslims spend on him rage and spite; If ye have thought to help him, 'twere good ye go to-night." Up sprang a hundred horsemen, flashed in each hand a sword; In each heart burned the gladness of dying for their lord; Up rose each Rajpoot rider, and buckled on with speed The bridle-chain and breast-cord, and the saddle of his steed. But unto none sad Neila gave word to mount and ride; Only she called the brothers of Soorj unto her side, And said, "Take order straightway to seek this camp with me; If love and craft can conquer, a thousand is as three. "If love be weak to save him, Soorj dies—and ye return, For where a Rajpoot dieth, the Rajpoot widows burn." Thereat the Ranee Neila unbraided from her hair The pearls as great as Kashmir grapes Soorj gave his wife to wear, And all across her bosoms—like lotus-buds to see— She wrapped the tinselled sari of a dancing Kunchenee; And fastened on her ankles the hundred silver bells, To whose light laugh of music the Nautch-girl darts and dwells. And all in dress a Nautch-girl, but all in heart a queen, She set her foot to stirrup with a sad and settled mien. Only one thing she carried no Kunchenee should bear, The knife between her bosoms;—ho, Shureef! have a care! |
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