These are facts:—It is indeed related that, at the time of the Emperor's flight and the devastation of the country by the Mirzá, extreme misery drove the men of Sind to eat their own kind. A man, having lost a cow, went with some friends to seek for it. They reached a plain where some youths, who had just come there, had placed a pot on a fire and were cooking meat. The owner of the cow and his friends took these people for thieves, and felt convinced that they were cooking some portion of the lost animal, which they had stolen. So they seized and bound them, asking what meat they were preparing, and whence they had procured it. These youths could not answer for fear, but, when the whip was applied, they found power to say that they were brothers and once had a mother. They had been dreadfully pinched with hunger. The mother, in her love, said that death was preferable to such an existence. She could not bear to see her children perish before her eyes, and besought them to kill her and satisfy the cravings of their hunger. They refrained as long as they could from such a cruel expedient, but at length, unable to contain themselves, they killed their mother, and this was her flesh in the pot. The story was not believed. The villagers said, that before they would credit it, their own eyes must have some proof. The unhappy brothers took their captors to the spot where the entrails had been thrown; this sight caused them to be more firmly bound, for the villagers maintained that some other person must have been sacrificed to their cravings, and that this was not their mother. The wretched lads supplicated and swore in vain; their punishment began; and the blows they received drew forth screams and lamentations. Then suddenly those entrails moved rapidly from the spot where they lay, and curled themselves around the feet of their tormentors. This was a warning. Suspicion at once fled before this miracle. What could it portend? An old man of the party spoke:—“These youths told us the truth. How great is the tender love of a mother, since even after death her remains come and cling to your feet pleading for the deliverance of her offspring!”
When the possession of the province of Bhakkar had been secured to the Emperor, by the valour of Mujáhid Ghází, the relatives of Mahmúd Khán became favourites with him. Mirzá Muhammad Bákí—who had, even before this event, entertained most extravagant fears for his own dominions—resolved to strengthen the alliance by giving his daughter in marriage to the monarch. The Mullá, whom I have previonsly mentioned, related to me, that he was one day secretly sent for by the Mirzá, who addressed him as follows:—“I have often thought, and still think, that Hazrat Jalálu-d dín Akbar Sháh is a mighty monarch. The pettiest of his officers—Mujáhid— with only fifty horsemen, has overcome Mahmúd Khán Kokaltásh, a man who can boast of an iron frame, and of strength equal to that of Isfandyár, who possesses, moreover, a strong fortress, situate between two wide rivers. What if the Emperor should send an army in this direction? desolation would spread over this peaceful land! The province of Bhakkar has been, to this time, a solid barrier against his encroachments, but it is so no longer. It will be wise, ere an army march hither, to send the Begam, accompanied by some of the chief men of this country, to wait upon the Emperor. Such an union may perhaps preserve us from the grasp of these fierce fire-eating warriors. What think you of this plan?” Being entirely and sincerely devoted to the Mirzá, the Mullá replied, that this vain proposal would certainly be attributed to want of courage and manliness. This speech proving anything but agreeable, the chieftain drew his sword, and advanced angrily towards the speaker, asking, how he dared to use such disrespectful language to him? The Mullá replied, with sincere feeling, that the Mirzá was at liberty to kill him, but that he had spoken advisedly. “Did his lord suppose the Emperor had any thought of him? What if the maiden were so little liked, as to be excluded from the royal harem, and sent back again! What shame, what dishonour would be the result! Would the prince, for the sake of a kingdom, bring disgrace upon his whole family.” At these words, the Mirzá's anger flashed like lightning; he grew restless as quicksilver, and foaming at the mouth, he exclaimed: Remove this wretch from before my eyes, lest I shed his blood this very day.” As the Mullá withdrew from his presence, he unburdened his mind of what still remained there. “To represent the true state of a case was,” he said, “the duty of a loyal servant. He had incurred his master's anger by so doing, but, even in this he felt himself happy and honoured. What imported it to him, if the Emperor sent back the princess! What recked he, if he gave her away to one of his favourites, better men than the Mirzá himself! You, he exclaimed, are a prince. You know no law but your own will: do that which shall be most pleasing to you.” This advice, bitter withal, was heard, but not heeded. The opinion of other friends, and his own prevailed. That light of the eyes was sent to the Imperial court, escorted by Saiyíd Jalál, son of 'Alí Shírází, and son-in-law of Mirzá Sálíh, Muhammad Bákí's own brother, and by Khwájá Mír Beg Diwán, provided with rich presents, and a suitable dowry. Having reached the Emperor's presence, the messengers kissed his feet, and displayed to view what they had brought. The valuables were then made over to the treasurer, but that most precious gem of all, that paragon of virtue, was introduced into the seraglio. There, the powerful monarch, prince of all things, cast but once a momentary glance on the countenance of this fair and nobly-born maiden, after which he would not see her again. He said to himself, that the daughter of Muhammad Bákí was not* of a good disposition, and that he would send her to some other person's harem. Some Arghúns, of the same descent as the Begam, and who had sought to escape from death at the emperor's court, endeavoured, notwithstanding her father and brothers' enmity, to avert an event which would, they thought, lower the dignity of their family. In defence of the honour and good name of their kinswoman, they represented to the Emperor, that never, to that day, had any member of their house experienced such unkind treatment from former rulers. Let the monarch of the world honour them with his universal benevolence, and send back the maiden to that wretch athirst for the blood of his brethren—who, if the monarch acceded to their wishes, would be under an obligation to them. The order of the Emperor, irresistible as the decree of fate, went forth, that Sindí Begam should be sent back to her father at Thatta.
At the time the Emperor was taking leave of the Begam, he ordered an elephant for her use, and bid her return to her father, whose ancestors, from father to son, had been vassals of the crown. He also added, that a small tract of land had been assigned to the princess; who, he hoped, would, at the appointed hour of prayer, pray for his welfare and the increase of his prosperity. The party left. A despatch had already been forwarded to the Mirzá, in which all these events had been detailed. He might, it was said, consider them as arrived. They had been placed in most critical circumstances, but providence had vouchsafed to preserve his name from disgrace. The Mullá relates that he was sent for by the Mirzá, who threw him the document itself, saying: “Read this sad news; what you foretold has come true.” He perused the despatch of the nobles escorting the Begam, and found it was even so. He said, “Peace be with you, oh mighty lord! bow down your head humbly before the One incomparable Being; render thanks unto God, who has vouchsafed to maintain your honour, and be grateful to your blood-thirsty brethren, the Arghúns, as long as you live. Be kind to those of them still left here, and thus dispel the old enmity subsisting between you. The Mirzá, rendered wise and devout at length, was pleased with this speech, and said a few words which he deemed appropriate in thanksgiving. He also sent epistles to the Arghúns, wherever they could be heard of, calling upon them to lose no time in returning; and promising that compensation for their former sufferings should be afforded them to the utmost of their wishes. Some of them were slow to return, being doubtful of the chief's intentions; others, in whose hearts still lived the recollections of their fatherland, were content to brave even death. The excessive kindness they experienced proved a balm to the wounds of past persecutions, and surpassed their expectations.