Observations on the Mussulmauns of India

LETTER XXVII

Mem­oir of the life of Meer Had­jee Shah.--His de­scent.--Anec­dote of a youth­ful ex­ploit.--His predilec­tion for the army.--Leaves his home to join the army of a neigh­bour­ing Ra­jah.--Ad­ven­tures on the way.--Is favourably re­ceived and fos­tered by the Ra­jah.--His first pil­grim­age to Mec­ca.--Oc­cur­rences dur­ing his stay in Ara­bia.--De­scrip­tion of a tiger-​hunt.--De­tail of events dur­ing his sub­se­quent pil­grim­ages.--The plague.--Seizure by pi­rates.--Sketch of the life of Fa­ti­ma, an Ara­bi­an la­dy.--Re­lieved from slav­ery by Meer Had­jee Shah.--He mar­ries her.--Ob­ser­va­tions on the piety of his life.--Con­clud­ing re­marks...Page 400

The name of Meer Had­jee Shah has so of­ten oc­curred in my Let­ters, that I feel per­suad­ed a brief sketch of his life may be ac­cept­able here, more par­tic­ular­ly as that ven­er­at­ed man pre­sent­ed to my im­me­di­ate ob­ser­va­tion a cor­rect pic­ture of the true Mus­sul­maun. I can on­ly re­gret my in­abil­ity to do jus­tice to the bright char­ac­ter of my revered fa­ther-​in-​law, whose con­duct as a de­vout and obe­di­ent ser­vant to his Mak­er, ruled his ac­tions in ev­ery sit­ua­tion of life, and to whom my debt of grat­itude is bound­less, not alone for the af­fec­tion­ate so­lic­itude in­vari­ably man­ifest­ed for my tem­po­ral com­forts, but for an ex­am­ple of holy liv­ing, which in­flu­ences more than pre­cept. This much val­ued friend of mine was the mouth of wis­dom to all with whom he con­versed, for even when in­tend­ing to amuse by anec­dotes, of which his fund was in­ex­haustible, there was al­ways a moral and re­li­gious pre­cept at­tached to the re­la­tion, by which to ben­efit his au­di­tor, whilst he riv­et­ed at­ten­tion by his gen­tle man­ners and well-​se­lect­ed form of words.

Be­fore we met, I had of­ten heard him de­scribed by his du­ti­ful son, but with all that af­fec­tion had prompt­ed him to say of his fa­ther, I was not pre­pared to ex­pect the dig­ni­fied per­son I found him,--a per­fect mod­el of the pa­tri­archs of old to my imag­ina­tion, nor could I ev­er look at him through our years of in­ti­ma­cy, with­out as­so­ci­at­ing him in my mind with Abra­ham, the fa­ther of his peo­ple.

His form was fine­ly mould­ed, his height above six feet, his per­son erect, even in age, his fine cast of coun­te­nance beamed with benev­olence and piety, and his dark eye ei­ther filled with tears of sym­pa­thy or bright­en­ing with joy, ex­pressed both su­pe­ri­or in­tel­li­gence and in­ten­si­ty of feel­ing. His ven­er­able flow­ing beard gave a com­mand­ing majesty to the fig­ure be­fore me, whilst his man­ners were grace­ful as the most pol­ished even of Eu­ro­pean so­ci­ety. Rais­ing his full eyes in pi­ous thank­ful­ness to God (whose mer­cy had thus filled his cup of earth­ly hap­pi­ness to the brim), he em­braced us both with a warmth of pres­sure to his throb­bing heart, that pro­nounced more than his words, the sin­cer­ity of our wel­come. Nev­er have I for­got­ten the mo­ment of our meet­ing. The first im­pres­sion last­ed through our long ac­quain­tance, for he proved in­deed a re­al so­lace dur­ing my pil­grim­age in a strange land.

The sub­ject of my present Let­ter, Meer Mahu­mud Had­jee Shah, was a na­tive of Lood­eeanah,[1] the cap­ital city of the Pun­jaab ter­ri­to­ry, so called from the five rivers which wa­ter that tract of coun­try, and de­rived from pun­je (five), aab (wa­ter). He de­scend­ed through a long line of pure Syaad blood, from Mahu­mud, many of his an­ces­tors hav­ing been re­mark­able for their holy lives, and his grand­sire in par­tic­ular, a sin­gu­lar­ly de­vout Dur­weish, of whom are re­lat­ed in the fam­ily many in­ter­est­ing in­ci­dents and ex­traor­di­nary es­capes from per­il which dis­tin­guished him as a high­ly-​favoured mor­tal. On one oc­ca­sion, when at­tacked by a ravenous tiger, his sin­gle blow with a sabre sev­ered the head from the car­case: the sabre is still re­tained in the fam­ily with ven­er­ation, as the in­stru­ment by which the pow­er and good­ness of God was man­ifest­ed to their sire.

The fa­ther of Meer Had­jee Shah was a Kauzy (Judge) of the city of Lood­eeanah, a man great­ly ad­mired for his ex­ten­sive knowl­edge of the Mahu­mu­dan law, re­spect­ed for his gen­er­al wor­thi­ness, and ven­er­at­ed for his holy life. He had a large fam­ily, of whom the sub­ject be­fore me was the el­dest son; his fa­ther de­signed to in­struct and pre­pare him as his suc­ces­sor in the same hon­ourable em­ploy­ment, when­ev­er old age or in­fir­mi­ties should ren­der his own re­tire­ment from the of­fice nec­es­sary. But,--as the son al­ways re­gret­ted when talk­ing over the cir­cum­stance, with be­com­ing re­morse that his mind was dif­fer­ent­ly swayed,--through an en­ter­pris­ing spir­it he pre­ferred the ad­ven­tur­ous to the more sober call­ing for which his fa­ther had orig­inal­ly des­tined him.

To il­lus­trate the tem­per of his youth, his of­ten re­peat­ed anec­dote of an event which oc­curred when he was but twelve years old may here be pre­sent­ed:--

'Af­ter our hours of study, boys of my own age were al­lowed to meet to­geth­er for ex­er­cise and amuse­ment, with­out the con­trol­ling pres­ence of our Maul­vees (tu­tors). Many an en­ter­pris­ing feat had been per­formed dur­ing our hours of play, but none that has im­pressed me with so keen a re­mem­brance of my youth­ful fol­lies as the one I am about to re­late. We had long ob­served the wild pi­geons, which owned not any earth­ly mas­ter, take refuge for the night in an old and di­lap­idat­ed well out­side the town; a plan was laid be­tween my com­pan­ions and my­self to pos­sess our­selves of some of these pi­geons, and one evening we as­sem­bled by agree­ment to put our project in force.

'A strong rope was pro­cured, to which we fas­tened a piece of board, so as to form a seat; a bag was pro­vid­ed, in­to which the game was to be de­posit­ed as fast as it was caught; and a thick stick, with which to as­cer­tain in the holes the sit­ua­tion of each pi­geon, which was to be seized by the neck when thus dis­cov­ered. Ev­ery­thing was ar­ranged when, “Who will be low­ered first?” was in­quired by the head of our par­ty. Meer Mahu­mud was not a lit­tle pleased when it was sug­gest­ed, that he was the bravest boy among them; and with a proud feel­ing of ec­sta­sy my young heart bound­ed whilst I seat­ed my­self on the board and was low­ered from the sum­mit for sev­er­al yards down the well, my young com­pan­ions hold­ing fast the rope out­side from which I was sus­pend­ed; the bag con­ve­nient­ly slung across my left shoul­der, with the open mouth in front, to en­able me to de­posit my glean­ings with­out de­lay.

'I had col­lect­ed sev­er­al pi­geons in this way; and, at last, my stick was pre­sent­ed to search in a new aper­ture, where it seemed to be re­sist­ed by some­thing more than the soft feath­ers of a bird; fear­less as I was, my young hand was thrust in­to the hole, and I caught at some­thing with a firm grasp, which at once con­vinced me could not be a pi­geon; but I re­solved not to part from my prize very read­ily, and draw­ing my hand and arm from the hole with great dif­fi­cul­ty (putting all my youth­ful strength and en­er­gy to the task), I dis­cov­ered my prize was a liv­ing snake of rather a large size.

'Fear­ful to an­nounce the na­ture of my present pris­on­er to the young­sters, at whose mer­cy I then was, lest they, through ter­ror, should let the rope go, and thus pre­cip­itate me to the bot­tom of the well, I called out, “Draw up! draw up quick­ly! de­lay not, broth­ers!” and I was soon brought to the mouth of the well with the snake coiled round my arm, and firm­ly grasped just un­der the head, so that it could not ex­tri­cate it­self or in­jure me. The boys soon as­sist­ed me off the top of the well, and brought pieces of stone, with which they bruised the snake's head un­til I was re­lieved from its pres­sure on my arm by its death. I should re­mark, that I had pres­ence of mind to rub the head against the wall on my as­cent, which had con­sid­er­ably less­ened the snake's pres­sure on my arm, and I be­lieve it was more than half dead be­fore I had reached the top.

'My arm pained me dread­ful­ly, but still my great­est agony was for fear my fa­ther should hear of my ex­ploit, which I felt con­vinced would not on­ly ex­cite his present anger, but be the means of pre­vent­ing my hav­ing an­oth­er op­por­tu­ni­ty of en­joy­ing the so­ci­ety and amuse­ments of my young com­pan­ions. Strict se­cre­cy was there­fore en­joined by my com­mand up­on the whole par­ty; and re­turn­ing to my home, I thought to dis­guise my re­al feel­ings by seek­ing re­pose in­stead of the evening din­ner which was pre­pared for me. My af­fec­tion­ate moth­er had no sus­pi­cion that I was ill, al­though she was much dis­tressed that play had de­stroyed the ap­petite of her son. I had dozed for some hours, when the agony of my arm awoke me as from an un­easy dream; I could hard­ly rec­ol­lect the last evening's ad­ven­ture, for my mind seemed much be­wil­dered. My groans, how­ev­er, brought my moth­er to my bed-​side, whose ten­der care was ex­er­cised in fo­ment­ing my arm, which she found much swollen and in­flamed.

'The se­cret of my en­ter­prize was nev­er di­vulged by me un­til the news of my sud­den ill­ness was re­port­ed in the neigh­bour­hood; when some of my young friends told the tale, and it was con­veyed by one of the gos­sip­ing old wom­en, of the city to the zeenah­nah of my moth­er. My arm was for a long pe­ri­od ren­dered use­less, and I was un­der the care of doc­tors for many months; the whole skin peeled off, and left me cause for re­mem­ber­ing the cir­cum­stance, al­though it did not cure me of that pref­er­ence for en­ter­prize, which af­ter­wards drew me from my home to vis­it oth­er places, and to search for new ad­ven­tures. Of­ten did I re­mon­strate with my fa­ther on the sub­ject of my fu­ture pro­fes­sion: how of­ten did I de­clare my dis­in­cli­na­tion to pur­sue those stud­ies (deemed es­sen­tial to fit me for the of­fice I was in due time to be ap­point­ed to), and avow my predilec­tion for a mil­itary life!'

At that pe­ri­od of In­di­an His­to­ry, the Pun­jaab dis­trict was dis­turbed by the depre­da­tions of the Mahrat­tas.[2] Hordes of those law­less ban­dit­ti were in the habit of fre­quent en­croach­ments on the Mus­sul­maun pos­ses­sions, com­mit­ting fright­ful enor­mi­ties in their preda­to­ry ex­cur­sions against towns and vil­lages, spread­ing ter­ror and des­ola­tion wher­ev­er they ap­proached. On this ac­count mil­itary ar­dour was en­cour­aged by the heads of fam­ilies, and the youth of re­spectable Mus­sul­mauns were du­ly in­struct­ed in the use of de­fen­sive weapons, as a mea­sure of pru­dence by which they were en­abled, when­ev­er called up­on, to de­fend the lives and prop­er­ty of their neigh­bours as well as of their in­di­vid­ual fam­ilies.

In de­scrib­ing this pe­ri­od of his life, I have of­ten heard Meer Had­jee Shah con­fess with re­morse, that he was wont to pay far greater at­ten­tion to his mil­itary in­struc­tors than to the Maul­vee's lec­tures on law or oth­er dry sub­jects of books, as he then of­ten thought them, and at four­teen years old he was per­fect mas­ter of the sabre, spear, matchlock, and the bow; able even then to de­fend him­self against an en­emy, or take the palm of vic­to­ry, when prac­tis­ing those arts with the youth of his own stand­ing.

At sev­en­teen, his love of en­ter­prize drew him from the calm study of his tu­tors un­der the parental roof, to seek amongst strangers em­ploy­ment bet­ter suit­ed to his in­cli­na­tion. His ear­ly ad­ven­tures were at­tend­ed with many vi­cis­si­tudes and tri­als, which would (how­ev­er in­ter­est­ing to those who have loved him) ap­pear te­dious to the gen­er­al read­er; I shall, there­fore, but di­gress oc­ca­sion­al­ly with such anec­dotes as maybe gen­er­al­ly in­ter­est­ing. One which presents him in the ear­ly part of his ca­reer amongst strangers in a po­si­tion which marks the brav­ery of his youth, I shall take the lib­er­ty of in­tro­duc­ing in his own words:--

'Af­ter a good night's re­pose, I was de­sirous of pur­su­ing my march, and pre­pared to take leave of my hos­pitable en­ter­tain­er (a Kauzy of the vil­lage), from whom I had re­ceived the ut­most at­ten­tion and ci­vil­ity. This kind-​heart­ed man was un­will­ing to al­low of my jour­ney­ing alone, and in­sist­ed that two of his menser­vants should ac­com­pa­ny me that day's march at least. I had no fears, nor much to lose be­side my life, and for some time re­sist­ed the of­fer, but with­out avail. The men there­fore ac­com­pa­nied me, and af­ter six hours' walk, I pre­vailed on them to take re­fresh­ment and rest at the serai of the vil­lage, through which we had to pass, with leave to re­trace their way home af­ter­wards with my du­ty to their mas­ter.

'Re­leased from their guardian­ship, I felt my own in­de­pen­dence re­vive, and bound­ed on as live­ly as the an­te­lope, full of hope that I might yet reach the Ra­jah's ter­ri­to­ry by night­fall, who, I had heard, was will­ing to give em­ploy­ment to the en­ter­pris­ing youth of Lood­eeanah, in the army he was then rais­ing. I must have walked since the morn­ing near twen­ty koss (forty miles) with­out food or wa­ter; but I nei­ther felt hunger nor fa­tigue, so deeply was my heart en­gaged in the prospect of a mil­itary life. At length hunger awak­ened me to a sense of my for­lorn con­di­tion, for I had left home with­out a coin in my pos­ses­sion; and al­though I passed through many in­hab­it­ed vil­lages where re­lief would have been glad­ly ten­dered, if I had on­ly ap­plied for it, yet my pride for­bade the hum­ble words of sup­pli­cat­ing for a meal; hun­gry as I was, death even would have been prefer­able at that time to breath­ing out a want amongst strangers.

'I was over­joyed on ap­proach­ing a cul­ti­vat­ed tract of coun­try to find a field of wheat, ripe for the har­vest, evinc­ing the great Cre­ator's boun­ti­ful hand, and hes­itat­ed not, with­out a scru­ple, to pos­sess my­self of an oc­ca­sion­al hand­ful as I passed along, rub­bing the ears and eat­ing as I went, to save that time I deemed so pre­cious; for my anx­iety to reach the Ra­jah and em­ploy­ment, in­creased as the day ad­vanced. I had tra­versed near thir­ty koss on foot, scarce­ly hav­ing halt­ed since the dawn­ing day; this to a young man who had been through life in­dulged by the lux­ury of a horse for ex­er­cise, whilst un­der the parental roof, may be imag­ined to have been no tri­fling un­der­tak­ing. But buoy­ant youth, filled with hopes of hon­our and prefer­ment is re­gard­less of those dif­fi­cul­ties which must sub­due the in­do­lent or less as­pir­ing spir­it.

'At the ex­trem­ity of a large field through which I had to pass, my eye rest­ed on a man with two ox­en, cer­tain in­di­ca­tions, I imag­ined, of a well of wa­ter be­ing ad­ja­cent for the pur­pose of ir­ri­ga­tion, to­wards whom I ap­proached suf­fi­cient­ly near to in­quire if a draught of pure wa­ter could be ob­tained for a thirsty trav­eller. The stur­dy farmer-​look­ing man seemed to view me with scruti­ny, with­out deign­ing to re­ply; my ques­tion was re­peat­ed with ci­vil­ity, but no an­swer was giv­en, and I then fan­cied his looks fore­bod­ed no good mean­ing; he held in his hand a large heavy stick stud­ded at the top with iron rings (in com­mon use with the low­er or­ders of peo­ple as a weapon of de­fence against rob­bers, tigers, wolves, or rep­tiles), but as I stood far enough off to be out of im­me­di­ate dan­ger of a sud­den at­tack, if such was pre­med­itat­ed, the surly look of his coun­te­nance gave me lit­tle con­cern un­til he called out in a com­mand­ing tone, “Young­ster! off with your gar­ments; lay down those bow and ar­rows in­stant­ly, or I will fell you to the earth with this staff that is in my hand!” which he raised in a po­si­tion to prove him­self in earnest.

'My sur­prise was great, but it did not put me off my guard, and I replied with courage, that his in­so­lent de­mand would not meet with a will­ing com­pli­ance; I was able to de­fend my­self, young as I was, against his treach­er­ous in­ten­tions on an un­of­fend­ing trav­eller; and I pre­pared my bow in the ex­pec­ta­tion that he would ei­ther be de­terred, or leave me no al­ter­na­tive but to use it in self-​de­fence. Two ar­rows were prompt­ly pre­pared, one placed in my bow, the oth­er in my gir­dle, as he ad­vanced re­peat­ing his de­mand, with the coun­te­nance of a ruf­fi­an, and his club el­evat­ed; he no doubt fan­cied that the bow was a play­thing in the hand of a mere ig­no­rant stripling. I warned him re­peat­ed­ly not to ad­vance, or my bow should teach him that my young arm was well in­struct­ed.

'He how­ev­er dared my vengeance, and ad­vanced still near­er, when see­ing I had no al­ter­na­tive, I aimed at his legs, not de­sir­ing to re­venge but to de­ter my en­emy; the ar­row en­tered his thigh, pass­ing com­plete­ly through: he was as­ton­ished and stood like a stat­ue. I then de­sired him to throw down his club, with which I walked away, or rather ran a suf­fi­cient dis­tance to re­lieve my­self from fur­ther ex­pec­ta­tion of an­noy­ances from my en­emy or the vil­lagers.

'Much time had been spent in that con­test, which had left me the vic­tor; I wait­ed not how­ev­er to wit­ness his fur­ther move­ments, but with has­tened steps in half an hour I reached the Ra­jah's palace. Sev­er­al sol­diers were guard­ing out­side the gate, where stood, as is usu­al, char­poys for their use, on one of which, un­in­vit­ed, I seat­ed my­self, fa­tigued by my long and un­usu­al ex­er­cise. The men with great ci­vil­ity of­fered me wa­ter and their hookha, and when re­freshed I an­swered their many in­quiries, found­ed very nat­ural­ly on my ap­pear­ance, my youth, and trav­el­ling with­out an at­ten­dant.

'I frankly told them that the Ra­jah's famed lib­er­al­ity had drawn me from Lood­eeanah to seek em­ploy­ment as a sol­dier un­der his com­mand. One of my new ac­quain­tance rec­om­mend­ed my im­me­di­ate­ly go­ing in­to the palace, where the Ra­jah was seat­ed in Dur­bar (hold­ing his Court) for the ex­press pur­pose of re­ceiv­ing ap­pli­cants for the army now rais­ing, un­der the ex­pec­ta­tion of a hos­tile vis­it from the Sikhs. I fol­lowed my guide through sev­er­al av­enues and courts un­til we ar­rived at the Baarah Da­ree[3] (twelve doors), or state apart­ments.'

I must, how­ev­er, here ab­stain from fol­low­ing Meer Had­jee Shah through the whole de­tail of his in­ti­ma­cy with the Ra­jah, which con­tin­ued for some years, and by whom he was fos­tered as a favourite son; he ac­com­pa­nied the Ra­jah to the field against the Sikhs, whose sin­gu­lar habits and man­ners, both in bat­tle and in their do­mes­tic cir­cle, he has of­ten amused his friends by re­lat­ing.

His first pil­grim­age to Mec­ca was un­der­tak­en whilst a very young man, trav­el­ling the whole way by land, and en­dur­ing many tri­als and hard­ships in what he deemed 'The road of God'. On one oc­ca­sion he was be­set by wolves whilst on foot; but as he al­ways con­fessed his preser­va­tion was by the pow­er and good­ness of Di­vine Prov­idence, so in the present in­stance the wolves even ran from the blows of his staff, howl­ing to their dens.

Dur­ing his stay in Ara­bia, when on his pil­grim­age, his funds were ex­haust­ed, and he had no knowl­edge of a sin­gle in­di­vid­ual from whom he could con­de­scend to bor­row, but as he al­ways put his sole trust in God, a way was made for his re­turn­ing pros­per­ity in rather a sin­gu­lar and un­ex­pect­ed man­ner.

A rich Be­gum, the wid­ow of a wealthy Arab mer­chant, had long suf­fered from a se­vere ill­ness, and had tried ev­ery med­ical pre­scrip­tion with­in her reach with­out re­lief. On a cer­tain night she dreamed that a Syaad pil­grim from In­dia, who had tak­en up his abode at the serai out­side the town, pos­sessed a medicine which would re­store her to health. She had faith in her dream, and sent a po­lite mes­sage to the Syaad, who was de­scribed minute­ly by the par­tic­ulars of her dream. Meer Had­jee Shah at­tend­ed the sum­mons, but as­sured the la­dy who con­versed with him, that he was not ac­quaint­ed with medicine; true, he had a sim­ple prepa­ra­tion, which en­abled him to ben­efit a fel­low pil­grim, when by cir­cum­stances no bet­ter ad­vis­er could be found: he then of­fered her the pow­der, giv­ing di­rec­tions how to use it, and left her. In the evening a hand­some din­ner was con­veyed by this la­dy's or­ders to Meer Had­jee Shah, which he ac­cept­ed with grat­itude to God, and for sev­er­al days this was re­peat­ed, prov­ing a sen­si­ble ben­efit to him, and to oth­ers equal­ly des­ti­tute of the means of present pro­vi­sion, who were abid­ing at the serai.

In the course of a week he was again sum­moned to at­tend the Be­gum, who was en­tire­ly cured of her long ill­ness, which she at­tribut­ed sole­ly to the medicine he had left with her, and she now de­sired to prove her grat­itude by a pe­cu­niary com­pen­sa­tion. He was too much grat­ified at the ef­fi­ca­cy of his sim­ple rem­edy, to re­quire fur­ther rec­om­pense than the op­por­tu­ni­ty he had en­joyed of ren­der­ing him­self use­ful to a fel­low-​crea­ture, and would have re­fused the re­ward ten­dered, but the la­dy had re­solved not to be out­done in gen­eros­ity; and find­ing how he was cir­cum­stanced by an­oth­er chan­nel, she made so many earnest ap­peals, that he at last con­sent­ed to ac­cept as much as would de­fray his ex­pens­es for the jour­ney to the next place he was on the point of em­bark­ing for, where he ex­pect­ed to meet with his In­di­an friends, and a sup­ply of cash.

On one oc­ca­sion, he was ex­posed to dan­ger from a tiger, but, to use his own words, 'as my trust was placed faith­ful­ly in God, so was I pre­served by Di­vine favour'. The anec­dote rel­ative to that event, I can­not pass over, and there­fore I re­late it, as near as I rec­ol­lect, in his own words:--'I was at Luc­know dur­ing the reign of the Nuwaub, Shu­jah ood Dowlah,[4] who de­light­ed much in field sports; on one oc­ca­sion it was an­nounced that he in­tend­ed to hunt tigers, and or­ders were is­sued to the no­bil­ity and his courtiers, re­quir­ing their at­ten­dance on ele­phants, to ac­com­pa­ny him on a cer­tain day. The prepa­ra­tions were made on a grand scale, and ex­cit­ed a live­ly in­ter­est through­out the city. I had nev­er been present at a tiger hunt, and I felt my usu­al am­bi­tion to share in the ad­ven­tures of that day too ir­re­sistible to be con­quered by sug­ges­tions of pru­dence; and ac­cord­ing­ly I went, on horse­back, ac­com­pa­nied by a friend about my own age, falling in­to the rear of the Nuwaub's cav­al­cade which was far more splen­did than any thing I had be­fore wit­nessed, the train of ele­phants rich­ly ca­parisoned, on which were seat­ed in their gold or sil­ver how­dahs, the whole strength of the Court in rich dress­es.

'The hunt­ing par­ty had pen­etrat­ed the jun­gle a con­sid­er­able dis­tance be­fore a sin­gle trace of a tiger could be dis­cov­ered, when, at length it was an­nounced to the Nuwaub that the sheekaa­rees[5] (hunts­men) had rea­son to be­lieve one at least was con­cealed in the high grass near which the par­ty ap­proached. The or­der was then giv­en to loosen the led buf­faloes, and drive them to­wards the grass which con­cealed the game, a prac­tice at that time com­mon with Na­tive sports­men to rouse the fe­ro­cious an­imal, or to at­tract him, if hun­gry, from his lurk­ing place; but it seemed as if the buf­faloes were scared by the num­ber of ele­phants, for with all the goad­ing and whip­ping, which was dealt to them un­spar­ing­ly, they could not be pressed in­to the ser­vice for which they were pro­vid­ed.

'The Nuwaub was re­mark­able for brav­ery, and prid­ed him­self on his suc­cess­ful shot; he there­fore caused his ele­phant to ad­vance to the edge of the high grass, that he might have the sat­is­fac­tion of the first fire, when the an­imal should be roused. Some de­lay in this, in­duced the Nuwaub to or­der the dunkah-​wal­lah (ket­tle-​drum­mer) on horse­back to be guard­ed on each side by sol­diers with drawn sabres, to ad­vance in front and beat his drums. The first sounds of the dunkah roused the tiger: this be­ing in­stant­ly per­ceived, the horse­men wheeled round, and were in a sec­ond or two cleared from dan­ger. The tiger sprang to­wards the ele­phant, but was in­stant­ly thrown back by her trunk to a good dis­tance, the Nuwaub tak­ing aim at the same in­stant, fired and slight­ly wound­ed the an­imal, on­ly how­ev­er suf­fi­cient­ly to add to its for­mer rage.

'My friend and my­self were at this time (at­tract­ed by our ea­ger­ness to wit­ness the sports) not many paces from the spot, when per­ceiv­ing our dan­ger­ous po­si­tion, re­treat was the thought of the mo­ment with us both: my friend's horse obeyed the sig­nal, but mine was pet­ri­fied by fear; no stat­ue ev­er stood more mute and im­move­able; for a sec­ond I gave my­self up for lost, but again my heart was lift­ed up to the on­ly Pow­er whence safe­ty pro­ceeds, and draw­ing my sabre as the tiger was spring­ing to­wards me (the same sabre which had been the in­stru­ment of safe­ty to my grand­sire in a like dan­ger) as my arm was raised to lev­el the blow, the an­imal curved his spring as if in fear of the weapon, brushed close to my horse's nose, and then stuck its sharp talons in the neck of an­oth­er horse on which a Pat­taan sol­dier was seat­ed: his horse plunged, kicked, threw his rid­er on the ground with a vi­olence that left him sense­less, his open sabre falling on the han­dle, which, like a mir­acle, was forced in­to the earth leav­ing the point up­wards in a slant­ing po­si­tion, just clear­ing his neck by a few inch­es.

'The tiger turned on the man with fury and wide-​ex­tend­ed jaw, but was met by the sabre point, and the Pat­taan's red tur­ban, which fell at the in­stant; the tiger en­deav­our­ing to ex­tri­cate him­self from the en­tan­gle­ment, the sabre en­tered deep­er through his jaw, from which he had but just re­leased him­self, when a ball from the Nuwaub's ri­fle en­tered his side and he slank in­to the grass, where he was fol­lowed and soon dis­patched.'

In his trav­els Meer Had­jee Shah had of­ten been ex­posed to the dan­ger­ous con­se­quences of the plague; but (as he de­clares), he was al­ways pre­served from the con­ta­gion through the same pro­tect­ing care of Di­vine Prov­idence which had fol­lowed him through­out his life. He has been of­ten in the very cities where it raged with aw­ful vi­olence, yet nei­ther him­self nor those who were of his par­ty, were ev­er at­tacked by that scourge. On one oc­ca­sion, he was, with a large par­ty of pil­grims, halt­ing for sev­er­al days to­geth­er at a place called Bun­dah Kun­goon[6] (the word Bun­dah im­plies the sea-​shore), prepara­to­ry to com­menc­ing their pro­ject­ed jour­ney to Shi­raaz; he re­lates, that the mules and camels were pro­vid­ed, and even the day fixed for their march; but, in con­se­quence of a dream he had been vis­it­ed with, he was re­solved to change his course, even should his fel­low-​trav­ellers de­ter­mine on pur­su­ing their first plan, and there­by leave him to jour­ney alone in an op­po­site di­rec­tion.

He made his new res­olu­tion known to the pil­grims, and im­part­ed to them the dream, viz., 'Go not to Shi­raaz, where thou shalt not find prof­it or plea­sure, but bend thy steps to­wards Kraabaal­lah. His com­pan­ions laughed at his wild scheme, and as their minds were fixed on Shi­raaz, they would have per­suad­ed Meer Had­jee Shah to ac­com­pa­ny them; but, no, his dream pre­vailed over ev­ery oth­er ar­gu­ment, and he set out ac­com­pa­nied by two poor Syaads and fif­teen men­di­cant pil­grims, em­bark­ing at Kun­goon on a small ves­sel for Bushire, which by a favourable wind they reached on the third day. Here they first learned the dis­tress­ing in­tel­li­gence that the plague had raged with fright­ful con­se­quences to the pop­ula­tion; and dur­ing their few days' so­journ at Busser­ah, he says, many vic­tims fell by that aw­ful vis­ita­tion. The city it­self was in sad dis­or­der, busi­ness en­tire­ly sus­pend­ed, and many of the rich­er in­hab­itants had fled from the scene of ter­ror and dis­may. No ac­com­mo­da­tion for trav­ellers with­in his means could be pro­cured by Meer Had­jee Shah, and he was con­strained to set out on foot with his com­pan­ions, af­ter pro­vid­ing them­selves with pro­vi­sions for a few days.

Un­used to walk any great dis­tance of late, and the ef­fects of the short voy­age not be­ing en­tire­ly re­moved, he grew weary ere the first day's march was end­ed; 'But here', he says, 'I found how kind my Cre­ator was to me, who put it in­to the hearts of my com­pan­ions to take it by turns to car­ry me, un­til we ar­rived with­in sight of Fer­inghee Bargh[7] (For­eign­ers' Gar­den), where we found many of the healthy in­hab­itants from Bushire had, with per­mis­sion, tak­en refuge, some in tents, oth­ers with­out a shel­ter; and in their haste to flee from dan­ger, had for­sak­en all their pos­ses­sions, and ne­glect­ed pro­vi­sion for present com­fort; a change of gar­ments even had been for­got­ten in their haste to es­cape from the pesti­len­tial city.

'Nev­er', he says, 'shall I for­get the con­fu­sion pre­sent­ed at this place nor the clam­orous de­mands up­on us, whom they es­teemed re­li­gious men, for our prayers and in­ter­ces­sions that the scourge might be re­moved from them. I could not help think­ing and ex­press­ing al­so, “How ready weak mor­tals are to sup­pli­cate for God's help when death or af­flic­tion ap­proach­es their thresh­old, who in pros­per­ity ei­ther for­get Him en­tire­ly or ne­glect to seek Him or to obey His just com­mands.”

'The next day our march led us to the vicin­ity of a large pop­ulat­ed town. We halt­ed near a plan­ta­tion of date-​trees, and one of our men­di­cant pil­grims was dis­patched with mon­ey to pur­chase bread and dates for our sus­te­nance, with in­struc­tions to con­ceal, if pos­si­ble, our num­bers and our halt­ing-​place, fear­ing that the in­hab­itants might as­sail us with stones if it were sus­pect­ed that we came from the in­fect­ed city. The quan­ti­ty of food, how­ev­er, re­quired for so large a par­ty ex­cit­ed sus­pi­cion, but our preser­va­tion was again se­cured by Di­vine in­ter­fer­ence.

'A Dirzy[9] from the city vis­it­ed our rest­ing-​place, and find­ing we were pil­grims, asked per­mis­sion to trav­el with us to Kraabaal­lah, which was read­ily agreed to, and when a host of men were ob­served is­su­ing from the town, this man, who was an in­hab­itant, ran to­wards them, ex­plained that we were all healthy men, and in­ter­est­ed sev­er­al Arab-​Syaads to come for­ward and be­friend me and my par­ty, which they read­ily as­sent­ed to on find­ing that broth­er Syaads were in dan­ger. The Kauzy of the town hear­ing all the par­tic­ulars at­tend­ing us, came to the spot which we had se­lect­ed for our halt, pre­sent­ed his nuz­za of twen­ty-​one di­nars to me, en­treat­ed par­don for the in­tend­ed as­sault he had in ig­no­rance au­tho­rized, obliged me to ac­cept his prof­fered ci­vil­ities, and we re­mained sev­er­al days in the en­joy­ment of hos­pi­tal­ity in that town, where we had at first such strong rea­sons to an­tic­ipate vi­olence and per­se­cu­tion; but this could not be whilst the arm of the Lord was raised to shel­ter His con­fid­ing ser­vants. To Him be the praise and the glo­ry for ev­ery preser­va­tion I have been favoured with! and many were the per­ils with which I was sur­round­ed in my walk through life, yet, al­ways safe­ly brought through them, be­cause I nev­er failed putting my trust in His mer­cy and pro­tec­tion who alone could de­fend me.'

On one oc­ca­sion of his pil­grim­age to Mec­ca, Meer Had­jee Shah, with all his com­pan­ions on board a trad­ing ship, off the coast of Ara­bia, were at­tacked by pi­rates, and tak­en pris­on­ers; but, as he al­ways de­clared, the good­ness of Di­vine Prov­idence again pre­served him and those with him from the hands of their en­emies. In the event in ques­tion, he un­der­took to speak for all his par­ty to the Arab chief, be­fore whom they were tak­en pris­on­ers, and hav­ing a thor­ough knowl­edge of the Ara­bic lan­guage, he plead­ed their joint cause so ef­fec­tu­al­ly, that the chief not on­ly lib­er­at­ed the whole par­ty, but forced presents up­on them in com­pen­sa­tion for their in­con­ve­nient de­ten­tion.

The most in­ter­est­ing, if not the most re­mark­able in­ci­dent which oc­curred to Meer Had­jee Shah in his jour­ney through life, re­mains to be told. The sto­ry has been so of­ten re­lat­ed by his own lips, that I think there will be lit­tle dif­fi­cul­ty in re­peat­ing it here from mem­ory. It may be deemed pro­lix, yet I should not do jus­tice by a far­ther abridge­ment.

FA­TI­MA'S HIS­TO­RY

'Fa­ti­ma was the daugh­ter of Sheikh Mahu­mud,[9] an Arab, chief of a tribe, dwelling in the neigh­bour­hood of Yu­men, who was a wealthy man, and much es­teemed amongst his peo­ple. His wife died when Fa­ti­ma, their on­ly child, was but six years old, and two years af­ter her fa­ther al­so was tak­en from this world, leav­ing his whole es­tate and pos­ses­sions to his daugh­ter, and both to the guardian­ship of his own broth­er, Sheikh ----, who was ten­der­ly at­tached to the lit­tle girl, and from whom she re­ceived the fos­ter­ing care of parental so­lic­itude.

'This un­cle was mar­ried to a la­dy of no very ami­able tem­per, who seized ev­ery op­por­tu­ni­ty of ren­der­ing the or­phan daugh­ter of his broth­er as com­fort­less as pos­si­ble, but her un­cle's af­fec­tion nev­er slack­ened for an in­stant, and this con­soled her when­ev­er she had tri­als of a do­mes­tic na­ture to dis­tress her meek spir­it.

'When Fa­ti­ma had reached her six­teenth year, an el­igi­ble match be­ing pro­vid­ed by her un­cle, it was in­tend­ed to be im­me­di­ate­ly sol­em­nized; for which pur­pose her un­cle went over to Yu­men to make prepa­ra­tions for the nup­tials, where he ex­pect­ed to be de­tained a few days; leav­ing with his niece the keys of all his trea­suries, whether of mon­ey or jew­els.

'On the very day of his de­par­ture from home, a broth­er of his wife's ar­rived at the man­sion, and re­quired, in Fa­ti­ma's pres­ence, a loan of five hun­dred pieces of sil­ver. This could on­ly be ob­tained by Fa­ti­ma's con­sent, who firm­ly de­clared her res­olu­tion not to be­tray the trust her un­cle had re­posed in her. The wife was se­vere in her cen­sures on her hus­band's par­si­mo­ny, as she termed his pru­dence, and re­viled Fa­ti­ma for be­ing the favoured per­son in charge of his prop­er­ty. This wom­an in her rage against the un­of­fend­ing girl, struck her sev­er­al times with vi­olence. Sit­uat­ed as their res­idence was, apart from a sin­gle neigh­bour, she feared to stay dur­ing her un­cle's ab­sence, and left the house not know­ing ex­act­ly where to seek a tem­po­rary shel­ter; but rec­ol­lect­ing a dis­tant re­la­tion of her moth­er's resid­ed at By­tool Faakere,[10] no great dis­tance off (with­in a walk as she imag­ined), she left her home with­out fur­ther re­flec­tion, unat­tend­ed by a sin­gle ser­vant.

'When with­in a mile of her des­tined place of refuge, she was ob­served by a par­ty of Bedouin rob­bers, who de­scend­ed from their hill to ar­rest her progress, by whom she was con­veyed to their re­treat, al­most in a state of in­sen­si­bil­ity from ter­ror and dis­may. Ar­riv­ing at their hut, how­ev­er, she was cheered by the sight of fe­males, one of whom par­tic­ular­ly struck her as be­ing very su­pe­ri­or to her com­pan­ions, and in whose coun­te­nance benev­olence and pity seemed to in­di­cate a sym­pa­thiz­ing friend in this hour of se­vere tri­al. The wom­en were de­sired to re­lieve the pris­on­er Fa­ti­ma of her valu­ables, which were, in ac­cor­dance with their sta­tion, very cost­ly both in pearls and gold or­na­ments.

'Fa­ti­ma over­heard, dur­ing the night, some dis­putes and de­bates be­tween the rob­bers, about the dis­pos­al of her per­son, one of whom was sin­gle, and de­clared his will­ing­ness to mar­ry the girl, and so re­tain her with them; but Fa­ti­ma had, when she was seized, rec­og­nized his coun­te­nance, hav­ing seen him be­fore, and knew that his con­nex­ions lived in the town of By­tool Faakere, which she had un­guard­ed­ly de­clared. The rob­bers, there­fore, dread­ed de­tec­tion if her life was spared; they were not by na­ture san­guinary, but in this case there seemed no medi­um be­tween their ap­pre­hen­sion and the death of Fa­ti­ma.

'The fe­male, how­ev­er, who had at first sight ap­peared so ami­able and friend­ly, ful­filled the poor girl's im­pres­sions, by stren­uous­ly ex­ert­ing her in­flu­ence, and even­tu­al­ly pre­vailed, in sav­ing the or­phan Fa­ti­ma from the pre­med­itat­ed sac­ri­fice of life; and as no bet­ter ar­range­ment could be made to se­cure the rob­bers from de­tec­tion, it was at length agreed she should be sold to slav­ery. This de­cid­ed on, the swiftest camel in their pos­ses­sion was pre­pared at an ear­ly hour, a few short min­utes on­ly be­ing al­lowed to Fa­ti­ma, to pour out her grat­itude to God, and ex­press her ac­knowl­edge­ments to her hu­mane bene­fac­tress, when she was mount­ed on the camel's back, with the hus­band of that kind-​heart­ed fe­male.

'With the prospect of con­tin­ued life, poor Fa­ti­ma ceased to feel acute agony, and bore the fa­tigue of a whole day's swift rid­ing with­out a mur­mur, for the Bedouin's be­haviour was marked with re­spect. To­wards the evening, as they drew near to a large town, the Bedouin halt­ed by the mar­gin of a for­est, and the long night was passed in pro­found si­lence, with no oth­er shel­ter than that which the for­est af­ford­ed; and at the ear­li­est dawn the march was again re­sumed, nor did he slack­en his speed, un­til they were in sight of Mocha, where he de­signed to dis­pose of his vic­tim. She was there sold to a reg­ular slave-​mer­chant, who was will­ing to pay the price de­mand­ed when he saw the beau­ti­ful face and fig­ure of the poor girl, ex­pect­ing to make a hand­some prof­it by the bar­gain.

'The Bedouin made his re­spect­ful obe­di­ence and de­part­ed in haste, leav­ing poor Fa­ti­ma in al­most a state of stu­por from fa­tigue. Left how­ev­er to her­self in the slave-​mer­chant's house, she seemed to re­vive, and again to re­flect on the past, present, and fu­ture. Her es­cape from death called forth grate­ful feel­ings, and she felt so far se­cure that the wretch who had bought her, had an in­ter­est in her life, there­fore she had no fur­ther fear of as­sas­si­na­tion. But then she re­vert­ed to her bonds; painful in­deed were the re­flec­tions, that she who had been nobly born, and nursed in the lap of lux­ury, should find her­self a slave, and not one friend­ly voice to soothe her in her bondage. She re­solved how­ev­er (know­ing the priv­ilege of her coun­try's law) to se­lect for her­self a fu­ture pro­pri­etor.

'Her res­olu­tion was soon put to the test; she was sum­moned to ap­pear be­fore a fish­er­man, who had caught a glimpse of her fine fig­ure as she en­tered Mocha, and who de­sired to pur­chase her to head his house. The poor girl sum­moned all her courage to meet this de­grad­ing of­fer with dig­ni­ty. A hand­some sum was of­fered by the fish­er­man, as she ap­peared be­fore him to re­ject the pro­pos­al. “Here is your new mas­ter, young la­dy,” said the slave-​mer­chant; “be­have well, and he will mar­ry you.”

Fa­ti­ma looked up, with all her na­tive pride up­on her brow; “He shall nev­er be my mas­ter!” she replied, with so much firm­ness, that (as­ton­ished as they were) con­vinced the bar­gain­ers that Fa­ti­ma was in earnest. The mer­chant in­quired her ob­jec­tion, us she had be­trayed no un­will­ing­ness to be sold to him; she an­swered firm­ly, whilst the start­ing tear was in her eye, “My ob­jec­tion to that man is our in­equal­ity: I am of no­ble birth. My will­ing­ness to be­come your slave, was to free me from the hands of those who first pre­med­itat­ed my mur­der; and soon­er than my lib­er­ty should be sold to the crea­ture I must de­test, this dag­ger”, as she drew one from her vest, “shall free me from this world's vex­ations”.

'This threat set­tled the ar­gu­ment, for the slave-​mer­chant cal­cu­lat­ed on the loss of three hun­dred di­nars he had paid to the Bedouin; and Fa­ti­ma, aware of this, with­out ac­tu­al­ly in­tend­ing any vi­olence to her­self, felt jus­ti­fied in de­ter­ring the slave-​mer­chant from fur­ther im­por­tu­ni­ties. Sev­er­al suit­ors came to see, with a view to pur­chase the beau­ti­ful Arab of no­ble birth, but hav­ing act­ed so de­cid­ed­ly in the first in­stance, the mer­chant felt him­self obliged to per­mit her to refuse at will, and she re­ject­ed all who had made their pro­pos­al.

'Meer Had­jee Shah, in the ful­fil­ment of his promise to his wife at part­ing, to take home a slave for her at­ten­dant, hap­pen­ing at that time to be pass­ing through Mocha, in­quired for a slave-​mer­chant: he was con­duct­ed to the house where Fa­ti­ma was still a pris­on­er with many oth­er less no­ble, but equal­ly un­hap­py fe­males. Fa­ti­ma raised her eyes as he en­tered the hall; she fan­cied by his benev­olent coun­te­nance that his heart must be kind; she cast a sec­ond glance and thought such a man would sure­ly feel for her suf­fer­ings and be a good mas­ter. His eye had met hers, which was in­stant­ly with­drawn with un­af­fect­ing mod­esty; some­thing pre­pos­sessed him that the poor girl was un­hap­py, and his first idea was pity, the sec­ond her lib­er­ation from slav­ery, and, if pos­si­ble, restora­tion to her friends.

'When alone with the slave-​mer­chant, Meer Had­jee Shah in­quired the price he would take for Fa­ti­ma. “Six hun­dred pieces of sil­ver (di­nars),”[11] was the re­ply.--“I am not rich enough,” an­swered the pil­grim; “salaam, I must look else­where for one:” and he was mov­ing on.---“Stay,” said the mer­chant, “I am anx­ious to get that girl off my hands, for she is a stub­born sub­ject, over whom I have no con­trol; I nev­er like to buy these slaves of high birth, they al­ways give me trou­ble. I paid three hun­dred di­nars to the Bedouin for her, now if she will agree to have you for her mas­ter (which I very much doubt, she has so many scru­ples to over­come), you shall add fifty to that sum, and I will be sat­is­fied.”

'They en­tered the hall a sec­ond time to­geth­er, when the mer­chant ad­dressed Fa­ti­ma. “This gen­tle­man de­sires to pur­chase you; he is a Syaad of In­dia, not rich, he says, but of a high fam­ily, as well as a de­scen­dant of the Emaums.”--“As you will,” was all the an­swer Fa­ti­ma could make. The mon­ey was ac­cord­ing­ly paid down, and the poor girl led away from her prison-​house, by the first kind soul she had met since she quit­ted her bene­fac­tress in the Bedouins' re­treat.

'Fa­ti­ma's sit­ua­tion had ex­cit­ed a live­ly in­ter­est in the heart of Meer Had­jee Shah, even be­fore he knew the his­to­ry of those suf­fer­ings that had brought her in­to bondage, for he was benev­olent, and thought she seemed un­hap­py; he want­ed no stronger in­duce­ment than this to urge him to re­lease her. Many a poor wretched slave had been lib­er­at­ed through his means in a sim­ilar way, whilst mak­ing his pil­grim­ages; and in his own home I have had op­por­tu­ni­ties of see­ing his al­most pa­ter­nal kind­ness in­vari­ably ex­er­cised to­wards his slaves, some of whom he has, to my knowl­edge, set at lib­er­ty, both male and fe­male, giv­ing them the op­por­tu­ni­ty of set­tling, or leav­ing them to choose for them­selves their place of fu­ture servi­tude.

'But to re­turn to Fa­ti­ma. On tak­ing her to his lodg­ings, he tried to com­fort her with the so­lic­itude of a fa­ther, and hav­ing as­sured her she was free, in­quired where her fam­ily resid­ed, that she might be for­ward­ed to them. The poor girl could scarce be­lieve the words she heard were re­al­ity and not a dream; so much un­looked for gen­eros­ity and benev­olence over­pow­ered her with grat­itude, whilst he ad­dressed her as his daugh­ter, and ex­plained his mo­tives for be­com­ing her pur­chas­er, adding, “Our laws for­bid us to make slaves of the off­spring of Mus­sul­mauns of ei­ther sex; al­though be it con­fessed with sor­row, un­think­ing men do of­ten de­fy the law, in pur­suance of their will; yet I would not sell my hopes of heav­en for all that earth could give. I again re­peat, you are free; I am not rich, but the half of my re­main­ing funds set apart to take me to my home in In­dia, shall be de­vot­ed to your ser­vice, and with­out any de­lay I will ar­range for your re­turn to Yu­men, un­der safe con­voy” (and see­ing she was about to ex­press her grat­itude to him): “For­bear, as you re­spect me, a sin­gle word of ac­knowl­edge­ment; if any thanks are due, it is to that good Prov­idence who hath pre­served you from greater evils, to Whom be of­fered al­so my hum­ble prais­es, that through His mer­cy my steps were di­rect­ed through Mocha, at such a time as this, when an un­pro­tect­ed fe­male re­quired fa­ther­ly pro­tec­tion.”

'Fa­ti­ma was in tears dur­ing this speech of her true friend, and when he paused, she said, “Heav­en, in­deed, sent you to my aid; you seem like a guardian an­gel. Much, much I fear to be sep­arat­ed from one so pi­ous and so boun­ti­ful. May I not again be thrown in­to sim­ilar scenes to those your gen­eros­ity has been ex­er­cised to re­lease me from? Who but your­self and my own dear un­cle could ev­er feel that live­ly in­ter­est for my preser­va­tion?”

'Meer Had­jee Shah would will­ing­ly have con­veyed the poor girl to her un­cle' s res­idence near Yu­men, had it been pos­si­ble; but his ar­range­ments were made to sail by an Arab ship to Bom­bay, which if many days post­poned would de­tain him near­ly an­oth­er year from In­dia, where he was aware his re­turn was ex­pect­ed by his wife and fam­ily; and he was not will­ing to give them cause for un­easi­ness, by any fur­ther de­lay; he how­ev­er went out to make in­quiries at Mocha for some safe means of get­ting Fa­ti­ma con­veyed to her un­cle.

'In the mean­time she re­solved in her mind the sev­er­al cir­cum­stances at­tend­ing her ac­tu­al sit­ua­tion in the world, and be­fore the next morn­ing had well dawned, she had re­solved on urg­ing her kind pro­tec­tor to take her with him to In­dia, be­fore whom she ap­peared with a more tran­quil coun­te­nance than he had yet wit­nessed. When they were seat­ed, he said, “Well, Fa­ti­ma, I pro­pose to de­vote this day to the ar­range­ment of all things nec­es­sary for your com­fort on your jour­ney home, and to-​mor­row morn­ing the kaarawaun[12] sets out for Yu­men, where I hearti­ly pray you may be con­duct­ed in safe­ty, and meet your un­cle in joy. Have no fears for your jour­ney, put your en­tire trust in God, and nev­er for­get that your safe­ty and lib­er­ation were wrought out by His good­ness alone.”

'“Huzerut[13] (revered Sir),” she replied, “I have weighed well the ad­van­tages I should de­rive by be­ing al­ways near to you, against the prospects of my home and wealth in Ara­bia, which I am re­solved to re­lin­quish if you ac­cede to my pro­pos­al. Let me then con­tin­ue to be your slave, or your ser­vant, if that term is more agree­able to my kind mas­ter. Slav­ery with a holy mas­ter is prefer­able to free­dom with wealth and impi­ety. You must have ser­vants, I will be the hum­blest and not the least faith­ful in my de­vot­ed ser­vices.”

'The pi­ous man was sur­prised be­yond mea­sure; he at­tempt­ed to dis­suade her, and re­ferred to his wife and chil­dren in In­dia. “Oh! take me to them,” she cried with en­er­gy; “I will be to them all you or they can de­sire,” This ar­range­ment of Fa­ti­ma's was rather per­plex­ing to him; her tears and en­treaties, how­ev­er, pre­vailed over his pref­er­ence, and he qui­et­ed her ag­ita­tion by agree­ing to take her to In­dia with him.

'Af­ter ma­ture­ly weigh­ing all the cir­cum­stances of the voy­age by sea, and the long jour­ney by land from Bom­bay to Luc­know, he came to the de­ter­mi­na­tion of giv­ing Fa­ti­ma a le­gal claim to his pro­tec­tion, and there­by a se­cu­ri­ty al­so from slan­der­ous im­pu­ta­tions ei­ther against her or him­self, by mar­ry­ing her be­fore they em­barked at Mocha; and on their ar­rival at Luc­know, Fa­ti­ma was pre­sent­ed to his first wife as wor­thy her sym­pa­thy and kind­ness, by whom she was re­ceived and cher­ished as a dear sis­ter. The whole fam­ily were sin­cere­ly at­tached to the ami­able la­dy dur­ing the many years she lived with them in Hin­doost­aun. Her days were passed in piety and peace, leav­ing not an in­stance to call forth the re­grets of Meer Had­jee Shah, that he had com­plied with her en­treaties in giv­ing her his per­ma­nent pro­tec­tion. Her re­moval from this life to a bet­ter was mourned by ev­ery mem­ber of the fam­ily with equal sor­row as when their dear­est rel­ative ceased to live.'

It is my in­ten­tion (if I am per­mit­ted), at some fu­ture pe­ri­od, to write a more cir­cum­stan­tial ac­count of Meer Had­jee Shah's ad­ven­tures through life, than my present lim­its al­low. In the mean­time, how­ev­er, I must sat­is­fy my­self by a few re­marks found­ed on a per­son­al ob­ser­va­tion and in­ti­ma­cy dur­ing the last eleven years of his event­ful life. His ex­am­ple and pre­cept kept pace with each oth­er, 'That this world and all its van­ities, were noth­ing in com­par­ison with ac­quir­ing a knowl­edge of God's holy will, and obey­ing Him, in thought, in word, and deed.'

He was per­suad­ed by the tenets of his re­li­gion that by ex­er­cis­ing the body in the pil­grim­age to Mec­ca, the heart of man was en­light­ened in the knowl­edge and love of God. He found by obey­ing the sev­er­al du­ties of the re­li­gion he pro­fessed, and by en­dur­ing the con­se­quent tri­als and pri­va­tions of a pil­grim­age with­out re­gard to any feel­ings of self­ish grat­ifi­ca­tion or in­dul­gent ease, that, his na­ture be­ing hum­bled, his love to God was more abun­dant.

His law com­mand­ed him to fast at stat­ed pe­ri­ods, and al­though he was turned of sev­en­ty when I first saw him, yet he nev­er failed, as the sea­son of Rumza­un ap­proached, to un­der­go the sever­ity of that or­di­nance day by day dur­ing the full pe­ri­od of thir­ty days; and it was even a source of un­easi­ness to my ven­er­at­ed friend, when, two years pri­or to his de­cease, his med­ical friends, aid­ed by the so­lic­itude of his fam­ily, urged and pre­vailed on him to dis­con­tin­ue the du­ty, which by rea­son of his age was con­sid­ered dan­ger­ous to health, and per­haps to life. Prayer was his com­fort; med­ita­tion and praise his chief de­light. I nev­er saw him oth­er­ways than en­gaged in some prof­itable ex­er­cise, by which he was draw­ing near to his Cre­ator, and prepar­ing him­self for the blessed­ness of eter­ni­ty, on which his soul re­lied.

Dur­ing our eleven years' con­stant in­ter­course, I can an­swer for his ear­ly dili­gence; be­fore the day had dawned his head was bowed in ado­ra­tion to his Mak­er and Pre­serv­er. At all sea­sons of the year, and un­der all cir­cum­stances, this du­ty was nev­er omit­ted. Even in sick­ness, if his strength failed him, his head was bowed on a tray of earth, to mark his du­ti­ful rec­ol­lec­tion of the sev­er­al hours ap­point­ed for prayer. The Psalmist's lan­guage has of­ten been re­al­ized to my view, in him, 'Sev­en times a day do I praise thee, O Lord,' and 'at mid­night I will rise to give thanks un­to Thee,' when wit­ness­ing his un­de­vi­at­ing ob­ser­vance of stat­ed prayer du­ties; and when those du­ties were ac­com­plished, even his amuse­ments were gleaned from de­vo­tion­al works, vis­its of char­ity, and acts of benev­olence. I nev­er saw him idle; ev­ery mo­ment was oc­cu­pied in prayer or in good works. His mem­ory was re­ten­tive, and ev­ery anec­dote he re­lat­ed was a les­son cal­cu­lat­ed to lead the mind of his au­di­tor to seek, trust, and obey God, or to love our neigh­bour as our­selves.

The many hours we have passed in prof­itable dis­cours­es or read­ings from our Holy Scrip­ture and the lives of the Prophets have left on my mem­ory last­ing im­pres­sions.

I was, at first, sur­prised to find Meer Had­jee Shah so well ac­quaint­ed with the promi­nent char­ac­ters of our Scrip­ture his­to­ry, un­til the source from whence his knowl­edge had been en­larged was pro­duced and read aloud by my hus­band ev­ery evening to our fam­ily par­ty. The 'Hyaa­tool Kaaloob' (a work be­fore al­lud­ed to) oc­cu­pied us for a very long pe­ri­od, each pas­sage be­ing ver­bal­ly trans­lat­ed to me by my hus­band.

When that work was fin­ished, our Holy Scrip­ture was brought for­ward, which, as I read, each pas­sage was again trans­lat­ed by my hus­band, ei­ther in Per­sian or Hin­doost­au­nic, as best suit­ed the un­der­stand­ing of our par­ty at the time. So in­ter­est­ing was the sub­ject, that we have been five or six hours at, a time en­gaged with­out tir­ing or even re­mem­ber­ing the flight of those mo­ments which were de­vot­ed, I trust, so ben­efi­cial­ly to us all.

Meer Had­jee Shah's views of world­ly en­joy­ments re­sem­bled the Dur­weish's in prin­ci­ple; for he thought it un­wor­thy to heap up rich­es, to swell his wardrobe, or to fare on sump­tu­ous di­et; but his de­light con­sist­ed in shar­ing the lit­tle he could at any time com­mand with those who need­ed it. He pos­sessed an in­tel­li­gent mind, high­ly cul­ti­vat­ed by trav­el, and a heart beam­ing with ten­der­ness and uni­ver­sal char­ity: so tem­pered were his af­fec­tions by a re­li­gious life, that the world was made but a place of pro­ba­tion to him whilst look­ing for­ward with joy to the promis­es of God in a hap­py eter­ni­ty. His pu­ri­ty of heart and life has of­ten re­al­ized to my imag­ina­tion that 'Is­raelite in whom (our Re­deemer pro­nounced) there was no guile.'

I must here draw my Let­ters to a con­clu­sion, with many an anx­ious wish that my glean­ings in the so­ci­ety of the Mus­sul­mauns of Hin­doost­aun may af­ford prof­itable amuse­ment to my friends and to those per­sons who may hon­our my work with a pe­rusal, humbly trust­ing that the peo­ple whose char­ac­ter, man­ners, habits, and re­li­gion, I have tak­en up­on me to pour­tray, may im­prove in their opin­ion by a more in­ti­mate ac­quain­tance.

In my at­tempt to de­lin­eate the Mus­sul­mauns, I have been care­ful to speak as I have found them, not al­low­ing prej­udice to bias my judg­ment, ei­ther on the side of their faults or virtues. But I deem it in­cum­bent to state, that my chief in­ti­ma­cy has been con­fined to the most wor­thy of their com­mu­ni­ty; and that the char­ac­ter of a true Mus­sul­maun has been my aim in de­scrip­tion. There are peo­ple pro­fess­ing the faith with­out the prin­ci­ple, it is true; but such per­sons are not con­fined to the Mus­sul­maun per­sua­sion; they are among ev­ery class of wor­ship­pers, whether Jew or Gen­tile through­out the world.

Of my long so­journ in the so­ci­ety of the Mus­sul­mauns of Hin­doost­aun, I need here but re­mark, that I was re­ceived amongst them with­out prej­udice, and al­lowed the free us­age of my Eu­ro­pean habits and re­li­gious prin­ci­ples with­out a sin­gle at­tempt to bias or con­trol me; that by re­spect­ing their tri­fling prej­udices as re­gards eat­ing and drink­ing, their es­teem and con­fi­dence were se­cured to me; and that by evinc­ing Chris­tian char­ity, (which de­ters the pos­ses­sor from proud seem­ing), I be­lieve, I may add, their af­fec­tion for me was as sin­cere, as I trust it will be last­ing.

It may be re­gret­ted, with all my in­flu­ence, that I have not been the hum­ble in­stru­ment of con­ver­sion. None can lament more than my­self that I was not deemed wor­thy to con­vince them of the ne­ces­si­ty, or of the ef­fi­ca­cy of that great Atone­ment on which my own hopes are found­ed. Yet may I not, with­out pre­sump­tion, hope my so­journ, with ref­er­ence to a fu­ture pe­ri­od, may be the hum­ble means of good to a peo­ple with whom I had lived so many years in peace? I must for many rea­sons be sup­posed to en­ter­tain a live­ly in­ter­est in their wel­fare, and an earnest de­sire for their safe­ty, al­though at the present mo­ment I can dis­tin­guish but one ad­van­tage ac­cru­ing from our in­ti­ma­cy, name­ly, that they no longer view the pro­fes­sors of Chris­tian­ity as idol­aters. They have learned with sur­prise that the Chris­tian re­li­gion for­bids idol­atry,--thus the strong bar­ri­er be­ing sapped, I trust it may be thrown down by abler ser­vants of our Lord; for the Mus­sul­mauns are al­ready bound by their re­li­gion to love and rev­er­ence Christ as the Prophet of God: may the in­flu­ence of his Holy Spir­it en­light­en their un­der­stand­ings to ac­cept Him as their Re­deemer!

Like the true Chris­tian, they are look­ing for­ward to that pe­ri­od when Je­sus Christ shall re­vis­it the earth, and when all men shall be of one faith. How that shall be ac­com­plished, they do not pre­tend to un­der­stand, but still they faith­ful­ly be­lieve it, be­cause it has been de­clared by an au­thor­ity they rev­er­ence, and deem con­clu­sive. Of­ten, dur­ing my ac­quain­tance with these peo­ple, have I felt obliged to ap­plaud their fi­deli­ty, al­though, in some points, I could not ap­prove of the sub­ject on which it was dis­played--their zeal at Mahur­rum, for in­stance, when they com­mem­orate the mar­tyr­dom of the grand­chil­dren of their Prophet,--I have thought 'had they been favoured with the knowl­edge we pos­sess, what zeal­ous Chris­tians would these peo­ple be, who thus hon­our the mem­ory of mere holy men.'

The time, I trust, is not very far dis­tant when not one na­tion in the whole world shall be ig­no­rant of the Saviour's ef­fi­ca­cy, and His will­ing­ness to re­ceive all who cast their bur­den at the foot of His cross. My heart's de­sire for the peo­ple I have dwell amongst is that which St. Paul in the Epis­tle to the Ro­mans de­clares to be his prayer to God for Is­rael, 'that they might be saved!' and I know not any way in which I could bet­ter tes­ti­fy my re­gard for the Mus­sul­mauns col­lec­tive­ly, or my grat­itude in­di­vid­ual­ly, than by rec­om­mend­ing the whole of the tenth chap­ter of the Ro­mans to the se­ri­ous con­sid­er­ation of those per­sons who pos­sess such in­flu­ence, us that the gospel of peace may be preached to them ef­fec­tu­al­ly by well-​cho­sen and tried ser­vants of our Lord, who are du­ly pre­pared both in heart and speech, to make known the glad tid­ings to their un­der­stand­ings that 'God so loved the world, that He gave His on­ly be­got­ten Son, that whoso­ev­er be­lieveth in Him should not per­ish, but have ev­er­last­ing life;' that 'If any man sin we have an Ad­vo­cate with the Fa­ther, Je­sus Christ the righ­teous;' and that 'He is the pro­pi­ti­ation for our sins: and not for ours on­ly, but al­so for the sins of the whole world.'

Should the view I have con­sci­en­tious­ly giv­en of their char­ac­ter be the hum­ble means of re­mov­ing prej­udice from the Mus­sul­mauns of Hin­doost­aun, so that they may be sought and won by broth­er­ly kind­ness, my hum­ble heart will re­joice that my labours, as an ob­serv­er and de­tail­er, have been suc­cess­ful through the mer­ci­ful or­der­ings of Di­vine Prov­idence.

[1] Lud­hi­ana, a city, not the cap­ital of the Pan­jab: 'the land of five rivers' _(panj-​ab)._

[2] Un­der the Pesh­was, Ba­ji Rao I and Bal­aji Rao (A.D. 1720-61) the in­cur­sions of the Mahrat­tas ex­tend­ed as far north as the Pan­jab.

[3] _Barah­dari_, a room nom­inal­ly with twelve doors.

[4] Shu­ja-​ud-​daula, son of Mansur 'Ali Khan, Saf­dar Jang, Gov­er­nor of Oudh: born A.D. 1731; suc­ceed­ed his fa­ther, 1753. He was present at the bat­tle of Pa­ni­pat in 1761: be­came Wazir of the Em­per­or Shah 'Alam: de­feat­ed by the British at the bat­tle of Buxar, 1764: died at Faiz­abad, then his seat of gov­ern­ment, 1775.

[5] _Shikari_.

[6] Ban­dar [har­bour] Kan­gun, a port on the west side of the Per­sian Gulf, about 100 miles west of Gom­broon.

[7] Fi­ran­gi Bagh, Franks' Gar­den.

[8] Darzi, a tai­lor.

[9] Shaikh Muham­mad.

[10] Baitu'l-​faqir, 'house of a holy man'.

[11] _Di­nar_, Lat. _denar­ius_, a coin of vary­ing val­ue: see Yule, _Hob­son-​Job­son_[2], 317 f.

[12] _Kar­wan_, a car­avan.

[13] _Hazrat_.

THE END

* * * * *

BIB­LI­OG­RA­PHY OF WORKS

USED IN PREPAR­ING THE IN­TRO­DUC­TION AND NOTES

Arnold, T.W. _The Preach­ing of Is­lam_, Lon­don, 1896.

Beale, T.W. _An Ori­en­tal Bi­ograph­ical Dic­tio­nary_, Lon­don, 1894.

Bur­ton, Sir R.F. _The Book of the Thou­sand Nights and a Night_, 12 vols., Lon­don, 1894.

Bur­ton, Sir R.F. _A Pil­grim­age to El-​Med­inah and Mec­ca_, 2 vols., Lon­don, 1893.

Crooke, W. _The Pop­ular Re­li­gion and Folk-​lore of North­ern In­dia_, 2 vols., West­min­ster, 1896.

Fan­shawe, H.C. _Del­hi Past and Present_, Lon­don, 1902.

Faza­lalul­lah Lut­ful­lah, 'Gu­jarat Musalmans', in _Bom­bay Gazetteer_, ix, part ii, Bom­bay, 1899.

Führer, A. _The Mon­umen­tal An­tiq­ui­ties and In­scrip­tions of the North-​West­ern Provinces and Oudh_, Al­la­habad, 1891.

Ir­win, H.C. _The Gar­den of In­dia_, Lon­don, 1880.

Jaf­fur Shur­reef, _Qanoon-​e-​Is­lam, or the Cus­toms of the Mus­sul­mans of In­dia_, trans. G.A. Herk­lots, Madras, 1863.

_Gazetteer of the Province of Oudh_, 3 vols., Luc­know, 1877.

Hugh­es, T.P. _A Dic­tio­nary of Is­lam_, Lon­don, 1885.

[Knighton, W.] _The Pri­vate Life of an East­ern King_, Lon­don, 1855.

_Ko­ran, The_, trans. J.M. Rod­well, Ev­ery­man's Li­brary, Lon­don, _n.d._; by G. Sale, Lon­don, 1844.

Lane, E.W. _An Ac­count of the Man­ners and Cus­toms of the Mod­ern Egyp­tians_, 2 vols., 5th ed., Lon­don, 1871.

_Mish­cat-​ul Masabih_, by Muham­mad ibn 'Abd Al­lah, trans. A.N. Matthews, 2 vols., Cal­cut­ta, 1809-10.

Ock­ley, S. _His­to­ry of the Sara­cens_, Lon­don, 1848.

Parks, F. _Wan­der­ings of a Pil­grim in Search of the Pic­turesque_, 2 vols., Lon­don, 1852.

Pol­ly, Col. Sir L. _The Mir­acle Play of Hasan and Hu­sain, col­lect­ed from Oral Tra­di­tion_, 2 vols., Lon­don, 1879.

Sell, E. _The Faith of Is­lam_, Madras, 1880.

Slee­man, Ma­jor-​Gen. Sir W.H. _A Jour­ney through the King­dom of Oudh, in 1849-1850_, 2 vols., Lon­don, 1858.

Slee­man, Ma­jor-​Gen. Sir W.H. _Ram­bles and Rec­ol­lec­tions of an In­di­an Of­fi­cial_, ed. V.A. Smith, 2 vols., West­min­ster, 1893.

Watt, Sir G. _A Dic­tio­nary of the Eco­nom­ic Prod­ucts of In­dia_, 6 vols., Cal­cut­ta, 1889-93.

Yule, Col. H., Bur­nell, A.C. _Hob­son-​Job­son_, 2nd ed., Lon­don, 1903.

* * * *

IN­DEX

Aameen, Ameen, Ami, Amen Aa­roon, Aaron Abass Ali, 'Ab­bas, nephew of Hu­sain; Abass Ali Huzerut ke Dur­gah, Hazrat 'Ab­bas 'Ali ki dar­gah Ablu­tion Aboubuk­er, Abubakr, the Caliph Abra­ham, sac­ri­fice of Ish­mael; his ti­tle Ab­sti­nence dur­ing the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val Adam, his buri­al-​place; his ti­tle; im­age of Af­frine Khaun, Afrin Khan, a eu­nuch Af­thaadah, _aftab­gir_, a sun-​shade Agha Mir, min­is­ter in Oudh Ah­mud Kaabeer, Sayyid Ah­mad Kabir, a saint Akb­har Shah, Ak­bar Shah II, King of Del­hi Ak­bar, the Moghul Em­per­or, his cap­ture of Chi­tor Alche­my Alep­po Alexan­dria, al­leged de­struc­tion of the li­brary at Ali, 'Ali, son-​in-​law of Muham­mad; mur­der of; im­part­ed knowl­edge to the Su­fis Ali Reezah, Ar-​Raza Ali Ul Hoodah, 'Ali ul Hu­da Al-​kauloek, _alkha­laq_, a coat with sleeves Al­lah Kha­reem, Al-​Karim, 'the gen­er­ous one' Al­lah wo uck­baar, _Al­lah u ak­bar_, 'God is most great' Al­li­ga­tors, caught by mon­keys Al­lum, _'alam_, a stan­dard Al­lumgeer, 'Alam­gir, the Em­per­or Au­rangzeb Al Mauss Ali Khaun, Al­mas 'Ali Khan, a eu­nuch Alms­giv­ing at the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val Al­rouschid, Harun-​al-​Rashid, the Caliph Amulets for chil­dren Amuse­ments of chil­dren An­gels, the at­ten­dant An­imal, fights at the Court of Oudh; mode of slaugh­ter­ing by Musalmans; life, sanc­ti­ty of An­telopes, hunt­ed by leop­ards Ants; sug­ar laid near their nests; white Ap­ples Arg, _ar­ka_, the fire plant Arms, pol­ish­ers of Ar­rack, _'araq,_ spir­its Ar­too­jee, _us­tad­ji_, a teach­er Ar­tush-​baa­jie, _atish­bazi_, fire­works 'Ashu­ra, the last day of the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val Asof ood Duo­lah, Nawab Asaf-​ud-​daula; his procla­ma­tion against in­fan­ti­cide Asth­ma, a cure for As­trol­ogy Aus­maun, 'Us­man, the Caliph Ausur na­maaz, _'asr ki na­maz_, prayer at the third watch of the day Ayah, _aya_, a nurse Ayashur, Ay­ishah, wife of Muham­mad

Baalee Peer, Bala Pir Baaraat, _barat_. the pro­ces­sion of the bride­groom Baarah Da­ree, _barah­dari_ a room with twelve doors Ba­bool, _bab­ul_, the tree _aca­cia ara­bi­ca_ Bacherkau­nie, _baqirkhani_, a kind of bread Ba daanah, _be­danah_, seed­less grapes Baer, _ber_, the tree _Zizy­phus Ju­ju­ba_ Ba­had­hoor, _ba­hadur_, 'a cham­pi­on', a ti­tle of hon­our Bait­tee, _beti_, a daugh­ter Bam­boos, us­es of; flow­er­ing of; set on fire by fric­tion Ban­ner of Hu­sain (see AL­LUM) Bare­head­ed peo­ple not al­lowed in a house Ba­sun, _be­san_, pulse flour Bazars de­scribed Beards worn by Musalmans; dye­ing of Bear­er caste, the Bed­spreads Bed­steads Bee­by Sahib, _bibi sahi­ba_, an En­glish la­dy Beg­gar, a fa­mous, in Luc­know Be­gum, _begam_, a ti­tle of a Sayyid la­dy Biles and blains Birds, catch­ers of; re­leased in time of sick­ness Birth rites, scanty re­joic­ings at birth of a girl; gun-​fir­ing; nurs­ing,; first dose of medicine; bathing of child; forty days' im­pu­ri­ty af­ter child­birth; gifts made to the child; birth­day cel­ebra­tions; cir­cum­ci­sion; child car­ried to the Dar­gah Bis ma Al­lah, _bi'smi'llah_, 'in the name of Al­lah' Bleed­ing, pro­ce­dure at Blis­ter­ing, flies used for Blood-​spit­ting; cure for Blue stone, a rem­edy for snakebites Boats set adrift in hon­our of Khwa­ja Khizr Bodice, the Bo­hue Be­gum, _Bahu Be­gum_, a daugh­ter-​in-​law Bootkhanah, _butkhanah_, an idol tem­ple Bore­haun, _burhan_, the crit­ical days of fever Bows and ar­rows, use of Brah­man­ical cords burnt Bread, va­ri­eties of Bricks, an­cient Bride, the pe­culi­um of; modes of se­lect­ing; dress of Bride­groom, veil worn by Brush­es for hair and teeth Buckaria, Bokhara Buck­rah Eade, the _baqarah id_, fes­ti­val; gifts sent at Budgerow, a kind of boat Bull-​bull, _bul­bul_, the nightin­gale Bun­dah Kun­goon, Ban­dar Kan­gun Bun­yah, Baniya, a corn mer­chant Bu­raq, the an­imal on which Muham­mad flew to Mec­ca Bur­but, _bar­gat_, the banyan tree Burghutt, caste, re­gard for an­imal life Buri­al rites, pu­rifi­ca­tion af­ter touch­ing the corpse; see DEATH. Burkhund­har, _bar­qan­daz_, a man armed with a matchlock Burqa', a wom­an's veil Bur­rhsaatie, _barsa­ti_ a dis­ease of hors­es Bur­ruff wal­lah, _bar­fwala_ a sell­er of ice Bushire, a town on the Per­sian Gulf Bus­so­rah, Bas­ra, a town on the Shatt el Arab in Asi­at­ic Turkey Bus­sund, _bas­ant_, the spring fes­ti­val Butch­er bird, the Butch­ers But­taire, _bater_, a quail But­ter sell­ers But­tooah, _bat­ua_, or­na­ment­ed bag By­tool Faakere, _baitu'l-​faqir,_ 'the house of a holy man'

Cain, re­put­ed founder of Kanauj Caliphas, _khal­ifah_, of Shi'ahs and Sun­nis; a head of a trade or pro­fes­sion Cam­phor, used in treat­ing cholera; in buri­al rites Cardimun, the car­damom Cards, the game of Carounder, _ka­raun­da, Caris­sa Caran­das_ Cas­tanets, see CHUCK­IE Cat­echu, used with be­tel Cat­tle, slaugh­ter of, ob­ject­ed to by Hin­dus Chaff, thrown on the head in mourn­ing Chain at the Ka'bah; of jus­tice, put up by Ja­hangir Chair, right to use Cha­paatie, _cha­pa­ta_, a grid­dle cake Charaagh, _chi­ragh_, a lamp Char­ity, a re­li­gious du­ty; among Musalmans Char­poy, _charpai_, a kind of bed Chat­nee, _chat­ni_, a kind of rel­ish Chat­tah, _chha­ta_, an um­brel­la Cheek, _chiq_, a door screen Chee­tah, _chi­ta_, a hunt­ing leop­ard Cher­ries Chil­dren, fast­ing of Chillum, _chil­am_, the bowl of a wa­ter-​pipe, the to­bac­co used to fill it Chillum­chee, _chil­am­chi_, a wash-​hand basin Chilub­dhaar, _cha­lap­dar_, a cym­ba play­er Chi­na ves­sels, use of Chirrya wal­lah, _chiryawala_, a bird-​catch­er Chitcher­ah, _chichra_, the _Achryan­thes as­pera_ tree Chit­lah, _chi­tra_, a kind of mel­on Chob­dhaah, Chob­dhaar, _chob­dar_, a mace-​bear­er Chokeed­har, _chauki­dar_, a watch­man Cholera; cures for Chowrie, Chowry, _chau­ri_, a yak tail fan Chowsah, _chausa_, four-​sid­ed, of dice Chub­baynee, _chabena_, parched grain Chuck­ie, Chuc­kee, _charkhi_, a kind of cas­tanets; _chak­ki_, a grind­stone Chud­dah, Chud­ha, _chadar_, a sheet Chuh­sah, _chhah­sa_, six-​sid­ed, of dice Chu­mund, _chaman_, a flow­er bed Chun­dole, _chan­dol_, a kind of sedan chair Chupha, _chhap­par_, a thatched shed Chup­kund, _chap­kan_, a kind of coat Cider, made from mel­on juice Cir­cum­ci­sion Clep­sy­dra, used to mark time Cloak, hood­ed, worn by wom­en Cock-​fight­ing Coel, _koil_, a kind of cuck­oo Con­cu­bi­nage Con­fec­tion­ers Cook­ery, in Musalman fam­ilies Cook­ing, pro­hib­it­ed in the house of mourn­ing Cord, Brah­man­ical, burned Cos­sum, Qasim, nephew of Hu­sain; mod­el of his tomb tak­en in pro­ces­sion Courtie, _kur­ti_, a wom­an's jack­et Cowry shells Cream sell­ers Cries of hawk­ers Crown of the King of Oudh Crows, im­pu­dence of Cum­mer­bund, _ka­mar­band_, a waist-​cloth, gir­dle Cup­pers Curd sell­ers. Cur­rants Cur­rie, _karhi_ Cut­lers Cut­tie, _khatai_, soured milk; kath, gum used with pan

Daak, _dak_, the let­ter post Daaood, Daud, David, his moth­er's prayer Dac­ca cloths Dam­as­cus fig, the Danc­ing, con­sid­ered de­grad­ing; wom­en Dates, eat­ing of Dead, food for the; pe­ri­od of mourn­ing for Death rites Debt, im­pris­on­ment for, said to be for­bid­den Dec­ca, Dac­ca Del­hi de­scribed Del­uge, said not to be known in In­dia Deput­tah, _dopat­ta_, a dou­ble sheet Devo­tees, Musalman. Dhall, _dal_, pulse Dhaullie, _dali_, a bas­ket of fruit and veg­eta­bles Dhie, _dahi_, curds Dhie mudgel­luss, _dah ma­jlis_, the ten days of the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val Dho­bie, _dho­bi_, a wash­er­man Dholle, _dhol_, a drum Dhol­lie, a 'dooly', a lit­ter; wives Dhome, a drum Dhull Dhull, Dul­dul, the mule of Muham­mad Dhurzie, darzi, the tai­lor caste Di­amonds Dice, games played with Dimishk, Di­mashq, Dam­as­cus Di­nar, _di­nar_, denar­ius, a coin Din­ners pro­vid­ed in time of mourn­ing Dirzy; see DHURZIE Div­ina­tion in se­lect­ing a bride Di­vorce Dog, an im­pure an­imal Dome­nie, Dom­ni, a singing wom­an Dooar prayer, _du'a_, sup­pli­ca­tion Doob grass, _dub, Cyn­odon Dacty­lon_ Dowry of bride, how fixed Draughts, the game of Dress, not changed dur­ing the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val; of a bride Duf­felee, _dafali_, the drum­mer caste Dukhaun, _dukan_, a shop Dul­haun, _dalan_, the hall, en­trance of a house Dull­ha, _dul­ha_, a bride­groom Dul­lun, _dul­hin_, a bride Dunkah, _dan­ka_, a ket­tle-​drum; dunkah wal­lah, _dankawala,_ a drum­mer Dun­yah, _dhaniya_, co­rian­der Dur­bar, _dar­bar_, a court Dur­gah, _dar­gah_, a saint's shrine; pro­ces­sions to, at Luc­know Dur­waun, _dar­wan_, a door­keep­er Dur­weish, _darvesh_ a beg­gar, a re­li­gious men­di­cant; pre­tenders to the ti­tle Dustha-​khawn, _das­tarkhwan_, a ta­ble-​cloth Dus­toor, _das­tur_, cus­tom, the per­cent­ages on pur­chas­es tak­en by na­tive ser­vants Dust-​storms

Eade, _'Id_, a fes­ti­val; eade-​gaarh, _'Idgah_, the place where the fes­ti­val rites are per­formed Ear clean­ers Ear­rings Ear­wax, hu­man, ad­min­is­tered to ele­phants Earth­quakes; fol­low a flight of lo­custs; Kanauj dam­aged by Eclipse ob­ser­vances Eggs sent at the Nau­roz fes­ti­val Ele­phant trained to march in time; car­riages drawn by; beg­gar rid­ing on; eti­quette on meet­ing the king Elias ky kish­tee, _Ilyas ki kishti_, boats set adrift in hon­our of Khwa­ja Khizr Eli­jah, El­isha, the prophet Emaum, _Imam_, lead­ers of the faith­ful; Jaf­fur Saadick, Ja'far as-​Sadiq Emaum baarah, _Imam­bara_, the place where the Muhar­ram rites are per­formed Emaum za­munee, _imam za­mi­ni_, a charm to se­cure safe­ty in a jour­ney En­glish wom­en not vis­it­ing the Luc­know bazar Esaee, _'Isa 'l-​Masih_, Je­sus Christ, the Mes­si­ah Es­haa na­maaz, _salatu 'l-'Isha_, the night prayer Eti­quette in the zenanah; at the Court of Oudh Eu­nuchs, their pow­er in the Court of Oudh; tale of a pil­grim Eve, the grave of Ex­ecu­tion of crim­inals Ex­er­cise, modes of, used by young men Ex­or­cism of evil spir­its Eyes dec­orat­ed with an­ti­mo­ny

Faa­keer, _faqir_, a beg­gar, holy man Fah­teeah, _al Fati­hah_, the first chap­ter of the Ko­ran Fal­sah, _phal­sa, fal­sa_, the fruit _Grewia asi­at­ica_ Fast­ing; ex­emp­tions from Fat, not eat­en by Musalmans Fa­ti­ma, Fa­timah, daugh­ter of Muham­mad; an Arab girl pur­chased Fer­inghee Bargh, _Faran­gi Bagh_, 'the Franks' Gar­den Fier­dowsee, Fir­dausi, the po­et; trans­la­tions of; on slav­ery Fig, the Fire, jump­ing in­to, and walk­ing through Fire­works at the Shab-​i-​Bara'at fes­ti­val; see AR­TUSH-​BAA­JIE Fir­ing guns at the birth of a boy Fish, use of; va­ri­eties pro­hib­it­ed for use as food; a sym­bol at the Court of Oudh Flags, in use at the Court of Oudh Flies, in­con­ve­nience from; a va­ri­ety which pro­duces blis­ters Flow­er gar­dens, ne­glect of; in Moghul palaces Flow­ers, scent of, the food of aeri­al spir­its Folk tales, told in the zenanah; tale re­citers; tale of Daaood; of the Prophet; of pil­grims; of a char­ita­ble Arab; of Syaad Harshim; of a saint chang­ing the course of a riv­er; of an un­grate­ful snake; of a king who longed for a fruit Food, for the dead; not cooked in a house of mourn­ing; law­ful for Musalmans Fraught, Fu­rat, the riv­er Eu­phrates Fri­day, the Musalman Sab­bath Frogs Fruit, use of; sell­ers of Fur­ni­ture in the zenanah Fur­rukhabaad, Far­rukhabad, Nawab of

Gabriel, the An­gel; in­spires the Ko­ran Games played by boys; in the zenanah Gam­ing pro­hib­it­ed Genii, the Jinn Ghauzee ood deen, Ghazi-​ud-​diu, King of Oudh Ghee, _ghi_, clar­ified but­ter Ghur­rie, _ghari_, a space of about twen­ty min­utes Glass, _gi­las_, a cher­ry Glass, ves­sels, use of; use in win­dows Goatah chand­nie, _go­la chand­ni_, lace Goat­tur, _go­ta_, a sub­sti­tute for be­tel, at the Muhar­ram God, nine­ty-​nine names of Go­lard, Goulard wa­ter Good­erie, _gu­dri_, a quilt Gool­bud­den, _gul­badan_, a silk fab­ric Goolis­taun, Gulis­tan of Sa'adi Goomtie, the riv­er Gumti Goose­ber­ries Gootlie, _guth­li_, the first dose giv­en to a ba­by Grain, thresh­ing and win­now­ing of Gram, a kind of chick pea, _Ci­cer ari­et­inum_ Green, the colour pre­ferred by Sayyids; sym­bol­iz­ing Hasan Green­gro­cers Grief, ex­hi­bi­tion of, at the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val Guaver, the gua­va fruit Guinah, _gen­da_, the marigold Gur­donie, _gar­dani_, a neck ring Gurhum dah­nie, _garm da­hani_ prick­ly heat

Haafiz, Hafiz, the Per­sian po­et Haarh, _har_, a neck­lace; see HARRH Hack­ery, _chhakra_, a bul­lock car­riage Hadge, _ha­jj_, pil­grim­age to holy places Had­jee, _ha­jji_, a pil­grim Hafiz, a man who has learned the Ko­ran by heart Haf­sah, the wife of Muham­mad Hair, mode of dress­ing; let loose at the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val; not shaven in mourn­ing Hand, spread, a sym­bol; left, not used in eat­ing Harrh, _har_, a neck­lace; see HAARH Harshim Syaad, Sayyid Hashim, tale of Hasan, the mar­tyr; Hasan ul Ushk­eree, Hasan al-​Askari Ha­tim Tai Haun­dhee, _au­dhi_, a dust storm Haverde­watt. ava­da­vat, the bird _es­trel­da amadara_; see LOL­LAH Heifer, sac­ri­fice of Herbs used in cook­ing Hin­du gods, im­ages of Holie, the Holi fes­ti­val Hookha, _huqqah_, the wa­ter-​pipe; eti­quette in use of; mak­ers of 'snakes' for Horse rac­ing at Luc­know Hors­es, food of; use of heel ropes; marks on; paces of; shoes fixed on doors; tails and legs dyed; tails not docked; use of in car­riages Ho­sein, Hu­sain, the mar­tyr; dis­pos­al of his head How­dah, _hau­dah_, a seat fixed on an ele­phant Hudeeth, _hadis_, the say­ings of the Prophet Hum­moomaun, the mon­key god Hanu­man Hum­moon Shah, Hamun Shah Hurkaarah, _harkara_, a foot­man, mes­sen­ger Hurrh, al-​Hurr, the Sha­mi lead­er Hur­rundh, _arand_, the cas­tor-​oil plant Hurth Maa­ree, the scene of the slaugh­ter of the mar­tyrs Hus­band­men, life of Huzerut, _hazrat_, a ti­tle of re­spect Hy­drabaad, Hy­der­abad Hy­dropho­bia, a cure for Hyza, _haiza_, cholera

Ibrahim, son of the Prophet; Ibraahim Mukhaun, Ibrahim Makan, 'the place of Abra­ham', at Mec­ca Ice-​mak­ing Idol­atry pro­hib­it­ed to Musalmans In­fan­ti­cide among Musalmans Ink-​mak­ing Ish­mael, son of the Prophet; sac­ri­fice of Is­laaim, Is­lam

Ja'adah poi­sons Hasan Jaf­fur Saadick, the Imam Ja'far as-​Sadiq Ja­haun-​punah, _ja­han panah_, a ti­tle of hon­our, 'asy­lum of the world' Jah­mun, Ja­mun, _ja­man, ja­mun_, the fruit _Eu­ge­nia Jam­bolana_; see JAR­MUN Jains, their ten­der­ness for an­imal life Jar­mun, see JAH­MUN Jaullie, _jali_, net­ting Jed­dah Jerusalem, pil­grim­age to Jes­samine tree, the Je­sus Christ, the Musalman ti­tle of; His Na­tiv­ity; His Com­ing Jew­ellery, crav­ing of wom­en for; put aside at the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val Jhaawn na­maaz, _ja'e na­maz_, a prayer car­pet Jhammah, _ja­ma_, a long gown Jhaum­danie, _jam­dani_, an or­na­ment­ed bag Jhan­ngeer, the Em­per­or Ja­hangir, his chain of jus­tice Jhewl, _jhul_, the trap­pings of an ele­phant Jhill­mun, _jhilmil_, vene­tian shut­ters for doors and win­dows Jhy Singh, Ra­ja Jai Singh, his ob­ser­va­to­ries Jillewd­har, _ji­laudur_, an at­ten­dant on a man of rank Jinn, the Joel, the Prophet Jonk, a leech Joshun, _joshan_, an or­na­ment worn by wom­en on the up­per arm Judee, Mount Jug­glers Jum­ma musjid, Jum­na musjid, _Jame' masjid_, a con­gre­ga­tion­al mosque Jus­tice, ad­min­is­tra­tion of in Oudh

Kaabah, _Ka'bah_, the holy place at Mec­ca; wa­ter spout at Kaa­naut, _qanat_, the side walls of a tent Kaarawaun, _kawan_, a car­avan Kaa­reem Zund, Karim Khan Zand, anec­dote of; see KHA­REEM ZUND Kaar­jil, _ka­jal_, lamp­black ap­plied to the eyes Kaawaus, _khawass_, a spe­cial fe­male at­ten­dant Ka­booza, _khar­buzah_, the mel­on Kalipha, _khal­ifah_, a Caliph, head ser­vant; see CALIPHA Kallonie wal­lah, _khi­lau­ni­wala_, a toy-​sell­er Kannoge, the city of Kanauj; found­ed by Cain; de­stroyed by an earth­quake Ka­torah, _ka­to­ra_, a shal­low drink­ing cup Kau­flaah, _kafi­lah_, a car­avan Kaullie Nud­dee, the Kali Na­di riv­er Kauzy, _Qazi_, a Musalman law of­fi­cer Kee­baab, _kabab_, pieces of meat roast­ed on skew­ers Keer­ah, _ki­ra_, a leech Ketcherie, _khichri_, rice cooked with pulse and spices Ket­tle­drum, the; see DUNKAH Khadi­jah, wife of the Prophet Kha­reem Zund; see KAA­REEM ZUND Khaun, _khan_, 'lord', a ti­tle of hon­our Khaunce, Kansa, King of Mathu­ra Khau­nie, a folk tale Kheer, _khir_, milk boiled with rice Khid­mut­ghar, _khid­mat­gar_, a ta­ble ser­vant Khillaut, _khil'at,_ a robe of hon­our Kho­dah Afiz, _Khu­da hafiz_, 'God be your Pro­tec­tor!' Kho­raan, the Ko­ran, Qur'an; its his­to­ry; not to be trans­lat­ed; taught to girls; its doc­trine re­gard­ing wom­en; pas­sages of, in­scribed as amulets; learnt by heart; read­ers of Khus-​khus, _khaskhas_, the fra­grant root of the grass _An­dro­pogon muri­ca­tus_ Khus­ru Parviz, King of Per­sia Khwa­ja Khizr, the saint Ki­blaah, _qi­blah_, the di­rec­tion as­sumed in prayer Kil­laah, _qal'a qil'a_, a fort Kirhnee, _kirni_, the fruit _Can­thi­um parv­iflo­rum_ Kir­rich, _kirch_, a straight thrust­ing sword Kish­tee, _kishti_, a boat Kitchens in the zenanah Kite-​fly­ing Knife-​grinders Koofah, the city Ku­fah Kootub, the Qutb Mi­nar pil­lar at Del­hi Ko­rnea, Kan­haiya, Kr­ish­na Koss, _kos_, a mea­sure of dis­tance, about two miles Kraabaalah, Ker­bela, Kar­bala, the holy city Kuf­fin, _kafn_, a cof­fin, wind­ing-​sheet Kum­meruck, _kam­rak_, the fruit _Aver­rhoa Caram­bo­la_ Kun­goon, Ban­dar Kan­gun in the Per­sian Gulf Ku­rah, _ko­ra_, aloe wa­ter Kur­bootah, _khar­buza_, the shad­dock fruit Kutch­er, _khichar_, rice boiled with pulse and spices

Labaadah, Labaadh, _laba­da_, a rain-​coat Labaun, _loban_, frank­in­cense; see LAH­BAUN Ladies, Eu­ro­pean, not vis­it­ing bazars; Musalman, con­ver­sa­tion of La­haaf, _la­haf_, a quilt Lah­baun, see LABAUN Lamp­black, ap­plied to the eyes Lance, ex­er­cis­es with the Leop­ards trained for sport Leech ven­dors Leechie, _lichi_, the fruit _Nepheli­um Lichi_ Left hand used for ablu­tion, not for eat­ing with Let­ters, ded­icat­ed to God Li­cens­es for mar­riage un­known Lights burned be­fore the Tazi­ahs Lime, ap­plied to wounds Liquors, fer­ment­ed, pro­hib­it­ed to Musalmans Lo­custs; used for food Lol­lah, _lal_, the bird _Es­trel­da aman­da­va_; see HAVERDE­WATT Lood­ocanah, the city and dis­trict Lud­hi­ana Look­ing-​glass­es in zenanahs; bride's face first seen in Lota, a brass wa­ter-​ves­sel Luchmee, Lak­sh­mana, im­age of Lug­gun, _la­gan_ a wash­ing pan Lun­goor, _lan­gur_, the ape _Semno­pithe­cus en­tel­lus_

Mabaaruck Now-​Rose, _Nau­roz mubarak_ Mac­cur­rub, _muqarrab_, an­gel mes­sen­gers Mad­haar, Madar, the saint Mag­ic, to bring rain; to cause fer­til­ity Ma­hana, _miyana_, a kind of lit­ter Mahd­haar, _madar_, the tree _Calotropis gi­gan­tea_ Ma­hout, _ma­hawat_, an ele­phant driv­er Mahrat­tas, raids of in the Pan­jab Mahul, _ma­hall_ the seraglio Mahum­mud, Muham­mad, the Prophet, his mis­sion; his ti­tle; tales re­gard­ing; fix­es Fri­day as the Sab­bath; laws of the pil­grim­age; his rules of con­duct; laws re­gard­ing polygamy Mahum­mud Baakur, Muham­mad Baqir Mahur­rum, the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val; date of; or­na­ments laid aside at; im­mense ex­pen­di­ture on; sec­ond day ob­ser­vances; fifth day ob­ser­vances; last day ob­ser­vances; clothes giv­en away; in­aus­pi­cious for mar­riages; ob­ject­ed to by Sun­nis Ma­joob Soofies, _ma­jzub_, 'ab­stract­ed' Man­go tree, the Mar­riage, forced, pro­hib­it­ed; age for; set­tle­ments un­known; ser­vice; ex­or­bi­tant ex­pen­di­ture on Match­mak­ers Matun­jun, _mut­ta­jjan_, meat boiled with sug­ar and spices; see MATUN­JUN Maul­vee, _maulavi,_ a doc­tor of the law Mau­tun­jun, see MATUN­JUN Mayl­lah, _mela_, a fair, a re­li­gious as­sem­blage Mayn­dhie, _mend­hi_, the shrub _Law­so­nia al­ba_, apllied to hands and feet; smeared on bride and bride­groom; pro­ces­sion of; sent to bride­groom by bride; smeared on hors­es; rite at mar­riage Mayvour, _mewa_, fruit Ma­zoor, Ma­zoorie, _maz­dur, maz­durni_, a day labour­er Meals, among Musalmans Meat, use of by Musalmans Mec­ca, the holy city; the Holy House; life held sa­cred at; Black Stone at; see KAABAH Medicine, na­tive sys­tem of Med­ina, the holy city Meer, _mir_, a ti­tle of Sayyids Meer Eloy Bauxh, Mir Ilahi Bakhsh Meer Had­jee Shah, Mir Ha­ji Shah, his life; char­ac­ter; makes his own wind­ing sheet; lis­tens to the read­ing of the Bible; views on fast­ing; tea drink­ing; de­scribes the Ha­jj; de­scribes Mec­ca; life at Lud­hi­ana; ad­ven­ture with a snake; ad­ven­tures with tiger; his pil­grim­age to Ara­bia; cures an Arab la­dy; at­tacked by pi­rates; pur­chas­es Fa­timah, an Arab girl Meer Hasan Ali, hus­band of the au­thoress Meer Hasan Ali, Mrs., the au­thoress Meer Niza­am ood deen, Mir Nizam-​ud-​din Meer Syaad Mahu­mud, Mir Sayyid Muham­mad Mee­tah, meet­tah, _mitha, mithai_, sweet, sweet­meats Mel­ons, cider made from the juice Met­als trans­formed in­to gold Mhem­bur, _min­bar, mim­bar_, the pul­pit of a mosque Mhi­die, al Mah­di, 'the Di­rect­ed One'; signs of his com­ing; his birth­day Mi­na, _maina_, the bird _Grac­ula re­li­giosa_ Min­er­als, medic­inal use of Mis­see, _mis­si_, a prepa­ra­tion for stain­ing the teeth Mit­tie wal­lah, _mithai­wala_, a sweet­meat ven­dor Moat, _moth_, the aconite-​leaved kid­ney bean Mocha, Mokha, a port on the Red Sea Moghd­hur, _mug­dar_, a sort of dumb-​bell or club used in ath­let­ic ex­er­cis­es Mo­hur, a gold coin Mon­keys; and al­li­ga­tors; af­fec­tion for their off­spring; and snakes; wound­ed; and trea­sure; use of an­ti­dotes for poi­son Mool­lakhaut, _mu­laqat_, a mourn­ing as­sem­blage Mooltanie mit­tee, _mul­tani mit­ti_, fuller's earth Moon, new, fes­ti­val at; in­flu­ence of; when full aus­pi­cious; drink­ing the; in­flu­ence on wounds Moonkih, Munkar, Munkir, the Record­ing An­gel Moon­shie, _mun­shi_, a writ­er, sec­re­tary Moosa, Musa, Moses; Musa al-​Kaz­im, the Caliph Moosul, _musal_, a pes­tle used for husk­ing rice Mortem, _matam_, mourn­ing Moses, Musalman ti­tle of; tale re­gard­ing Moslem, Mus­lim, cousin of Hu­sain Mosque, ab­sence of dec­ora­tion in; care­tak­ers of; at Kanauj; pol­lu­tion of Mosquitoes Mourn­ing, dress worn dur­ing the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val; chaff thrown on the head; head and feet left bare; for forty days af­ter a death; shav­ing for­bid­den dur­ing Muchullee, _machh­li_, fish Muc­ka Beg Muck­un­pore, Makan­pur Mudgeluss, _ma­jlis_, a mourn­ing as­sem­bly Mug­galanie, _Mugh­lani_, a Moghul wom­an, a needle­wom­an Mug­ga­nee, _mang­ni_, the mar­riage en­gage­ment Mug­grib, _maghrib ki na­maz_, sun­set prayer Muk­bur­rah, Mukhbur­rah, _maqbarah_, a mau­soleum Mukhdoom Jhaunneer, Makhdum Ja­haniya Ja­hangasht, the saint Mukhun, _makkhan_, but­ter Mul­ber­ries Mul­lie, _malai_, cream Mu­nall, _munhnal_, a pipe mouth-​piece Muntah, _mantra_, spells, in­can­ta­tions Mur­danah, _mar­danah_, the men's quar­ters in a house Murseeah, _mar­siyah_, a fu­ner­al el­egy; see MUSSEEAH Musheroo, _mashru_, silk cloth per­mit­ted to be worn at prayer Mushukh, _mashk_, a skin wa­ter-​bag Mu­sic in the zenanah Mus­nud, _mas­nad_ a pile of cush­ions, a throne Musseah, Musseeah; see MURSEEAH Mus­tach­es Myr­iam, Maryam, the Vir­gin Mary Myr­tle, the tree

Naalkie, _nal­ki_, a kind of lit­ter Naarah, _nara_, a string Nadir Shaah, Nadir Shah, King of Per­sia Na­joom, na­joomee, _nu­ju­mi_, an as­trologer Nala and Damayan­ti, tale of Na­maaz, _na­maz_, the dai­ly litur­gi­cal prayer of Musalmans Na­maazie, _na­mazi_, one giv­en to prayer, a devo­tee, one who calls the peo­ple to prayer Na­tiv­ity of Je­sus Christ, ob­served by Musalmans Naun­bye, _nan­bai_, a bazar bak­er Nautch wom­an; Nautchunee, _nach­ni_, a dancer Neam, _nim_, the tree _Melia Azadirach­ta_; see NEEM Neel­lah tootee, _ni­la tu­tiya_, blue vit­ri­ol, medic­inal use of New Moon fes­ti­val, the New Year's Day, see NOU-​ROSE Ni­tre, man­ufac­ture of Niza­am ood deen, Nizam-​ud-​din, the saint Noah, Musalman ti­tle of; his place of buri­al; ark of, where rest­ed Nose-​rings; see NUT Nou-​Rose, _nau­roz_ the New Year's Day fes­ti­val Nudghiff Usheruff, Ne­jef, Mash­had 'Ali Nu­jeeb, _na­jib_, a class of in­fantry Nusseer ood Deen Hy­der, Nasir-​ud-​din Haidar, King of Oudh Nut, Nutt, _nath_, a nose-​ring Nuwaub, _nawab_, 'a deputy', ti­tle of the rulers of Oudh Nuz­za, _nazr, nazar_, an of­fer­ing from an in­fe­ri­or to a su­pe­ri­or Ny­kee, Nakir, the Record­ing An­gel

Omens, at Nau­roz fes­ti­val; used in se­lect­ing a bride; at mar­riage Omir, 'Umar, the sec­ond Caliph; said to have de­stroyed the Alexan­dri­an li­brary Ood-​ood, _hud­hud_, the lap­wing, hoopoe Oost­ardie, _us­ta­di_, a teach­er; see AR­TOO­JEE Orme, _am_, the man­go Orme peach, the peach Or­na­ments, use of by wom­en; see JEW­ELLERY Ot­ta, _'itr,_ ot­to of ros­es Oudh, ad­min­is­tra­tion of jus­tice in the Nawabi; Nawabs and Kings of

Paadishah Be­gum, Pad­shah Begam, the Paak, _pak_, pure Pachisi, the game Paid­shah, _pad­shah_, a King Palace, the, at Del­hi Palkie, _pal­ki_, the com­mon palan­quin Pal­lungh, _palang_, a kind of bed Pa­per, writ­ten, ob­jec­tion to burn­ing; made of bam­boo Pataan, one of the Pathan tribe Pawn, _pan_, be­tel leaf; not used dur­ing the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val Pawn­dawn, _pan­dan,_ a box to hold be­tel leaf Peach, the Pearls Pedi­grees of Sayyids care­ful­ly kept Peer, _pir_, a Musalman saint or holy man Pel­let bow, use of the Pepul, _pi­pal_, the sa­cred fig tree, _Fi­cus re­li­giosa_ Pick­les, use of, and sale Pi­geon fly­ing; shoot­ing Pil­grims, reg­ula­tions for; cloak worn by Pil­lau, _pi­lau_, meat or fowl boiled with rice and spices Pineap­ple, the; see UNANAS Plague, an out­break of Plums Poi­son de­tect­ed by means of dish­es Polygamy; among In­di­an kings Pomegranate, the Prayer, the call to; 'open­ing of dif­fi­cul­ties'; car­pet; times of, how an­nounced Prick­ly heat Print­ing, not prac­tised in Luc­know Pris­on­ers re­leased to ef­fect a cure of the sick or as a thank-​of­fer­ing Punkah, _pankah_, a kind of fan; punkah wala, _punkah wala_, a fan-​sell­er Pap­payah, _pa­paiya_, the pa­paw tree, _Car­ica Pa­paya_ Pur­dah, _par­dah_, a screen to con­ceal ladies Purrh, _pa­har_, a watch, a mea­sure of time Py­jaamah, _pae­ja­ma_, draw­ers; stuff used in mak­ing

Quail fight­ing Quick­sil­ver, use of in medicine

Racaab put­tie, _rikab patthari_, a stone plate Rain mag­ic Rainy sea­son, the Ra­jpoots, Ra­jputs, in­fan­ti­cide among Rasp­ber­ries Raven­scroft, G., mur­der of Red, the Sun­ni colour; of Hu­sain Reetah, _ritha_ the soap­nut, use of in medicine Res­ident at Luc­know, the Res­ur­rec­tion, doc­trine of the Rick­etts, Mor­daunt, Res­ident at Luc­know Right hand used in eat­ing Riv­er, course of changed by a saint Ro­ma­ll, _ru­mal_, a hand­ker­chief Rooey, _ro­hu_ the carp fish Rope-​danc­ing Ros­es; smelling of, caus­es colds and sneez­ing; rose wa­ter; syrup, seeds, oil, us­es of Roshu­nie, _roshanai_, ink Rozed­haar, _rozadar_, one who keeps a fast Rumza­un, Ra­mazan, Ramzan, the fes­ti­val Rutt, _rath_, a bul­lock car­riage Ruzzie, _razai_ a quilt Ry­ott, _ra'iy­at_ a sub­ject, a cul­ti­va­tor

Saabeel, _sabil_, the place where sher­bet is dis­tribut­ed at the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val Saadie, Shaikh S'adi, the Per­sian po­et Saag, _sag,_ herbs of var­ious kinds used in cook­ing Saa­lik, _sa­lik_, a devo­tee, a kind of Su­fi Saatarah, _sitara_, a gui­tar Sab­bath, the, among Musalmans Sac­ri­fice of an­imals at the Bakrah 'Id fes­ti­val Saf­dar Jang, Nawab of Oudh, tomb of Sah­baund, Sawan, the fourth Hin­du month Sahib Logue, Sahib Log, Eu­ro­peans Saints' tombs at Kanauj Sain­turh, _sen­tha_ the grass _Sac­cha­rum cil­iare_; see SE­CUN­DAH Sakeena Koo­braah, Sak­ina Kib­riya, daugh­ter of Hu­sain Salaam-​oon-​ali khoon, _salam 'alai-​kum_, 'Peace be with thee' Sal­lon, _salan_, a cur­ry of meat, fish, or veg­eta­bles Sam­pwal­la, _sam­pwala_, a snake-​charmer Sarchuk, _saachaq_, fruits, &c., car­ried in pro­ces­sion at a mar­riage Saulgir­rah, _sal­gi­rah_, the knot tied to mark a birth­day Scales, the, doc­trine of Scape­goat, re­leased in times of sick­ness Scor­pio, moon of, in­aus­pi­cious Scor­pi­ons, mode of re­pelling Seclu­sion of wom­em, ori­gin of the cus­tom Se­cun­dah, _sarkan­da_, roots of the grass _Sac­cha­rum cil­iare_, used for mats and screens; see SAIN­TURH Se­cunge­been, _sikan­jabin_, oxymel, vine­gar Seepie wal­lah deel­ie sukha, _sipi wala gi­la sukha_, moist or dry cup­pers Seer, _scr_, a weight of about two pounds Serai, _sarai_, a na­tive inn Seur, _suar_ a hog, a term of abuse Sev­en, a lucky num­ber Shaah Jhee, Shahji, a beg­gar Shaah Nudghiff, Shah Na­jaf, a shrine at Luc­know Shaah ood Dowlah, Shah-​ud-​daula, a darvesh Shah Al­lum, Shah 'Alam II, King of Del­hi, his grave Shah Al­lumgeer, Shah 'Alam­gir, the Em­per­or Au­rangzeb Shah Ja­han, the Moghul Em­per­or Shah­jee, see SHAH SHERIF OOD DEEN Shah­na­ma, the po­em by Fir­dausi Shah Niza­am ood deen, Shaikh Nizam ud-​din Auliya, the saint Shah Sherif ood deen Mah­mood, Shah Sharif ud-​din Mah­mud, a darvesh Sham­poo­ing Shav­ing, dis­con­tin­ued dur­ing mourn­ing Shawm, Sham, Syr­ia Shawmie, Sha­mi, a na­tive of Syr­ia Sheah, Shi­ah, the Musalman sect; quar­rels with Sun­nis at the Muhar­ram; their num­bers com­pared with those of Sun­nis; the creed of Sheah-​maul, _shir­mal_, a kind of bread; see SHEER­MAUL Sheeka­ree, _shikari_, a hunts­man Sheer­maul, _shir­mal_, a kind of bread; see SHEAH-​MAUL Sheikh Mahu­mud, Shaikh Muham­mad Sher­bet, _shar­bat_, a drink, how made; dis­tribut­ed at the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val; pay­ment for at mar­riages SHER­REFAH, SHER­REEFHA, _shar­ifah_, the cus­tard ap­ple Sheruff, Sharif, the gov­er­nor of Mec­ca Shimeear, Shi­mar, the chief agent in the mur­der of Hu­sain Shi­raaz, Shi­raz, a city in Per­sia Shoes re­moved in sa­cred places and in hous­es; va­ri­eties of Shooghur Al­lah, see SHUG­GUR AL­LAH Shop­keep­ers, mode of do­ing busi­ness Shroff, _sar­raf_, a mon­ey­chang­er Shroud, the buri­al Shubh-​bur­raat, _Shab-​i-​bara'at_, the night of record, a fes­ti­val Shub­num, _shab­nam_, 'dew', a kind of fine cloth Shug­gur Al­lah, _shukr Al­lah_, 'Praise be to God!'; see SHOOGHUR AL­LAH Shu­jah ood Dowlah, Shu­ja ud-​daula, Nawab of Oudh Shut­ter­inghie, _sha­tran­ji_, a striped floor-​cloth Sick­ley ghur, _saikal­gar_, a pol­ish­er of arms Sick­ness, at­tribut­ed to spir­its Sikhs, the; cam­paign against Silk, wear­ing of Sin, re­pen­tance of Singing wom­en Sir­aat, _sir­at_, the bridge over which the soul pass­es Sir­ra­kee, _sir­ki_, the reed _Sac­cha­rum cil­iare_, used for mats, &c Si­ta ki Ra­soi, a build­ing at Kanauj Slaves, do­mes­tic, con­di­tion of; fe­male in the zenanah; lib­er­at­ed by or on the death of the own­er; prop­er­ty of re­vert­ing to the mas­ter Snake charm­ers, de­cep­tion prac­tised by Snakes, su­per­sti­tions re­gard­ing; and mon­keys; tale of an un­grate­ful; an ad­ven­ture with Soap, sub­sti­tutes for So­ci­ety of Musalman ladies Solomon, King, tale of; the first Su­fi Soobad­haar, _sub­ah­dar_, a na­tive of­fi­cer, a viceroy Soobad­haarie, _sub­ah­dari_, a province un­der a viceroy Soob­hoo na­maaz, _na­maz-​i-​subh_, the dawn prayer Soofy, Su­fi, a sect of Musalmans; con­sult­ed to solve mys­ter­ies; pre­tenders to piety; as­sem­blage of with singing and danc­ing; prin­ci­ples of Soo­ji­nee, _sozani_, a quilt­ed cloth Soonie, Sun­ni, the Musalman sect; rulers at Mec­ca Soo­ta-​bad­haar, _Soutabar­dar_, a mace-​bear­er; see SO­TA-​BAD­HAAH So­ta-​bad­haah; see SOO­TA-​BAD­HAAR Spinach, va­ri­eties and us­es of Spir­its, evil, ex­or­cism of Star­va­tion, a cure for dis­ease Stock­ings, wear­ing of in the zenanah Stone dish­es Straw­ber­ries Sub­zah, _sabzah_, a song bird Suf­fee Ali, Safiya 'Ilah, a ti­tle of Adam Sulleed, _tharid_, a kind of bread Sul­mah, _sur­ma_, an­ti­mo­ny ap­plied to the eyes Sum­dun Be­gum, _samd­han be­gum_, a con­nex­ion by mar­riage Sur­raie, _surahi_, a long-​necked wa­ter flagon Sur­ringhee, _saran­gi_, a sort of vi­olin Sutkah, _sadaqah_, of­fer­ings of in­ter­ces­sion Suwaa­ree, _sawari_, an equipage, es­cort Sweet­meats, sell­ers of; giv­en to a man in a state of ec­sta­sy, Swine, held abom­inable by Musalmans Sword ex­er­cis­es Syaad, Sayyid, a class of Musalmans; their ori­gin; care used and dif­fi­cul­ty in mak­ing mar­riage en­gage­ments; re­spect paid to; dues re­ceived by Syaad Ah­mad Kaabeer, Sayyid Ah­mad Kabir, Syaad Harshim, Sayyid Hashim

Taaif, Ta'if, a fer­tile tract near Mec­ca, Taarkhanah, _tahkhanah_, an un­der­ground room, Taaseel-​dhaar, _tah­sil­dar_, a na­tive col­lec­tor of rev­enue, Taaweez, taaw­ize, _ta'wiz_, an amulet, tal­is­man, Tahu­jjoot, _na­maz-​i-​taha­jjud_, prayer af­ter mid­night, Tale kee ar­chah wal­lah, _Tel ka achar­wala_, a sell­er of oil pick­les, Tal­is­mans; see TAAWEEZ Tamarind tree, the, veg­eta­tion be­neath it dy­ing, Tamer­lane, Taimur Lang, in­tro­duces seclu­sion of wom­en, Taran­tu­la, the, Tat­tle, _tat­ti_, a screen, a de­vice for cool­ing rooms, Tawur­shear, _tabashir_, a sub­stance found in bam­boos, Tazia, _ta'ziya_, a mod­el tomb car­ried in pro­ces­sion at the Muhar­ram fes­ti­val; not pe­cu­liar to In­dia; not used by Sun­nis; buri­al of, Tea, use of, Teeth, clean­ing of, 59 Thon­jaun, _tamjhan_, _thamjhan_, a kind of lit­ter, Throne, of the King of Oudh, Tigers, tamed, wan­der­ing about the house; ad­ven­ture with, Time, Musalman di­vi­sion of; mea­sured by a clep­sy­dra, Tim­oor, Taimur, his in­va­sion of In­dia, Tin, use of in dye­ing and in medicine, Tithes, Tod­dy, Tooth­brush­es, Tope, a grove of trees, Tor, _tar_, the palm tree, _Bo­ras­sus fla­bel­li­formis_, Toy sell­ers, Trades in Luc­know, Trav­ellers ex­cused from fast­ing, Trea­sure, bury­ing of, Trees, speak­ing on the Mah­di's birth­day, Tuck­ht, _takht_, a wood­en plat­form on which men sit and sleep, Tu­faun, _tu­fan_, a storm, Tu­maush­been, _tamashabin_, 'a spec­ta­tor of won­ders', Tund­hie, _than­di_, a cool­ing draught tak­en at the break­ing of a fast, Turkaarie, _tarkari_, veg­eta­bles

Uberuck, _abrak_, talc, mi­ca, Ulsee, _al­si_, lin­seed, _Linum usi­tatis­si­mum_, Um­brel­la, a mark of dig­ni­ty, Umul­tass, _amal­tas_, the In­di­an labur­num, _Cas­sia fis­tu­la_, use in medicine, Ungeeah, _angiya_, an un­der-​jack­et or bodice, Ungeel, _in­jil_, Evan­gel, the Gospels, Un­nah, _an­na_, a nurse, Un­rurkha, _an­garkha_, a long tu­nic, Un­unas, _ananas_, the pineap­ple, _Ananas­sa sati­va_, Urzees, _arz­iz_, tin, used in medicine and dye­ing, Usury, for­bid­den

Va­keel, _wak­il_, an agent Vazeefah, _waz­ifah_, a pas­sage read from the Ko­ran Veg­eta­bles, use of as food Veil, worn by a bride­groom Venus, the con­junc­tion of Ver­mi­cel­li, used in the times of fast­ing Vil­loi­et­tee Be­gum, Wilay­ati begam, 'the for­eign la­dy' Vizier, _wazir_, the prime min­is­ter at the Court of Oudh

Walk­ing bare­foot, a sign of mourn­ing Wax from the hu­man ear ad­min­is­tered to ele­phants White ants Wid­ows, dress of; re­duced num­bers of; mar­riage of Win­dow glass, scarci­ty of Witch, tale of a; hair plucked from the head of; has crooked feet; suck­ing out the vi­tals of a vic­tim Witchcraft, gen­er­al be­lief in Wives, pre­scribed num­ber of; large num­bers of mar­ried Wom­en, be­lief that they do not pos­sess souls; seclu­sion of Wounds, treat­ment of

Yaa­coob, Ya'qub, Ja­cob Yeusuf, Yusuf, Joseph Yieyah, Yahya, St. John Yoube, Aiyub, Job Yu­men, Yemen in Ara­bia Yuzeed, Yazid, sec­ond Caliph of the house of Umaiyah

Za­hur morah, _zahr mohra_, the be­zoar stone Zarbund, _zer­band_, a waist string Zechareah, Zachari­ah Zeearut, _zi­yarah, zi­yarat_, a vis­it to a shrine Zeenah­nah, the zenanah, de­scribed Ze­mind­haar, _za­min­dar_, a landown­er Zo­hur na­maaz, _salatu-'z-​zuhr_, mid-​day prayer Zuck­haut, _za­kat_, alms for the poor Zynool auber­dene, Az-​zainu'l-'abidin

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