CHAP. XLIX.

CONTINUATION OF

The History of Jehaundar Shaw.

BHERAWIR Banou, who for a long time, enjoying the society of the sultaun without a rival or partaker of his affection, had exalted in her own mind the standard of love, on this ease-destroying occurrence, rankled within herself like the tail-wounded snake; and the enjoyment of existence was changed into the bitterness of expiring agony. However, as she always resigned her foot to the path of respect, she never even breathed her grief to Jehaundar, but concealed her heart-consuming sorrow.

One morning, in hopes of amusing her afflicted mind, she repaired to a garden; when the flowers refreshed by gentle rain were blooming, and the rose from the dark enamel of the bending cypress, having received a double glow, coquetted in the embrace of the nightingale. At sight of this, jealousy flashed from the eyes of the queen, and she rent her tresses in anguish. Casting looks, dark as her own locks, angrily on the garden, the rose from terror shrunk into the bud, and ceased to smile; while to the bulbul the grove appeared confined as the heart of the blossom. The turtle-dove, at sight of the fading cypress, was astonished like the bird of Jesus;* and the wing of the azzar shrunk like that of the moth at the fire of her looks. At her disordered gait, the zephyr concealed himself in the nusserun, and the tongue of the sosun became parched. The breeze of the garden, from her sighs, became blighting as the autumnal gale, and the brink of the canals was parched.

VERSE.

So disordered were her looks, that every hair of her tresses was divided.

The garden was blighted at her countenance, and the breeze became vapour from her sighs.

When her heart, from walking in the garden, had become still more the abode of grief, and the rose-bud of her soul found no hope of expansion, she advanced from thence into the plain, if perchance the open air might refresh her troubled mind. At length she reached the margin of a stream, whose waters were lucid as the minds of the benevolent, and, like wine, sparkled with delight, and excited chearfulness. On its banks the fragrant verdure had spread a carpet of velvet, on which were embroidered many-coloured flowers.

VERSE.

The stream was clear as the fountain of the sun, and Khizzer never beheld, even in a vision, more beautiful verdure.

It was adorned with all the flowers of the north. From its grass the antelope browzed rosy sweets.

It struck her, that she would fix her abode in this heart-delighting spot, where, solitary and alone, she could enjoy her contemplations, and sometimes weep and sometimes smile at the diversities of fortune. She therefore commanded tents to be pitched round them, for a considerable distance, the royal shaudrowaun* to be raised, and guards to be stationed to keep off intruders. This being done, she retired with a few of her favourite handmaids, and casting away all jewels from her person, refrained from wearing coloured vesture; and assumed, like the dawn, a robe of white, like mortifying devotees and the resigned to abstinence; eager for perfection, she employed herself in the tusbeh* and taleel.* In a short time, from grief and moaning, she became thin as the thread of her rosary, and worn as the mat of the penitent; but, true in her love to Jehaundar, she watered her cheeks with agonizing tears, and consumed herself with the wasting fire of grief.

VERSE.

Now she complained of the cruelty of heaven, and now she quarrelled with her own evil star.

Passing the darkness of night in solitude, she wept in mournful complaint till morning.

From night till dawn, such was her condition, and her days were still more grievous.

For she removed herself from the multitude, sometimes to the forest, and sometimes to the mountains.

At night, returning to her solitary cell, she sat, like the observant of vigils, alone.

At length Jehaundar, impressed by accounts of her situation, was recovered from his temporary infatuation, and sent her the following repentant epistle.