A stout serving-man was holding a powerful grey horse, which, well, if not handsomely, caparisoned, stood neighing loudly before the door of an ordinary house in the main street of Surroori, a small village nearly midway between the towns of Kullianee and Allund, as a person within, evidently of a superior class, was girding up his waist with a shawl, and otherwise preparing himself for a day's journey. Of middle stature, thin but well-proportioned, with a light bamboo-coloured complexion of a pale cast, and a slight habitual stoop, the man seemed unaccustomed to rough exertion; and the sword he had just fastened into his waist-belt, along with an ivory-handled poniard and knife, was apparently more for ornament than for use—such a one as might be used at court, or by a boy,—not the weapon of a soldier.

The man's face was clean shaven, except a long moustache, which drooped very much at the corners, and the features were by no means ill-favoured. A first glance showed an expression of much intelligence, mingled, however, as you looked further, with much cunning. The eyes were small, deep-set under bushy eyebrows, and of a light grey; the nose high and aquiline, but broad across the nostrils, and hung over the moustache in a peculiar manner; the forehead was wrinkled into furrows by habitual elevation of the eyebrows; and, as far as the upper part of the face was concerned, it had an appearance of firmness, which the lower portion belied; for the mouth, drawn up at the corners in a constant and apparently hypocritical attempt to smile, was evidently performing an office foreign to its intention; and the chin, which suddenly retreated into a somewhat bony throat, had no character but decided weakness, if not, indeed, actual cowardice and deceit. Thus, the whole features wore a restless, suspicious, and hypocritical expression, which, most likely, was a true indication of the possessor's mind.

Lalla Toolsee Das was not a native of the Dekhan, but had served for the last two years, or nearly so, in the Dufter, or Record Office of the Emperor Aurungzeeb. The Lalla had been sent from Delhi to his uncle, who was in the Emperor's service: and, having given proofs of ability as a Persian scholar, he had been appointed to a confidential situation about the Emperor himself. What use the Lalla had made of his position will appear hereafter, as also why he now undertook a long journey alone, in a strange country, and at an inclement season of the year. Meanwhile we have only to describe his progress, which, so far as the weather is concerned, appears uncertain.

The Lalla had risen early, bathed, breakfasted, and packed his saddle-bags. He had looked out several times since morning, but always with the same result as to the sky, which continued of a dull, leaden grey, with occasional rain. There was no wind, it was close and hot, and his host, an old Byragee, who was a lay monk of the Mutt, or monastery, at Kullianee, which the Lalla had left the day before, was persuading him to remain. But the indifferent night's rest he had endured from the venomous mosquitoes, the moaning of a cow over a new-born calf, and other noises from cattle and goats,—from the women, who ground at the mill so early in the house, singing a discordant Canarese song—and, above all, his personal anxiety to proceed,—have weighed against the weather.

"Ah, my poor Mootee," said the Lalla, as he heard his horse neigh, "thou wilt have a hard day of it, I fear, in the mud. How far didst thou say it was, Bawa Sahib?" he continued to his host.

"It is six coss, by our reckoning here, by one road—seven or eight by the other," replied the Byragee, "which, in the coss you are accustomed to in Hindustan, will be ten one way, and thirteen the other."

"And you recommend the longest road, Bawajee?"

"Well, sir, it is as you please. You will have somewhat less mud and stones by the upper road than by the lower—that is all."

"Ah, friend," continued the Lalla, as we shall call him, "four coss more at the end of a hard day is not pleasant, and so the less the better. Let me see; here is my route. Ah, Kinny, little and great; I suppose I can rest at either if I like, though I should prefer getting on to the worthy Fathers' Mutt at Allund."

"Certainly," replied the old man; "but do not stop at Kinny, if you can help; and, above all, do not shelter yourself at the temple on the hill, under the 'Burr' tree. Ah, yes, there will be heavy rain to-day, Lallajee, for it is so hot," he continued, looking up at the clouds, now deepening into fringes of black here and there; "you had better stay."

"No, Bawa, I must go on; and if it rains I can't help it. But about the tree," the Lalla continued; "I suppose there are sprites and devils in it as usual; and, to say the truth, I am not afraid of them. A man that always lives among soldiers, you know, gets brave."

"Indeed," returned the Byragee dryly. "O, of course! But take my advice, and when you change guides at Kinny, ask them to send you by the south road; it's—it's the best, and some bad places are avoided. But here is the Patel," he added, as that functionary, emerging from his doorway opposite, with a striped blanket over his head and shoulders, saluted the Lalla with a loud "Numascar Maharaj!" "He will direct the guide himself, Lallajee, which will insure a speedy and safe journey."

They followed the Patel through the village, which, under the steadily increasing rain, looked sufficiently wretched to deter any one from staying, who had not urgent necessity for doing so. This was not the Lalla's predicament; and he now unfastened a large thick felt travelling-cloak from the pommel of his cloth saddle, put it over his head, and wrapped it around him so as to cover his legs, which were protected by long, soft, Persian riding-boots.

Few people were astir. Under shelter of the house-walls the dogs had assembled in groups, and, standing with their tails between their legs, barked at the stranger as he passed. Pigs and fowls, being disturbed by his horse, ran to and fro, with noisy grunt and cackle. Some cattle stood together in parties near their owners' houses, a heavy steam from their nostrils ascending into the thick air, and broke the silence by an occasional hoarse low. Here and there a stout motherly dame, with a child seated astride on her hip, and others hanging about her, stood, nothing abashed, at her house door, looking at the Lalla as he passed; or a farmer, with his blanket cast over his head, smoking his morning cigarette, lounged under shelter of his own eaves, and exchanged a morning greeting with the Patel. The spouts of terraced houses were beginning to run fast, and small streams of water were already making their way through the mud.

In the gateway were two or three "jowans," or young men, who watched and guarded it, and acted as messengers. One of these was sent for a guide, and the party stayed under shelter till he arrived, when the Lalla and his bundle were formally made over to him, to be delivered up at the next village, about two miles distant; and finally, the Lalla mounted.

"Don't forget the south road from Kinny," said the Byragee, wishing him a good journey, as the Lalla, making his parting salutation, rode out of the gateway.

"Who is that?" asked the Patel. "You kept him mighty close in your Mutt last night."

"I don't know," returned the other; "but he goes on the government business to Beejapoor, and you know the order which came with him. I suppose it is some secret matter, else he would have had an escort."

"Well, he is gone, whoever he is," said the Patel; "and I would rather he travelled than I, even on that good beast of his, to Allund, to-day. It is going to rain badly—but it will do the grain good." And so they fell to talking of their farms, and the prices of grain at the last market, while the Lalla and his guide proceeded onward.

If the Lalla could have understood his guide, the way might have been beguiled by pleasant gossip of the country round; but of the vernacular of that part of the country he was profoundly ignorant, and every attempt he made in the "Oordoo," or court language, was met with a curt "Tillid-illa"—"don't understand"—or an occasional very expressive pantomimic action on the part of the guide, who, looking back, sometimes pointed to the bundle on his head, then to the rain, and again tapped his own stomach, or stuffed his fingers into his mouth, conveying the intimation that he expected to be well rewarded, and was very hungry. Thus the next village was reached, the first guide was dismissed with a little extra gratuity, and the Lalla again proceeded with a fresh one.[5]

The ranges of low hills crossed from time to time had been stony but firm ground, and as yet Motee had not suffered. The dreaded river, which might have cut him off from Allund, was now behind him; and, after ascending a small eminence, and a wide plain appeared before him, our traveller congratulated himself on a speedy arrival at his destination, having, as he considered, got over at least one half of his journey.

Very soon, however, the rough, stony path changed into one which at times was difficult to discern at all. The plain over which the road now lay was cultivated as far as could be seen, but the fields were as yet unsown. Step after step the mud appeared deeper, the stones in it more numerous and slippery; and, in fact, after about a mile, during which the rain had fallen more heavily than ever, the plain appeared covered with water, which could not run off, and the black soil of the road and fields to have turned into liquid mud, barely able to support the stones which lay so thickly upon it. So long, too, as the rain had not penetrated far below the surface, Motee's feet had at least the dry earth to rest upon; but now not even that remained, and yet the gallant horse struggled on, snorting, and occasionally plunging, but evidently becoming wearied by efforts which had no respite. Still the guide led on, sometimes by the road-track, sometimes by its grassy banks, and again leaving both, struck into other paths through the fields which promised firmer footing.

The rain continued to pour in torrents: indeed, it was more than ever violent: and a flash of blinding lightning, followed by a roar of thunder before them, promised worse weather. Poor Motee even winced, evincing a strong determination to turn round and set his tail to it; but a few words of encouragement from his master, and being led a few paces by the guide, restored his temper, and he proceeded gallantly.

At the junction of two roads, the guide paused for a moment. One, it was clear, led to a village they had seen for some time past, the trees of which loomed large and heavy through the thick air, but it appeared out of direction of the path. The Lalla's stock of Canarese was simply nothing—of Mahratta not much more; but the name of his destination was, at least, intelligible. "Allund," he said, holding out a rupee between his finger and thumb, "Allund!"

The guide grinned as he took the coin. "Allund!" he returned affirmatively, and striking into a path to the right, the Lalla could see that, by avoiding the village to the left, the road led apparently in the direction of what looked like a clump of trees standing out against the sky. Was that the banian tree of which he had been warned by the old Byragee at Surroori? The Lalla's little stock of Mahratta was again put into requisition, and the guide seemed to understand it readily.

Yes, the village to the left was Little Kinny; that to the right, great Kinny, and that was the "Burr" tree beyond. Good; then he had only to avoid the tree, if that indeed were necessary. Since the peal of thunder the rain had decreased, and a breeze was springing up in his face, which was very refreshing. The clouds, too, were breaking, as appeared by patches of bright fringe in the south-west. The guide pointed to them cheerfully, as he moved on at a steady pace; for the plain, though muddy in parts, was now not so bad as what he had already passed. So, as our friend is likely to reach Kinny without farther trouble, let us see what Lukshmun has been doing since we left him.

The little rivulet in the valley was above his knees as he passed it, and, to any one who did not know it, the ford would have been dangerous; but Lukshmun waded through, without apprehension, and a few minutes after, as he entered the village gateway and shook the rain from his blanket, a group of people assembled there welcomed him with a hearty shout of greeting.

"We thought you would have given it up and departed," said the old Patel, who, with his son, a few of the village farmers, and the Putwari, or accountant, were sitting in an open chamber of the deep gateway, the usual place of business. "We thought you would have gone away, else I would have sent up some milk. Why did you not come and sit here, instead of in that ungodly place up yonder? Here, one of ye," he continued to a group of "jowans," who were sitting in the opposite chamber, "take his blanket and dry it. Hast thou eaten to-day, friend?"

"Nothing but a bit of stale cake I had in my waist-cloth," replied the man; "only that my teeth are strong, it would have broken them. The 'poor man's' bread in the Mutt at Kullianee is not dainty food, and the flour was musty, O Patel!"

"Take him away to the house, and let them feed him; the women will have something good, I dare say," replied the Patel. "Go and see."

"And no one has passed since morning?"

"Not a creature. It is not weather to send the dogs out; and the mud from Kulmus to Kinny and hitherwards will be hopeless. No, he won't come to-day; but go and eat, friend—go and eat."

"If I am wanted," said Lukshmun.

"Jee, jee! Ay, ay! I will not forget you. Go!"

"What does he want out such a day as this?" asked the Putwari. "What has Pahar Singh in hand just now?"

"What does it matter to us, Rao Sahib?" returned the Patel; "all we have to do is to keep his people in good humour, to save our cattle from being harried, our stacks from being burned, and our people," he added, looking round at the farmers and their wives, "from being robbed when they come from market? That is worth what we pay him. Should we have got the crops off that disputed land at Chitli if he had not sent those spearmen?"

"No, no; do not interfere," said a chorus of farmers' voices, who, in those unsettled times, might, unless their village were known to be under the protection of some local chieftain, at any time have their flocks and herds swept away by the people of a more powerful village, or by any of the independent gentry, or barons, as we may call them, of the country. "What have we to do with state affairs, or with Pahar Singh either?"

So the assembly having voted non-interference with whatever might be in hand, our friend Lukshmun was allowed to get his meal in peace. Smoking—the impossibility of getting anything—and a tight waist-band, had kept appetite down as yet; but with the Patel's kitchen in prospect, it rose fiercely for the occasion as he approached the house.

Lukshmun washed his feet and hands before he entered and sat down. O, what a smell of fried onions there was! and, as a girl set before him a pile of hot, well-buttered jowaree cakes, a cup full of "char," or pepper-water with tamarind in it, a fresh leaf full of a savoury stew of vegetables of all kinds, and some dall or pease-pudding, well-seasoned with red pepper and garlic, Lukshmun's heart expanded, and he set to work with a good will. Every now and then a woman at the fireplace asked him if he would have more, and it was brought him from the pan, smoking hot. Lukshmun dallied with each morsel as he ate; and when even reduced by repletion to licking his fingers, grudged the summons brought by a man that he was to come.

"Couldst thou not give me a few cakes, O sweet one, and some dall?" he said to the good-natured looking wench who had been serving him. "I have a brother—hungry—all day in the rain—while I have eaten. Thou art like the moon, O beauty, and thy heart as soft as butter. Give me the cakes for a poor, weak, hungry brother."

"Was there ever such a tongue and such a face?" retorted the damsel, laughing. "Look, Rookmee!"

The cook turned round and looked, too, laughing heartily; for Lukshmun's attitude on one leg, with the sole of the other foot pressed against the calf of it, his hands joined and stretched out imploringly, and his seared face twisted into a grotesque expression of supplication, was not to be resisted.

"Give him these cakes," said the cook, handing two to the girl.

"By your antelope eyes, O sweet ones, more!" he said, not altering his posture. "Do you think two would fill a hungry man's belly? By your lotos feet——"

"There, begone!" said the cook, handing him a few more and some dall; "there is a meal for a Rajah. Go, if the mistress should hear you——"

"I am gone, O my beauties," continued Lukshmun, folding the cakes into his waist-cloth, and tying them behind, then washing his hands elaborately. "You have made my heart——"

"Come quickly, come," said a voice at the door; "they want thee. Wilt thou eat all day?"

"I worship you, lovely nymphs, even as Rama adored——"

"Begone!" cried both the girls in a breath. "Here is the mistress coming, and if she hear such nonsense thou wilt be whipped."

"Here is the man who will be your worship's guide," said the Patel deferentially to our friend the Lalla, who, having arrived safely, was now divested of his upper clothing, which some of the men were drying in the opposite chamber, and seated in the place of honour of the assembly; "but your worship should eat before you go on, and the Rao Sahib here will take you to his house—a Brahmun's house," he added, as the Lalla appeared to hesitate.

"Ah, no, sir," returned the traveller, who indeed was very hungry, "I could not eat without I bathed, and I had better wait till I get to Allund. Shookr, shookr! I should be too long about it, and my horse has had his feed, and is ready to go on. And this is the guide?—not beautiful exactly."

"No, Maharaj, I am not beautiful, truly," replied Lukshmun, with a deprecatory gesture to the Patel, "but I may be useful to this noble gentleman. You may trust me, my lord. The Patel knows me, and so do all these worthy gentlemen; and am I not come for you?"

"They expect me, then, good fellow," replied the Lalla, amused by the man's broken Oordoo, and his grotesque expression of face.

"Ah, yes, noble sir," answered the man, joining his hands, "ever since morning; and as I was coming here on business I was told to bring you on. And now let us proceed, else it will be night ere we reach Allund; and," he added, with a wink to the Patel, "it is not good to be out late on the roads."

"What, are they dangerous, then?" asked the Lalla, looking anxiously around him.

"O no," cried Lukshmun, interposing readily; "there is no trouble in the country, and my lord is armed, and so am I. O no, only in regard to the mud and the stones. My lord will not find the road long, for I can sing him Mahratta 'lownees' if he likes."

"There was a tree and a temple which I was told to avoid, and to ask to be sent by the south road," said the Lalla, preparing to mount.

Lukshmun exchanged glances with the Patel and the Putwari. "Could any one have warned the stranger?"

"A tree!" said the Patel, gravely. "What tree? dost thou know any, Lukshmun? And the south road? what road?"

"O, I suppose the noble gentleman means that by Navindgee, and Hoshully, and Chik-Wondully, and Hully Sullgarra," said Lukshmun, rolling out a volley of hard Canarese village names. "That road? Why, it is six coss further from here! They should have sent him by it from Surroori. No," he continued, dropping the Lalla's stirrup, which he had taken in his hand, "if the gentleman likes to go he can do so, of course, but his slave begs to be excused;" and he put his joined hands up to his nose.

"Very good," said the Lalla, "I don't know; only I was told——"

"By whom?" interrupted the Putwari.

"By DÉo Bawa, the Byragee at Surroori."

"O, the old Bawa!" said the Patel, laughing. "Curious, is it not, noble sir, that the old man thinks that there are devils in the tree? He tells me he was bewitched there once, and I ought to cut it down."

"And I told him I was not afraid of them, Patel; but he said there was something else," returned the Lalla.

"Robbers, I suppose," said Lukshmun, readily; "Pahar Singh's men, perhaps."

"Perhaps," added the Lalla, "but he did not say so."

"Well for him," thought the Putwari, "or his stacks would have been burnt to-morrow night."

"Ah! no fear of thieves when you have one of 'the hunchbacks' with you," said Lukshmun. "Come, mount, my lord. Salaam, Maharaj," he continued, making a mock salutation to the sun, which was just struggling through a cloud. "Salaam! thou hast been moist to-day; come out and dry thyself and us too. Now, noble gentleman, mount, and you will see how fast the excellent dinner I have eaten in the Patel's kitchen will take my feet to Allund, and the good horse, too, looks as fresh as if he were but just starting," and he patted him. "Ah, well done, sir!" he continued, as the Lalla mounted not ungracefully; "we poor Dekhanies cannot compare ourselves on horseback with you northern cavaliers. Come, sir, the road waits for us."

And with a salutation all round, the Lalla rode out of the gate, and our friend Lukshmun, cutting a caper which showed his marvellous activity by way, as he said, of getting the dinner out of his legs, and calling to the guide who carried the bundle, they passed on over the village common.

The Putwari sighed as the party left the gate.

"I tell thee, Seeta Ram," said the Patel, "he will come to no harm, and he is gone away happy."

"I am glad he did not eat at my house; it is not pleasant feeding a man who has death in his throat," returned the Putwari.

"I tell thee he is safe," retorted the Patel; "and if he is killed, it is no affair of ours."

"No, it is no business of ours," said the Putwari, settling to his accounts with a sigh which vexed the Patel. "No, it is no business of ours," echoed the farmers.

At that time Rama, who was seated on the heap of stones, looking from the top of the hill, exclaimed, as the three persons emerged from a lane into a low field in which the road was distinctly visible.

"Jemadar! he is coming at last, and Lukshmun is with him; we must be ready. Look, they are there!" he continued, as Gopal Singh joined him, "between the village and the stream."

"Ah, I see them, Rama, and thy brother is as true as gold. We will join them as they go on; he must not suspect us yet."