Hunsa had lain watching furtively the effect of the
Commander’s words upon the others; now he said,
“I will tell the truth, Hazari, for thou hast
given a promise in the name of Allah that I am free
of death at the hands of thy people.”
“Wait, dog of an infidel!” Kassim commanded:
“quick, call the Mullah to write the
confession, for this is a sin to be washed out in much
blood, and the proof must be at hand so the guilty
will have no plea for mercy. Also it is a matter
of secrecy; we here being officers will have it on
our honour, and the Mullah, because of his priesthood,
will not speak of it: also he will bear witness
of its sanctity.”
Soon a Pindari announced, “Commander Sahib,
here is the holy one,” and at a word from Kassim
the priest unrolled his sheets of yellow paper, and
sitting cross-legged upon a cushion with a salaam to
the dead Chief, dipped his quill in a little ink-horn
and held it poised.
Then Hunsa, his eyes all the time furtively watching
the scowling faces about him; fear and distrust in
his heart over the gift of his life, but impelled
by his knowledge that it was his only chance, narrated
the story of Nana Sahib and the Dewan’s scheme
to rid the Mahrattas of the leader they feared, Amir
Khan; told that they knew that the British were sending
overtures for an alliance, but that fearing to kill
the messenger—unless it could be done so
secretly it would never be discovered—they
had determined to remove the Chief. When he spoke
of the other Bagrees, Kassim realised that in the
excitement of fixing the murder upon one there they
had forgotten his troop associates, and a hurried
order was passed for their capture.
Of course it was too late; the others, at the first
alarm, had slipped away.
When the confession was finished Kassim commanded
the Mullah to rub his cube of India ink over
the thumb of the decoit and the mark was imprinted
on the paper. Then he was taken to one of the
cave cells cut out of the solid rock beneath the palace,
and imprisoned for the night.
“Come, Jamadars,” Kassim said—and
his voice that had been so coarse and rough now broke,
and sobs floated the words scarce articulate—“and
reverently let us lay Amir Khan upon his bed.
Then, though there be no call of the muezzin,
we will kneel here; even without our prayer carpets,
and pray to Allah for the repose of the soul of a true
Musselman and a great warrior. May his rest be
one of peace!”
He passed his hand lovingly over the face of the Chief
and down his beard, and his strong fearless eyes were
wet.
Then Amir Khan was lifted by the Jamadars and carried
to a bed in the room that adjoined the surya mahal.
When they had risen from their silent prayer, Kassim
said: “Go ye to your tents. I will
remain here with the guard who watch.”
