I.

SIND FOLK STORIES.

LAL SHAHBAZ.

A SIND SAINT.

Sehwan is known to Englishmen chiefly as a handy station for those who wish to shoot on the Manchar lake. In the summer it enjoys an unenviable reputation for heat. The bare rocks of Lakhi known as the Bagothoro are said to end the last struggles of the monsoon. Indeed the Lakhi pass is known locally as the gate of the infernal regions; and an often quoted Persian couplet about Sehwan runs as follows:

“When both Sehwan and Sibi grill so well What good was there, O Lord, in making Hell?” [1]

But besides its fame as a sporting and a roasting centre, Sehwan has an immense reputation for sanctity. Within its confines repose in mighty state the earthly remains of the greatest saint of all Sind, worshipped alike by Musulmans and Hindus, the renowned Lal Shahbaz, the Red Peregrine Falcon of the Indus valley.

Lal Shahbaz’s real name was Hazrat Sayad Usman Shah Marwandi. He was born at Marwand in Afghanistan in A.H. 538. His father Makhdum Sayad Ahmed Kabir was a powerful noble and a great friend of the king of Tabriz. From his earliest years, so it is said, the boy shewed a great leaning towards things spiritual. Before his twelfth year he had already made the blind see, the deaf hear and the dumb speak. When Lal Shahbaz reached manhood, he insisted on leaving his father’s house and started on a pilgrimage. He first went to Baghdad where he stayed at the court of the monarch Sayad Ali. When he wished to leave, Sayad Ali implored him to remain at Baghdad for ever. But the religious call was too insistent and with three friends, Sheikh Bahawaldin, Sheikh Farid Ganj Shakar and Makhdum Jalaluddin, Lal Shahbaz set off for the Persian Gulf. In an island in the Gulf lived a fakir named Sheikh Jalal whose austerities had won him supernatural gifts. Lal Shahbaz determined to reduce him to obedience and make him his disciple. No boats were available so Lal Shahbaz threw his “kishta” or begging bowl into the water and it became a boat. Into it the four friends stepped and rowed for Sheikh Jalal’s island. About half way the boat stopped dead and no matter how hard the saints plied the oar, it declined to move. At last Lal Shahbaz realised that the island fakir had cast a spell on them. But he could only have done that, if one among them was not a true anchorite and was still thinking of the joys of this world, while pretending to have given them up for ever. Lal Shahbaz told this to his friends and asked them whether they had one and all given up the world wholly. They protested their complete unworldliness. But as the boat still refused to budge, Lal Shahbaz went through their pockets. In the pocket of Sheikh Bahawaldin he found, as I regret to say, a brick of solid gold, which the saint was keeping against a rainy day. Lal Shahbaz threw it overboard. Once freed from this sordid freight, the boat began again to move. As they drew near the island, Lal Shahbaz saw Sheikh Jalal looking at them through a window of his castle. To punish him for stopping the boat, Lal Shahbaz made the window grow so small that it gripped the fakir’s neck as if in a vice. Sheikh Jalal yelled for mercy, but it was not granted him until he had owned himself beaten and had promised to become an obedient and humble follower of Lal Shahbaz.

The great saint acquired his appellation of Lal Shahbaz, by two remarkable miracles. After the defeat of Sheikh Jalal, Lal Shahbaz and his three companions went to Mecca and Medina. As they were returning from the blessed vision of the prophet’s tomb, they halted one night in a town on the coast of Arabia. Sheikh Farid Shakar Ganj went to buy bread for the party. Unhappily the baker’s wife conceived an unholy passion for the young man. Like a true ascetic he rejected her odious advances with the icy disdain of Saint Joseph. The baker’s wife thereupon behaved after the manner of Potiphar’s consort. She began to scream that Sheikh Farid Shakar Ganj had tried to outrage her. The unhappy anchorite was seized, dragged before the governor and condemned to instant execution. Lal Shahbaz heard of it and took immediate steps to rescue his innocent friend. He changed one of his two remaining friends into a deer and bade him run towards the gallows. The crowd ran madly after the deer to catch it. Lal Shahbaz turned his second friend into a lion. It charged the executioners roaring terribly. They fled incontinently. Lastly the Saint changed himself into a peregrine falcon and swooping down picked up Sheikh Farid Shakar Ganj and bore him to a place of safety. By this miracle the Saint got the name of Shahbaz, the Sindhi word for a peregrine falcon. How did he obtain the title of Lal? It was this way: A certain Murshid once challenged Shahbaz’s friends to bathe in a caldron of boiling oil. They not unnaturally declined the challenge, whereupon the Murshid mocked them as unworthy impostors. They sorrowfully told their master of their discomfiture. On the instant he accepted the challenge and going to the Murshid’s house, leapt into the boiling oil. He stayed so long at the bottom of the cauldron that his rival owned himself beaten. “Come out,” he cried, “you are indeed a Lal among Lals (a ruby among rubies)”. The master rose triumphantly out of the oil. He had suffered no harm from the immersion, but the heat of the oil had turned his robe crimson. That robe he wore to his dying day and was in the end buried in it. So he came to be known as Lal Shahbaz.

After his journey to Mecca and Medina, Lal Shahbaz came to Sind. He wandered until he came to a spot still called ‘Lal jo Bagh’ or the garden of the ruby, two miles from Sehwan. Sehwan was, however, already a holy town and its worldly minded fakirs dreaded that the advent of so famous a mendicant would reduce their earnings. They sent him a cup full to the brim of milk, that he might know that just as the cup could hold no more milk, so Sehwan could hold no more anchorites. Lal Shahbaz sent to those worldly minded ones a fitting answer. He made a flower float on the milk and returned the cup, thereby shewing to the fakirs that there was still room for yet another holy man and that the newcomer meant to be above the others, even as the flower was above the milk. After this event Lal Shahbaz spent most of his time in Sehwan. His friend Sheikh Bahawaldin left him and went to Multan. Before leaving he offered to Lal Shahbaz and the latter accepted the hand of his daughter. Not long afterwards Lal Shahbaz learnt in a trance of the death of his prospective father-in-law. He went to Multan and asked Sheikh Bahawaldin’s son, Sadaruddin for his betrothed. Sadaruddin refused. The Saint thereupon cursed him and vowed that the girl should wed no one else, but would find an instant resting place in paradise. Shortly afterwards the poor girl died and Lal Shahbaz returned to Sehwan. He died on the 21st of the month of Shaban 650 A.H. at the ripe age of 112; and the anniversary of his death is kept as a great festival. From all quarters of Sind come fakirs and musicians and dancing girls to dance before the shrine of the mighty anchorite. The chief feature of the celebration is the marriage of Lal Shahbaz to his lost bride.

Now why do Hindus worship at his shrine? That is perhaps the strangest part of the story. In 56 B.C. lived the great king Vikramaditya of Dharmanagar or Ujjain, the Arthur of Hindu historical legends. At his court lived the nine gems of learning and his valour and his arms reduced all India to subjection. Once upon a time he resolved to disguise himself and see with his own eyes how his viceroys governed his provinces. He appointed to be his regent during his absence his younger brother Brartrahari. One day the Goddess Parvati gave to a devout old couple in Ujjain an apple, that conferred immortality on anyone who ate it. The old couple preferring riches to immortality sold the apple to the regent for a great price. The regent gave it to his youngest and prettiest wife. She unfortunately had a lover and she gave the apple to him. He in turn presented it to a dancing girl, who sold it back to Brartrahari. The regent thereby discovered his wife’s infidelity. In a rage he flung away the apple and abandoning his office, became an anchorite. According to the local legend, he wandered until he came to Sind, where he became a devoted worshipper of Shiva. He called his abiding place Shivisthan or the place of Shiva. From Shivisthan has come the modern name Sehwan. Brartrahari lived at Sehwan until he died and by his life and death made the spot holy. The Musulman invasion swept away the temple of Shiva, but the memory of the pious recluse lingered on; and when Lal Shahbaz came and worked miracles at the spot where Brartrahari had lived, the Hindus declared that Lal Shahbaz was his reincarnation.

The miraculous powers of Lal Shahbaz did not die with him. After his death streams of molasses, sugar and milk are said to have spurted from the wall of his tomb. These articles he meant for the use of the poor of Sehwan only. Nor did he mean that any should take more than one helping in any one day. Sad to relate, his pious wishes were brought to nought by the greed of the townspeople. Poor and rich alike rushed to profit by the dead saint’s bounty and none confined himself to a single helping. In disgust the dead saint bade the streams dry up and all that now remains of them is a group of stones that look exactly like petrified sugar molasses and milk. These the guardians of the shrine shew to wondering pilgrims as proof positive of the legend’s truth.

UDERO LAL.

Udero Lal was born on Cheti Chand, the first day of the Sindhi month Cheti and also the first day of what is known as the Chaitradi year—the year that begins with the month of Cheti or Chaitra instead of the month of Kartak. In Udero Lal’s honour the Government offices throughout Sind are closed. So in common gratitude every Government officer ought to enquire who Udero Lal was. He was the son of an aged couple called Ratno and Devki, who lived at Nasarpur. Ratno hawked cooked gram and was a devout worshipper of the Indus river. They had two sons already, but had long passed the age when married couples hope for more children. Ratno was sixty and Devki over forty, when Udero Lal was born. But Udero Lal’s birth was due to divine interposition. The cause of it was as follows:—

In the year 939 A.D. one Marak was governor of Tatta. He was a bigoted Musulman and he suddenly resolved to convert to Islam the whole Hindu population under him. He proclaimed by beat of drum, that he would kill every Hindu, who did not change his faith within twenty-four hours. So alarmed were the Hindus that, so the story runs, all their cooking pots fell from their shelves; and exclaiming that a camel had entered the king’s head [2], they went in a body to his minister Aho. Through him they gained a fortnight’s respite. At that time, so the legend has it, the Indus flowed past Tatta. On its banks the despairing Hindus gathered and prayed to the great river to save them from the hands of Marak. At the same time they vowed that if no answer was vouchsafed to their prayers within a week, they would throw their children into the stream. On the fourteenth day they would with their wives in their arms throw themselves into it and thus escape the cruelty of Marak.

On the seventh day when they were on the point of drowning all their babies, they saw the river god himself rise from the waves, a beautiful figure, all of snow-white foam. He bade the Hindus no longer despair. He had heard their supplications and within the allotted fortnight he would be born in the house of Ratno, the gram hawker. He bade them warn Marak of his approaching birth. They did so and the wicked governor sent Aho to seize the baby directly it was born. The child Udero Lal arrived on the last day of the fortnight. Aho was about to seize it, when it changed instantly into a youth of sixteen, then into an old man and once more into an infant. Aho was dumbfounded and his hatred and unbelief changed to love and faith. He begged the child to return with him to Marak, so as to convince him also. The babe replied “Go back to Tatta. There stand on the banks of the Indus and call me and I shall come.”

Aho went back to Tatta and told Marak. The governor was frightened out of his wits, still he ordered Aho to go to the river bank and call on Udero Lal to rise from the river. Aho did so and as the words left his lips, a tall beautiful youth, riding a noble steed, rose from the river and behind him followed thousands of soldiers and horsemen, chariots and war elephants. The terrified minister fell at Udero Lal’s feet and begged him to send away the mighty army that followed in his footsteps. The youth turned round and dismissed his warriors. A moment later the great army had vanished into the depths of the Indus. Aho led Udero Lal into Marak’s presence and told him the marvels that he had witnessed. Marak instantly seated Udero Lal on his right hand and craved his advice. Udero Lal bade him to cease from his cruelty to his Hindu subjects. But while Marak listened with pious looks to Udero Lal’s words, his heart was full of black treachery. After he had escorted with all reverence the beautiful youth to one of his palaces, he ordered his soldiers to surround it. For he now plotted to convert to Islam not only his Hindu subjects but Udero Lal also. But it was idle to strive to bind the Indus river. When the kazi and the surgeon came to convert him he had vanished.

The indignant Marak resolved not to give his Hindu subjects a day’s more grace and announced that he would convert or kill them all that very evening. They went to Ratno’s house. There they found Udero Lal, once more a baby in the cradle. They prayed to the divine child and he bade them go to the river and sit in a temple that they would find there. When all the Hindus had assembled, a fearful thunderstorm burst and fire from heaven consumed the palace of the governor and the houses of his officers. Marak, Aho and the kazi, although badly burnt, escaped from the conflagration and ran to the river. There they saw a splendid temple and in it were seated Udero Lal, once more a beautiful youth and round him thousands of Hindus, perfectly sheltered from the storm that had fallen on Tatta. The three wicked men fell at Udero Lal’s feet and Marak took a mighty oath never again to harass the Hindus. Udero Lal then bade the winds be still and the storm at once passed away. Udero Lal vanished and so did the magic temple. But the Hindus built on the spot a real one of stone that stands to this day. Lights burn in it day and night and it is known as the Khudio temple or the temple of Refuge.

When the Hindus went to Nasarpur to tell Ratno and Devki how their child had helped them, they found Udero Lal once more a baby sleeping peacefully in his cradle. Nothing further happened until Udero Lal was a little boy of six, when his mother Devki thought that he might help his father by hawking cooked gram too. She gave him a tiny jar of cooked gram and bade him hawk it through the streets of Nasarpur, taking payment either in cash or in kind. That evening Udero Lal brought back a huge pot full of grain and gave it to his mother. This went on for several days until his parents grew more and more curious to know how he got grain many times its value for the cooked gram. Next day they followed him and they saw their little son go to the river bank and dip the jar of cooked gram into the water. When he pulled it out again, it had become a great pot brimming over with grain. When Udero Lal was ten and old enough to be invested with the sacred thread, he asked to be given a guru. He took his father and mother to the river bank and found sitting near it the great God Shiva. Udero Lal went up fearlessly to the mighty God and told him that he had come in search of a guru. The god replied “Why do you, who are the guru of gurus, want a guru?” Udero Lal pleaded that even Vishnu’s avatars, such as Rama and Krishna had had their gurus, why then should one be denied to him? It so chanced that the saint Gorakhnath passed by at that moment and Shiva bade him take Udero Lal as his pupil. Gorakhnath did so and taught him all his holiness and wisdom.

Now Udero Lal had a cousin called Phugar, who was greatly attached to him. He made Phugar his disciple and taught him the learning which he had received from Gorakhnath. One day to test Phugar’s faith he told him that he wished to be alone and meditate. But Phugar refused to leave his master’s side. “Will you plunge with me into the Indus?” asked Udero Lal. “Where you go, I go,” was the reply. Udero Lal took his cousin’s hand and dived into the river. A few minutes later they came to the surface and found themselves in mid-stream between Rohri and Sukkur. In front of them was a little island on which they climbed. This was the famous island of Zinda Pir, of whom more hereafter. Master and pupil stayed there some weeks until Udero Lal learnt that Ratno and Devki were both very ill at Nasarpur. He reached his birthplace in time to bid them farewell. But their deaths preyed on his mind and he longed to rejoin the mighty river from which he had sprung. He first called to him his elder brothers Somo and Bhayandev and bade them give up the things of this world and like Phugar become his disciples. But though they promised always to worship light and water, they would not give up all and follow him. Udero Lal then declared that Phugar would be his only disciple. He called him and gave him the following seven gifts:—

A Var or ring that fulfilled every wish of the wearer. A Jot or lamp that gave to him who looked into its flame a vision of the Most High. A Kanta or quilt that guarded the wearer from demons and from human weapons. A Deg or cooking pot that remained always full of food. A Tegh or sword that put to flight the five evil passions—kam or lust, krodh or anger, lobh or greed, moh or love of the things of this world and ahankar or selfishness. A Jhari or pitcher that remained always full of Ganges water. A Daklo or musical instrument that reproduced the songs sung in heaven.

When twelve years old Udero Lal bade Phugar choose a spot, whereon to build him a temple, as he meant soon to leave the earth. Phugar chose an open field owned by a Memon. The saint asked the Memon to give him the land. The Memon refused but offered to sell it. Udero Lal scratched with his spear the surface of the earth and shewed the astonished Memon treasures of gold and silver. Then he drove his spear deep into the ground and it became a mighty kabar tree. The Memon was so startled that he went away to take counsel of his wife. On his return he bade the saint take the field as a gift. All he asked, was that he might be the majavar or attendant of Udero Lal’s tomb. The saint blessed him and promised him that his life long he would never lack food. Udero Lal took another spear and smote the ground with it. Up spouted a fountain of clear water. He mounted his horse; the earth opened in front of him. Spurring his horse he leapt into the yawning pit.

At first Phugar was broken-hearted and nearly died of grief. One night he saw in a dream Udero Lal who bade him put away his grief and build a temple on the spot where the saint had vanished. Where the water had spouted from the ground he was to sink a well and near it to build a rest-house. When the saint’s wishes were known, all Nasarpur flocked to Phugar’s aid. Even the wicked Marak and his minister and kazi offered their help. But while the Hindus wished to build a temple, Marak and the Musulmans wished to build a mosque and quarrels broke out between them. At last they resolved to take the advice of Udero Lal himself. All one night they kept vigil until they heard a voice that said “In my sight there is neither caste nor creed.” Pacified, they built both mosque and temple. Of the temple Phugar was made guardian and Marak named the Memon the mujavar of the mosque. From that day on, lamps have burnt night and day in both temple and mosque. The rest-house built by Phugar may be seen to this day and near it is the well, which grateful pilgrims have called Balambho or the well of ever-running water.

JINDA PIR.

In my last chapter I related how the saint Udero Lal and his disciple Phugar, after diving into the Indus near Nasarpur, came to the surface between Rohri and Sukkur and landed on a rocky island. The island is still there and bears on its rounded back a temple to Zinda Pir. According to the Hindus Zinda or the living Pir is none other than Udero Lal. According to the Musulmans he is somebody quite different.

According to the Musulmans, the river Indus flowed once past Alor and not past Rohri. Somewhere in the tenth century A.D. a Hindu king called Dalurai ruled at Alor. He and his brother Sasu Rai practised every kind of abomination. Such were their wickedness and their vigour that they enforced the jus primae noctis on every young lady, who was married within their dominions. On one occasion a pious Musulman merchant named Shah Hussein was going down the Indus, so that he might sail from its mouth to Arabia and visit Mecca. With him journeyed his beautiful daughter. On the way they stopped at Alor and the beauty of the merchant’s daughter was noised abroad and reached the ears of King Dalurai, who instantly demanded that she should be sent to his palace. But neither Shah Hussain nor his daughter had any wish that she should become the concubine of a Hindu king. They both prayed fervently to Zinda Pir. He appeared in a vision to the young girl and bade her and her father board their boat and weigh anchor. They did so and the stream at Zinda Pir’s command, changed its course and leaving Alor, brought the boat and its burden to Rohri. When Shah Hussain awoke next morning, he was close to Udero Lal’s island. To it he moored his boat and built the temple, that stands there to this day. On it are the words “Darga Ali.” These give the date 341 A.H. or 961 A.D.

The above tale explains the foundation of the temple but it does not tell us who the saint himself was. Earnest Christians will hear with surprise that he is none other than their old friend the prophet Elijah. They will probably exclaim with Molière’s M. Géronte “Mais que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?” It was this way. According to the Islamic legend, Elijah was in a former life a very holy man indeed, named Balya Ebn Malkan. Because of the colour of his garment, he was also known as Al Khisr or the Prophet of the Green robe. Balya Ebn Malkan was the contemporary of Moses and in Chapter 18 of the Koran we find him going with Moses on a most interesting circular tour. The story is shortly this. Once the great Jewish sage was preaching to his people with such wisdom and eloquence that at the close of his sermon, they asked him whether there was any man in the world wiser than he was. Conscious of his great powers, he replied in the negative. That night God appeared to him in a dream, rebuked him for his vanity and told him that his servant Al Khisr was wiser than he was. Moses asked where he could meet this paragon of wisdom. God answered that Moses would find Al Khisr near a rock where two seas met. If Moses took a fish with him in a basket, the spot where he missed the fish would be the place where the prophet of the green robe dwelt. Moses took Joshua and a fish with him and in due course missed the fish and found the prophet. Moses asked leave to be Al Khisr’s disciple and to learn his wisdom. Al Khisr answered that if Moses came and suffered all that Al Khisr did without asking any questions he could be his disciple, but not otherwise. Moses promised to do so and the two prophets went to the sea shore and boarded a ship. Al Khisr at once made a hole in the bottom of it. Moses indignantly asked whether he wanted to drown every soul on board. But his companion sternly reminded Moses of his promise and left the ship. A little later they met a youth. Al Khisr struck him so violently on the head that he died at once. Moses angrily asked why he had taken an innocent life. Al Khisr again rebuked him and went his way to a city. There they saw a crumbling wall which the citizens could not repair. Al Khisr touched the wall with his hand and it became as if it had been newly built. Moses asked him why he did not claim from the citizens a rich reward. Al Khisr then turned on his unfortunate disciple and cast him forth. “Three times” said Al Khisr, “you have broken your promise and questioned my acts. You are not worthy to be my pupil. I made a hole in the ship to save it from the king’s men. Had it been seaworthy, they would have taken the ship by force and given the owner nothing. I killed the youth, because although the son of true believers, he was himself an unbeliever and I feared lest he should corrupt the faith of his parents. I repaired the wall for nothing, because hidden under it was a treasure, which a righteous man had buried there before he died. He left two orphan sons and it is God’s will that when they reach man’s state, they shall find their father’s treasure.”

During Al Khisr’s existence as Balya Ebn Malkan he found and drank the waters of immortality. That was why as Elijah he did not die, but was transported to heaven in a fiery chariot. And because he drank the waters of immortality, he is always connected with running water; and with what nobler stream, could he be associated than the Indus, as it passes through the Sukkur gorge?

To-day the special duty of Zinda Pir is to help the Indus boatmen when in distress. His functions are thus similar to those of the ancient Dioscuri, of whom Macaulay wrote:

“Safe comes the ship to harbour Through billows and through gales If once the great twin brethren Sit shining on the sails.”

The Indus is terribly dangerous in July and August, when the mighty river swollen by the melting snows of the Himalayas comes tearing and tossing through the gorge. So one who has seen the Indus in flood can never forget the sight. It is then that the boatmen pray to Al Khisr. To attend more closely to their prayers, Al Khisr comes in person to his temple and for forty days sits in a little niche specially reserved for him. The niche has comfortable cushions and in front of it is laid a copy of the Koran. The saint is invisible, but the mujavars or attendants of the mosque or temple know that he has been there; for when the forty days begin they place in front of the niche the Koran open at the first page and when the forty days are past, they find the Koran open at the last page. Elijah has in his leisure moments read the Koran from cover to cover.

ABDUL LATIF, the Author of SHAH JO RISALO.

Abdul Latif’s grandfather Shah Karim was a Sayad of Matari and so celebrated for his piety that his mausoleum at Bulree in the Karachi District is still the scene of an annual fair. Shah Karim was born in 1558 A.D. and died it is said in 1660 A.D. The tale runs that while Shah Karim was yet a boy, he met a fakir in a mosque. The fakir had been a soldier, but the awful consequences of war had so preyed on his mind that he had deserted the army. Shah Karim became the spiritual follower of this fakir and grew up so renowned a saint that it was commonly said that whereas Bahawaldin, a rival saint, could make a live man dead, Shah Karim could make a dead man alive. Shah Karim removed to Bulree and had three sons, one of whom Shah Habib was the father of Abdul Latif, the subject of our article. The date of his birth is to be found in the Persian line on his mausoleum.

Gardeed mahw ishk wujoode Latif Meer. (The spirit of the lordly Latif was absorbed in love).

According to the Abjad system, this gives the date of his death as 1751 A.D. As he was sixty-three when he died, he was born in 1688 A.D. He thus lived to see the establishment of the Kalhora dynasty, the invasion of Nadir Shah in 1739 and that of Ahmad Shah Durani in 1748.

Abdul Latif fell in love with a beautiful Moghul girl, the daughter of one Mirza Beg. He was said to be a descendant of Mirza Jani Beg of the Turkhan dynasty, whose tombs are among the Makli Hills. Abdul Latif serenaded the lovely girl in verses written by himself, until he was ordered off the premises by her father. Undefeated, he turned himself into a pigeon and cooed his love to the fair maiden from the trellis of her balcony. Even so Mirza Beg with a father’s vigilance pierced his disguise and threatened to set his falcons on Abdul Latif, unless he flew away. The unhappy Abdul Latif went and sat on a sandhill and watched the house of the Moghul girl with such devotion from afar, that the sandhill grew round him until it had covered all but his head. A goatherd Jam by name who passed saw his head sticking out. He told Abdul Latif’s father, Shah Habib, who had his son dug up. But Abdul Latif was still beside himself with amorous passion. He went to a carpenter and induced him to hollow out a tamarisk tree, that stood by itself in a cemetery. Latif got inside the hollow tree and looked out on the world through a single cleft. In vain Shah Habib sought everywhere for his son. At last his lamentations touched the heart of the carpenter, who shewed him his son’s hiding place. Shah Habib took his son home, but an evil fate overtook the carpenter. As a punishment for betraying Abdul Latif’s hiding place, he became a leper. Shah Habib licked the sores, so that they healed, all save one obstinate one that remained open on his forehead.

Abdul Latif did not stay long in his father’s house, but began to wander about Sind. One day he came to Lakhpat. There he saw some Sami fakirs worshipping an idol, probably of Parvati. They were pouring milk over it and as they did so, they repeated “O Grandmother, drink this milk.” But the idol being of stone, hearkened not at all. Latif went into the village, bought a bowl full of milk and stood close to the idol. In one hand he held his shoe and then he said to the idol “O Grandmother of the Samis, drink this milk or I shall beat you with this shoe.” The idol no longer hearkened not. Terrified at the threat, it drank up all the milk in the bowl. The Sami fakirs were filled with wonder and envy. After Abdul Latif had left the spot, they plotted to kill and eat him, so as to obtain his supernatural powers. They invited him to a feast, intending to make their guest the principal dish. But Abdul Latif by his inner knowledge guessed their wickedness and departed.

As he journeyed he met another fakir, whose beautiful face was haggard and worn, as if with care. As the fakir walked, he cried always “Jhal fakir, Hal fakir (Take it fakir, go fakir).” Abdul Latif asked him why he did it. The fakir refused to tell him, unless Abdul Latif promised to help him to win what he sought. “If,” said the fakir, “I win my goal through your help, I shall get you a Burat or letter of salvation.” The saint gave his promise and the fakir told him what ailed him. Some months before he had met a jungle tribe and had daily begged from them. Whenever he did so, a lovely maiden of the tribe had given him alms and as she gave them, she repeated these words “Jhal fakir, Hal fakir.” The beauty of the girl’s voice and face had burnt into his brain. When the tribe left, he could think of nothing but of her and he set out to seek her. As he went, he repeated her words in the hope of finding her. Abdul Latif by his inner knowledge soon located the jungle tribe. With the fakir he went to their camp and began to recite to them his verses. They were so charmed with the verses that they asked him to name his reward. He told them to send the lovely girl to the hut wherein he had put his humble belongings. The girl was sent and in the hut the fakir awaited her. Their eyes met, but the storm of passion that swept over both of them was too mighty for their strength to bear. They fell back lifeless into Abdul Latif’s arms. He called the girl’s parents and told them the tale of the fakir’s wooing and its tragic end. At his request the man and the maiden were buried in the same grave. That night Abdul Latif watched by the grave, for he had not yet received the Burat or letter of salvation. At midnight a woman’s hand rose from the grave and offered him a letter. But Abdul Latif doubted the virtue of a Burat that came from a woman. “I shall not take the Burat,” he said, “unless he who promised it to me gives it.” The girl’s voice answered that that was impossible. The fakir for very shame, she said, dared ask nothing from God. He had not been able to hide his love but to the whole world had told his sorrows. Her love had been as ardent as his, but she had had the strength to hide it. It was at her request that God had given the Burat and the saint must take it from her hands.

Another time Abdul Latif went to Kotri and there exposed the impostures of the Mullas who surrounded the governor Lalla Beg. At their instigation the cruel ruler ordered Abdul Latif to be impaled and then cut to pieces. When the executioners went to Shah Latif’s house to seize him, they found him already dead and dismembered. As they returned to tell Lalla Beg, they saw the saint standing in the roadside alive and well. They spoke of these marvels to Lalla Beg, who at once remitted the sentence.

Abdul Latif, before he started on his wanderings, had, because of his unsatisfied love for the Moghul girl, cursed the whole tribe of the Moghuls, who then lived in Sind. All this time his curse had been quietly working. One by one they had died off, including the hard-hearted Mirza Beg. Of all the Moghul children only one boy Gulla by name survived and the beautiful girl, whom Abdul Latif loved. Freed from her father’s cruelty by his death, she no longer hesitated but sought out and found her lover. With her she took her kinsman Gulla. Abdul Latif overjoyed at her coming recalled his curse and Gulla lived to be the ancestor of many Moghuls thereafter.

Abdul Latif, or as we should now call him Latif Shah, did not settle down to enjoy his wedded happiness at Varsum, where Shah Habib had lived and where he himself had been born. Near it was the tomb of an earlier saint Nuh Halani. The jealous spirit of the dead saint envied Latif Shah’s happiness and glory. Nuh Halani’s spirit haunted Shah Latif night and day. In despair Shah Latif sought the aid of Bahawal Hak, a holy man of Multan. He advised him to consult Sayad Mahmad Massum Shah. The latter in turn advised him to migrate to Bhitta, then a desolate mound of sand. Latif Shah obeyed the Sayad, but even at Bhitta—tantaene animis caelestibus irae—he was not safe from persecution. Nuh Halani changed the spirit of a former disciple into a huge snake and bade it bite the unhappy Shah Latif. But the latter prayed to Sayad Mahmad Massum Shah and with his aid and his own sanctity, he tamed the snake and kept it in a cage, as a trophy of his victory. Nuh Halani’s descendant Makhdum Mahmad Zaman could not bear the sight. He redeemed the snake at the cost of a vast stretch of country and turning the snake again into a spirit, sent it back to do service to Nuh Halani in the house of Hades.

“Happy is the wooing that’s not long in the doing,” is an old English proverb and perhaps it was of the long delay in the union of Shah Latif and his bride, that they were not blessed with children. Two legends are told to account for this calamity. One is that Shah Latif drew after him the son of one Jani, who in anger cursed the saint that his wife should bear him no sons. Latif Shah accepted the curse and consoled himself with the remark that his disciples were his sons. The second legend is that Latif Shah’s wife, a year after marriage, was expecting a child. After the manner of women in delicate health, she had strange longings. One day she sent her maid-servant to a great distance to get a certain kind of fish. Latif Shah missed the maid-servant and asked whither she had gone. On learning what had happened, he flew into a rage—if I may say such a thing of so holy a man. He cursed his unborn child, saying “If the child gives all this trouble now, what terrible trouble it will give when it is grown up! May such a blossom be nipped in the bud.” The child was still-born and no other came to soothe the poor mother’s grief.

It was at Bhitta that Shah Latif wrote the Shah jo Rasalo. When he had finished it, his two faithful disciples Tamar and Hashim brought it to him. As he read over the lines in which he had told the sorrows of Saswi, he exclaimed that the verses did not truly convey a spiritual meaning, but were full of sinful passion. As he said this, he flung the great work into the Kirar Dandh, a lake close by. His horrified disciples beseeched him to let them write the Shah jo Rasalo from memory. Reluctantly he consented and the Shah jo Rasalo was saved.

Shah Latif died in 1751 at the age of 63, three years after Ahmad Shah Durani’s invasion. The saint’s body lies in a splendid tomb designed by a celebrated mason of Sukkur, under the orders of Ghulam Shah Kalhoro. The door with silver bars was added by Mir Mahmad and a deep well for the use of pilgrims was sunk in the courtyard by one Laung Fakir. The Pir of the tomb is the descendant of Jam the goatherd, who found Shah Latif buried up to the neck in sand. Every Friday night pilgrims keep watch by the tomb and sing passages from the saint’s immortal poem. This custom had its origin in a dream dreamt by his disciple Hashim. After his master’s death, he was ill of fever and could not get well. One night Shah Latif appeared to him in a vision and bade him recite on the following Friday some lines from the Shah jo Rasalo. He did so and was cured.

MAKHDUM NIAMAT ULLAH AND MAKHDUM NUH.

Early in the 18th century the greatest saint in Sind was Makhdum Niamat Ullah, the father of a still greater religious luminary, the famous Makhdum Nuh. So renowned was Makhdum Niamat Ullah that an ancient fakir more than a hundred years old and known as La Ikhtyar or the Independent One was so affected by the stories told of the saintly Makhdum Niamat Ullah, that he gave up his independent life and went to Torio in the Hala taluka on the chance of seeing the object of his admiration. Torio was not Makhdum Niamat’s usual place of residence, but La Ikhtyar had had a vision that it would be at Torio that he would see the Desired One.

After some weeks Makhdum Niamat Ullah did go to Torio on business and passed La Ikhtyar, as he sat on his cot. At once the old fakir recognised the passer-by from the radiant glow on his countenance. The fakir got off his cot and made the saint sit on it and knelt at his feet. But as Makhdum sat, the fakir’s tame birds of which he had a large number suddenly flew away. The saint asked the reason and was told that he would be the father of a son who would love to shoot birds. When the fakir’s pets learnt this, they had flown away in terror. After bidding the fakir goodbye, Makhdum Niamat Ullah walked into the bazaar. As he passed a Hindu’s shop, the owner’s wife fell so desperately in love with him, that she begged him to take her away from her husband and marry her. The saint could not stoop to such wickedness; but to get rid of her importunities, he promised to fetch her away that very night. He left her and went to take a siesta in the shade of a high wall, some streets away. As he slept, a certain Amin, the chief of the Lankas, passed by on his way to Lower Sind. He had with him a comely marriageable daughter, who at once fell in love with the sleeping saint. Amin woke up Makhdum Niamat Ullah and offered his daughter to him in marriage. The saint gladly accepted the offer and was married to the beautiful girl the same evening. Next morning the Hindu woman saw the saint and going up to him, reproached him for not keeping his tryst. The saint explained that he was now a married man and must cleave to his wife. He, however, blessed the amorous Hindu lady and nine months from that very day, she presented to her husband a son called Zabhar.

On the same day as Zabhar was born, the wife of Makhdum Niamat Ullah presented her lord with a son, the celebrated Makhdum Nuh. Even as a tiny baby, Makhdum Nuh shewed his precocious saintliness. When only six days old, he compelled the fakir La Ikhtyar, who was his devoted slave, to go through the ceremony of becoming his disciple. The fakir lived until his infantile preceptor was five years old; then he died at the ripe age of 106 and his tomb may still be seen at Old Hala. His reputation for independence has survived him and many persons who are in difficulties still visit his tomb and ask the Independent One for his advice.

Makhdum Nuh took to the Koran, as the proverbial duck takes to water. At the age of seven he knew the mighty book by heart. At the age of fourteen he was vouchsafed a vision of no less a personage than Mahomed himself. As Makhdum Nuh was washing in the river his slate on which he had written some lines of the Koran, he saw a boat approach. In it were the Prophet, his son-in-law Ali and Huzrat Isa or Jesus. The boat stopped and the Holy Prophet called Makhdum Nuh by name. The boy went up to the boat and Jesus took his slate and wrote on one side of it fourteen lines. Then Ali took it and wrote on it eighteen lines and the boat glided away. The astonished Makhdum Nuh took his slate to his teacher, who found that what was written on it far transcended even his understanding. He asked his pupil what hand had written the lines. Makhdum Nuh told him about the three strangers in the boat; thereupon his teacher guessed what had happened and embraced the boy, as one to whom the Prophet had vouchsafed a vision.

Makhdum Nuh became when he grew up, as prophesied by the fakir, a great bird-shot; but he also worked many and mighty miracles. His most famous achievement was connected with the great mosque at Tatta. This mosque had been built at a cost of many lakhs of rupees by the orders of the Moghul Emperor. When it was completed, the faithful noted with dismay that it did not correctly face the Kaaba. This was too dreadful for words; for unless a mosque faces the Kaaba properly, it is useless. The faithful, too, of Tatta had been bragging loudly to their neighbours about their future mosque and they now would be exposed to their mocking laughter. The faithful of Tatta appealed to Makhdum Nuh. He called to his aid another holy man Ali Shirazi and they assailed Allah with continuous and soul-compelling prayers. At first nothing happened and the faithful began to murmur discordantly at the failure of the two saints. “But verily” as the Koran has it, “some suspicions are as sins.” Another half hour’s steady prayer and the great edifice began to quiver. Makhdum Nuh then called on all true Musulmans present to tie ropes to the building and pull it round; and lo! and behold! under the combined pressure of the prayers of the saints and the pushings of the faithful, the great mosque turned round slowly and then stopped dead. It had come to face exactly in the true direction of Mecca.

Even a man so holy as Makhdum Nuh could not escape from the malice of mankind. He had two great friends Muzaffar and Salar. Salar had promised his daughter in marriage to Muzaffar’s son. Unhappily a quarrel broke out between these two eminent men and Salar refused to give his daughter. Now in Sind marriageable girls are few and this was a home thrust. Muzaffar complained to Makhdum Nuh, who after hearing both sides ordered Salar to keep his promise. Salar obeyed, la mort dans l’âme; but he vented his spleen by cursing the said saint in the following quatrain:

“O Makhdum, you have done an act not pleasing to God; You have set at nought what God had ordained. You will suffer by having your corpse put in three different places after your death.”

The curse of this impious blasphemer was unhappily fulfilled. The river Indus twice threatened the spot where Makhdum Nuh had been buried. The second time the river approached so rapidly that the disciples had to remove their master’s body in broad daylight instead of at night, as was seemly. Heaven, however, came to their help. As they began to lift the body from the grave, the sky became overcast and a mist as thick as a London fog spread over the land, so that none could see the decaying remains of one who in life had been strong and beautiful. The saint’s body found its last resting place about two miles to the west of Old Hala. A small town has sprung up round the tomb and is known as Murtazabad. A beautiful mausoleum now stands over Makhdum Nuh’s grave and the cupola over it was erected in 1795 A.D. by Mir Fateh Ali Khan Talpur. On the tomb were engraved the following words in order to silence possible slanderers of the dead man:

“If the wind were to blow furiously all over the world It could never extinguish the lamp of those accepted by the Most High. Men who spit on a lamp, lit by Almighty God soon find that they have in their folly, set fire to their own beards.”

According to my chronicler, these lines had an excellent effect. They were the proper stuff to hand out to the back-biters.

HAIDARABAD.

Haidarabad was once known as Nerankot and the king of it was Raja Neran. He had a beautiful daughter, who, from the exquisite skill with which she darkened her eyes with Kanjal or lampblack, reddened her cheeks with rouge and coloured her finger nails with henna, was known as Nigar or the Painted lady. Her courage was, if possible, greater even than her beauty. She scorned to ride camels or horses, as other well born Hindu ladies did. The only beast she would bestride was a lion and every evening outside Nerankot she might have been seen riding a splendid maned lion, who, when bridled by her, was as docile as the meekest ambling palfrey, to the touch of her finger on the reins. Nor would she suffer cowardice in others. She vowed and made public her vow that she would wed no man who feared to saddle and mount a lion.

It so happened that Shah Makai and Haidar Ali came about this time to Sind. Shah Makai’s real name was Shah Mahmud; but because he lived at Maka or Mecca, he was known as Shah Makai. Haidar Ali’s real name was Ali. But, because as a child he had torn to pieces a live snake with his bare hands, he was called Haidar Ali or the Ali who tore the “Hai” or snake. His fortune was as great as his childhood foretold; for in due course he became the son-in-law of the holy prophet and the fourth Imam of the Faithful. As the two friends journeyed through Sind, they came to hear the fame of Nigar’s beauty and courage. Straightway they hastened to Nerankot and one evening Shah Makai saw the lovely girl astride of her lion, riding outside the walls. He fell madly in love with her. Then he heard that she had vowed not to marry anyone, unless he could tame and mount a lion. Shah Makai as a true and devout believer, had but little difficulty in performing this feat and the next time that Nigar rode abroad, she saw to her surprise and pleasure Shah Makai astride of a maned lion, hardly less majestic than her own. She asked him who he was; and learning that he had broken in the lion for love of her, she vowed that she would wed him and no other. Shah Makai sought an audience of Neran Raja and asked for his daughter’s hand. Nigar, too, pressed her father to give his consent to the marriage. But the proud king’s heart was as hard as stone and although he heard the full tale of Shah Makai’s courtship, he refused to give his daughter to one who was not a Hindu, but a Mleccha. With contumely he drove Shah Makai from his Court. When Nigar vowed that in spite of her father she would wed the bold Arabian, Raja Neran threw her into a well and had a huge stone put over its mouth. The evil news reached Shah Makai. He tried to move the stone; but it was so big, that even he, saint though he was, failed. He implored the help of Haidar Ali. To that pillar of Islam the task was light. He mounted his white mule Dhul Dhul and made it dance on the top of the stone. Then he dismounted and throwing himself at full length on the ground, he prayed Allah to remove it. He had hardly finished his prayer, when the stone rolled aside and Nigar with Haidar Ali’s help was able to climb out of the well. He gave her to Shah Makai, who carried her off in triumph. But Haidar Ali cursed the wicked Neran; and stretching wide the five fingers of his right hand made the bhundo sign at him. Not long afterwards the curse was fulfilled. The Arabs landing on the sea coast of Sind swept through the land, stormed Nerankot and killed Raja Neran. For many centuries Nerankot lay in ruins. Then the wise and pious Ghulam Shah Kalhoro came to the spot and deeming it well fitted for the site of his capital city, he rebuilt Nerankot. While the new fortress was building, he raised a small mud stronghold close to the spot where Shah Makai and the beautiful Painted Lady were in their old age buried side by side. When Nerankot was finished, Ghulam Shah Kalhoro went to live in it and renamed it Haidarabad after Haidar Ali. He gave his mud stronghold to the Fakirs who guarded Shah Makai’s tomb. Up to Burton’s time a lion—said to be a descendant of Nigar’s riding lion—used to be kept in a cage under a tamarind tree, close to Shah Makai’s last resting place. The tree still stands, but the lion has vanished. The rise in the price of lion’s food was no doubt the cause of its disappearance.

About a quarter of a mile from the tomb of Shah Makai is another small but holy building known as Shah Kadam. Within it are preserved the stones on which Haidar Ali’s white mule Dhul Dhul did its miracle-working dance. Its hoof marks may still be seen stamped deep in the stone. By its side a slab bears the marks of Haidar Ali’s hands, knees, feet and forehead, which he made when he prostrated himself in prayer before Allah. And a third stone bears the marks of the saint’s fingers and thumb when he made the bhundo at Raja Neran. So violent was the Imam’s curse that it has lived on, monumentum aere perennius. The well into which Nigar was thrown is one of the three inside Nerankot, but none could tell me with certainty which it was. Perhaps the most interesting relic of that golden time is a great “djar” tree that grows near Shah Makai’s tomb. The guardian of the shrine assured me that it had grown from a bit of stick, which the saint had one day used as a toothbrush and then carelessly thrown aside.

BRAHMANABAD.—I.

The ruined town of Brahmanabad, probably the most interesting spot in Sind, lies about eleven miles from Shahdadpur. A road sufficiently good for a Ford Car leads thither and a run there on a cold weather morning is a bracing and exhilarating experience. When Brahmanabad is reached one sees, as far as the eye can range, an endless waste of brick ruins, the site of a once mighty city. It flourished in the time of Alexander. It was still great in the eighth century when Mahomed Kasim invaded Sind. What caused its downfall? The whole question was admirably discussed in 1854 by Mr. Bellasis of the Indian Civil Service. His conclusion was that the city had been overwhelmed by an earthquake, which at the same time changed the bed of the Indus, formerly close by the city walls and the source of its greatness. The destruction of Brahmanabad, wrote Mr. Bellasis, was so complete that it could not have been caused by a fire or by a hostile force. There were, moreover, no signs of fire. There were quantities of jewellery among the ruins, which neither fugitive inhabitants nor an enemy would have left. At the same time there were many skeletons visible in corners and doorways—the skeletons of men and women overwhelmed, no doubt, as they sought to escape. The skeletons have long ago gone to manure the neighbouring fields, just as the bricks of the houses in which they once lived are to be found in the villages round about. Still we may safely accept the evidence of Mr. Bellasis as well as the accuracy of his conclusions. But if Brahmanabad was overwhelmed by an earthquake, what were the circumstances attending it? We have no historical record. But there exist two legends—a Musulman and a Hindu legend. They differ widely from each other, only agreeing in this that the end of Brahmanabad came because of God’s wrath at the wickedness of its ruler, Dalu Rai. I shall relate the Musulman legend first. It is to be found in the Tufat-ul-Kiram and runs somewhat as follows:

Once upon a time there ruled over the city of Brahmanabad a Hindu king, called Dalu Rai (May Allah confound him!) whose wickedness is still well remembered in the land of Sind. He had, however, a brother called Chota Amrani, who had given up kufar or ingratitude and had won immortal happiness by embracing Islam. He had left Brahmanabad and had committed to memory the whole Koran and also all the customs of the True Believers. On his return to the city his relatives wanted him to marry; but King Dalu Rai said with a cruel sneer “He is a renegade. Let him go on a pilgrimage to Mecca and there wed the daughter of some famous Arab; but he shall not marry the daughter of any Hindu subject of mine!”

Chota Amrani feared to stay longer in Brahmanabad, so he set out on a pilgrimage to Mecca. After many hardships and dangers he reached the Holy City. As he walked through the streets, he passed a shop, wherein a woman, instead of attending to her customers was reading aloud the Koran. Chota Amrani stopped to listen. The woman saw him and asked him why he did not pass on. “I have stopped,” said Chota Amrani, “to listen to the words of Holy Writ. I have learnt the Koran by heart; but if you will teach me its various readings, I shall become your slave.” “Nay,” said the woman, “I am not fit to teach you. I have a teacher of my own. She is a maiden and you cannot enter her home in a man’s dress. But if you change your clothes and dress like a girl, I shall take you to her.” Chota Amrani who was still quite young and without any beard on his chin, agreed. He dressed up as a girl and was taken to the house of the learned maiden by the woman in the shop. The maiden’s name was Fatima and she readily undertook the instruction of the foreign girl, who had come from so far off to see Mecca. One day the shopwoman asked Fatima some questions concerning the marriage of her daughter. Fatima, who was skilled in astrology as well as in matters religious, answered the questions with ease. Chota Amrani then to test the maiden said “As you can tell the future of others, you can surely tell your own future.” Fatima replied “My fate is to be married to a man from Sind.” “But when?” asked the astonished visitor. “In no long time,” replied Fatima. “But where is the man?” asked Chota Amrani. Fatima pretended to consult her astrological books and said with a smile “You are the man.” Then she added “Begone and come no longer in the garb of a girl. Put on a man’s dress and ask formally for my hand, for I am destined to be yours.”

Chota Amrani, abashed at the penetration of his disguise, went away and returned dressed as a man. He formally asked for the hand of Fatima. His request was granted and she became his wife.

After two or three months had passed, Chota Amrani told Fatima that he must take her back with him to Sind. Fatima made no objection and they set sail for the land of the Indus river. When they reached Brahmanabad, they found that Dalu Rai had recently issued a law that every young married woman should be brought to his couch for at least one night. He therefore demanded that Chota Amrani should send Fatima to his palace. Chota Amrani refused and Dalu Rai did nothing for the moment. But one day when Chota Amrani was absent from the city, Dalu Rai forced his way into his brother’s house and tried to seduce Fatima. The noble lady virtuously resisted all his efforts to lead her astray and fortunately before he could use violence to her, Chota Amrani returned. He drove the wicked king from his house and instantly left Brahmanabad with Fatima. As he left, a voice from heaven was heard to say “This city will soon be swallowed because of its king’s wickedness. Let those who are warned flee from the accursed spot or keep watch against the day of atonement.” A few obeyed and shook from their feet the dust of the doomed city, but most of the people paid no heed. The first night the city was spared, because an old woman working at a wheel kept awake all night, as the voice had commanded. The second night an oil presser kept watch unceasingly. But the third night the inhabitants forgot the divine warning. Suddenly, while all slept the entire city was swallowed up. Of all its splendid buildings only one minaret remained, as an example and a warning to other kings and peoples.

BRAHMANABAD.—II.

Now let us turn to the Hindu legend which I came across in a Sind magazine. It ran as follows:—

Once upon a time Brahmanabad, now a heap of ruins, was the glory of all Sind. It stood on an oasis in the desert; and to guard its people from sudden raids by desert tribes, one of its kings had built round it a great wall. Beneath the wall flowed the river Indus, on whose waters the merchant ships of Brahmanabad carried the city’s commerce up and down Sind. Inside the walls were rich houses, countless gardens, and a mighty tower, that served as a landmark for miles around. About a mile and a half from Brahmanabad was the royal suburb of Dalor in which stood the king’s palace and the quarters of his guards. Some five miles from Brahmanabad stood the suburb of Depur. Therein lived the ministers with their public offices and their record-rooms and storehouses. Along the banks of the river was a collection of huts, wherein lived a wild gipsy tribe known as Madu. They lived by selling milk and ghi to the rich burghers of Brahmanabad.

The reigning King Amrai was beloved by his people and when his queen died, he would not give her place to another. He devoted his life to the upbringing of their only son, prince Dalu Rai. Unhappily so evil was the lad’s nature, that the more care the king spent on him the worse he grew. He gathered round him a band of bad companions and all day and every day the royal palace resounded with the cries of the prince’s victims. At last the king out of all patience, shut up his son in the tall tower which looked over the country round Brahmanabad. But the fickle mob at once turned round. “What a cruel father!” they cried. “Fancy treating thus the heir to the throne!” King Amrai consulted his ministers and they advised him to free his son, but at the same time to put in charge of him some wise and virtuous old man, who by example and precept would show him the error of his ways. King Amrai thought their advice good and freeing the prince, appointed a wise old man to look after him and to teach him. Although the king said nothing to Dalu Rai, the latter guessed, when an aged pandit called on him, that he was in some way to be over him. He instantly resolved to treat the old man in such a way that neither he nor any other old man in the kingdom would accept the post again. He pretended to listen with the greatest attention to all the old man’s words and seemed so eager to do what was right, that the sage thought the prince the most charming of pupils. After some hours of talk, the prince made his master dine with him. During the meal the old man talked as one inspired; and as he talked, the prince’s servants filled his glass over and over again with drugged wine. Before the meal was over the poor old pandit was fast asleep. The prince had him put to bed and as he lay asleep, the prince’s barber shaved off the sage’s moustaches and stuck in their place crow’s feathers. Next morning when the old man awoke, he passed his hand over his face and found the horrible thing that had been done to him. He rose, fled from the prince’s house and threw himself at King Amrai’s feet and told him of the prince’s cruel trick. The king soothed the old man as best he could; but he was so affected, that he never shewed himself in the Darbar Hall again.

The prince was thus free to act as he pleased. One evening he and his good for nothing companions went out a-hawking. Game was scarce and their hawks caught nothing. At last they reached a well near a Madu hamlet not far from the town. Vexed at their ill luck, they loosed their hawks at some tame pigeons that belonged to the villagers and happened to be circling near the well. All the pigeons but one took shelter in their dovecotes. One pigeon flew into the air followed by the prince’s hawk. For some time the two birds soared in the air, one unable to rise above the other. At last the hawk’s strong wings bore it above the pigeon and it made its swoop. The frightened pigeon dropped like a stone to the ground at the feet of a Madu maiden of 16, who was filling her jar at the well. The girl picked up the pigeon and stroking its feathers put it in her bosom. The hawk robbed of its prey, flew back to perch on the wrist of the prince’s huntsman. The prince rode up to the girl and with an evil smile on his lips, told her that she might keep the pigeon. He would not hunt it now that it had taken shelter in her bosom. The girl turned on him scornfully and said “A fine hunter you are to hawk a tame pigeon!” The prince pretended to be sorry for what he had done and then asked the girl to give him a drink of water from her jar. But the Madu maiden disliking his looks and tone, told him to get one of his servants to fetch water for him. But the prince pressed her, pleading that their horses were restive. Reluctantly the girl went close to him to give him a cup of water. Suddenly he caught her by the waist and swung her in front of him. A moment later he and his companions were riding as fast as they could to the prince’s palace. Some Madu men ran after them but in vain. The prince carried off the girl and the men with him said in jest “The prince’s hawk lost its prey, but the prince had better luck!” As the party neared the palace, they passed an aged Brahman, who, hearing the cries of the struggling girl, begged the prince to free her. But Dalu Rai only snarled at him to mind his own business. The Brahman, who was a mighty anchorite, flew into a passion and cursed him. “As a punishment for your cruelty,” he cried, “you will never live to be old. Your city will be destroyed and you will perish with it so suddenly, that you will not have time to give even a handful of grain in charity!”

The prince paid little heed to the anchorite’s curse, but bore his prey inside the palace. There he found everyone excited as the princess had just borne her lord a son. But the prince pushed past his servants and took the Madu girl to a distant part of the palace and there tried to win her consent. But she scornfully rejected his promises of rich clothes and fine jewels. At last when he had lost all patience and was about to offer her violence, he heard a knock at his door. It was a messenger who brought the news that King Amrai was dead. At the same time he told the prince that Banbho, one of his associates wished to speak to him most urgently. The prince was unwilling to leave the Madu girl, but he could not refuse so grave a message, especially as Banbho was not only the wickedest but by far the wisest of his evil companions. The prince went out, locked the door behind him, and took Banbho into another room. The news Banbho brought was of the gravest. “The news I bring, my Prince,” he said slowly, “is as bad as it can be. Unless you act at once this palace of yours is certain to become your prison. The late king was angry with you, as you know, and before he died, he had engraved as his will on a brass plate that you were never to sit on the throne. In your stead the ministers were to put your son if you had one, and if not, your distant cousin. Now that a son has been born to the princess, think what a handle your enemies will have against you! They will put you in prison and make your infant son king of Brahmanabad. You must act at once!” Banbho’s plan was simple. It was to proclaim the prince as king in Brahmanabad and then to gallop with every available man to Depur where the ministers had assembled to carry out the late king’s wishes. Banbho taking some men with him, first rode through the streets of Brahmanabad, shouting “Victory to Dalu Rai Maharaj!” The crowd at once caught up the cry and were soon shouting “Victory to Dalu Rai Maharaj” through every lane and byway in the city. This done, Banbho returned to the prince’s palace and he and the prince and his companions and all the guards whom they could muster, set off together at headlong speed for Depur. While Banbho was thus rousing his master to action, the prime-minister and the commander-in-chief and the principal nobles of Brahmanabad were seated together in one of the council rooms of Depur. The prime-minister, respected above all for his age and wisdom and for his faithful service of the late king, put before his colleagues the brass plate of King Amrai and proposed that they should take instant steps to seize the person of Dalu Rai and put his newly born son on the throne. Several of the nobles objected strongly. For all their respect for the late king and their dislike of Dalu Rai, they disliked still more the coronation of a newly born infant with all the dangers of a long regency. While they were in high debate, the commander-in-chief heard a noise in the courtyard and guessing its cause, said with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders: “I am afraid we are too late, gentlemen. The prince has come in person to settle the succession.” Dalu Rai and Banbho followed by their troopers rushed up the stairs and Banbho knocking at the door, demanded entrance in the king’s name. Receiving no answer, he caught up a heavy pickaxe and with a single blow broke open the lock. The door flew open and the prince and his men rushed in. Many of the nobles at once joined him. But the chief minister and a few others remained seated. As the prince stepped forward, the prime-minister gave him the brass plate on which was engraved his father’s will. The prince read it and glowing with rage “from his topknot to his toenails,” rushed at the old man. Both sides drew their swords. A fight ensued, but it was soon over. The prime-minister and the commander-in-chief lay dead on the ground and the rest surrendered.

Dalu Rai would at once have gone back to the Madu maiden; but Banbho who “had a crow’s wisdom” prevailed on him to spend the day and the following night on the late king’s funeral ceremonies. All day long and all that night Dalu Rai’s thoughts were far away with his unhappy captive. Next morning Banbho pressed him to hold a Darbar and win over the state officers and townspeople by concessions and gifts. But Dalu Rai could restrain himself no longer. “You spoiler of pleasure!” he cried angrily to Banbho, “I am not going to hold a Darbar! Tell my officers that I am too stricken with sorrow to hold one.” With these words King Dalu Rai left Banbho to manage as best he could, and rode off with all speed to the conquest of the Madu maiden. Unluckily for him, he had carelessly left behind him his dagger when summoned by Banbho. The Madu girl had picked it up and when the wicked king would have caught her in his arms she pointed the dagger at him and threatened to stab him if he came near her. As he stood uncertain what to do, he heard cries outside his palace “Maharaja! Maharaja!” Dalu Rai went to the verandah and looking down saw his courtyard full of frightened people. “Maharaja, save us!” they cried. “Brahmanabad will be destroyed.” Dalu Rai looked towards the horizon and saw a huge mass of sand like a tidal wave advancing on Brahmanabad. The sky was as black as pitch. The sun was hidden and the Indus had left its course and seemed to be fleeing before the sandstorm. As he gazed at the fearful scene, a voice cried: “To-day Brahmanabad shall perish because of its ruler’s wickedness!” The king remembered the anchorite’s curse and would have ridden away leaving his city and his people to their fate. But as he walked to the door a youth with drawn sword barred his way. “Who are you?” asked the king. “I am your death,” was the grim answer. The king had no other wish but to flee from the doomed town; but the youth would not let him pass. At last the king drew his sword and the two men fought. The youth was skilled in swordmanship but even so he was no match for Dalu Rai, who was a master of the art. In a few minutes the king drove his sword through the youth’s heart and bending over him dragged him into the Madu maiden’s room. As he did so, the girl drove her dagger into his back. “Why did you strike me?” asked the dying king. “Was the youth your kinsman?” “He was my betrothed,” said the girl with white lips and blazing eyes. The king fainted and life left him. The girl took some wood from the hearth where a fire was burning and lit the drapery in the room. In a few minutes it was blazing. The fire spread to the rest of the palace and it was soon a burning mass. At the same time the sand reached the walls of Brahmanabad. The burghers sought flight in all directions, but flight was useless. The sandwave caught them and stifled them, until at last there was not a living soul left in Brahmanabad.

The curse of the anchorite had been fulfilled to the letter.

THE EIGHTH KEY.

Once upon a time there ruled over Sind a king, who throughout his reign had been distinguished for wisdom and justice; but he had grown old and had only one son, born to him by one of his queens, when he was in the evening of his life. His darling wish was to see his son of an age to succeed him before he died. But as kings even are only pawns in the hands of the great chessplayer, his hope was never fulfilled. Feeling death approach, he sent for his chief minister and gave him the eight keys of his eight treasure chambers. “Guard the throne for my son,” said the dying man, “and when he is of an age to rule by himself, give him seven of the eight keys; but do not give him the eighth until he has ruled for five years.” The chief minister promised faithfully to do his master’s bidding and the old king died in his arms.

The young prince was duly raised to the throne and the chief minister watched over him as if he had been his own son. When the prince came of age, he succeeded to a rich and prosperous kingdom and the minister handed over to him, just as the old king had desired, seven out of the eight keys. With the seven keys the prince opened seven treasure vaults and found them chock full of silver and gold pieces and precious stones of every description. He was pleased beyond measure; and he felt deeply grateful to the faithful minister, who had discharged his trust so well and while keeping the people happy had made their king rich beyond the dreams of avarice. For a time all went well; then some evilminded old man, who envied the chief minister, told the king that there were really eight treasure vaults and that the minister had not handed over the eighth key, so that he might keep for himself the contents of the eighth treasure vault. In a great rage the young king sent for the chief minister and demanded on pain of instant death the eighth key. The old statesman fell at his young master’s feet and telling him with many tears the whole story handed him the eighth key. The king was so excited at the tale, that he snatched away the key and running as fast as he could to the eighth treasure vault, turned the key in the lock and flung open the door. To his amazement the room was absolutely bare, save for the portrait of a beautiful girl, that hung on one of the walls. The king’s eyes ran round the empty room and then they rested on the face in the picture. There they stayed until the youth fell so deeply in love with the beautiful girl, that he grew gradually fainter and at last swooned away. The minister and the courtiers sprinkled rosewater over their prostrate master and at last revived him; but he vowed that unless the minister promised to bring him the lovely picture maiden, he would not only refuse to reign, but would starve himself to death.

The old minister was dismayed at the state of the king and soothed him by telling him that he would at once set out to fetch the beautiful girl. He loaded a vessel full of merchandise of all descriptions and with some chosen companions weighed anchor and set sail for the open sea. They touched at various ports, but although they shewed the chief men there the portrait found in the eighth chamber, none recognised it. At last after the voyage had lasted a whole year, they reached a distant haven and there they shewed their picture. The people standing by clapped their hands and cried out “Why, it’s our own princess!” The minister was taken to the king and queen who shewed them their daughter and all agreed that she was the original of the portrait. The minister told the king that he was a merchant and after giving the king splendid gifts stayed in the country until he had sold all his merchandise. He then turned his prow homewards and many months later he was able to tell his king that the lovely picture maiden had been found. Without a moment’s delay the king vowed that he would seek her himself. Again filling the vessel with merchandise, the king, the minister and the some band of trusty companions went on board and weighing anchor, they set sail for the distant land wherein the princess dwelt. After a voyage of several months and many hardships, they reached it and the minister again presented himself in the guise of a merchant before the princess’ father. On his earlier visit the minister had learnt that the princess was very fond of toys; so he had brought for her a number of toys, in the making of which the people of his country were very skilled. There were toy dogs that ran for miles, toy lions and tigers that roared horribly, toy partridges that rose with a whirr just like live ones, toy pheasants that flew up slantwise into the air and toymen who walked about and talked just as if they had been real. The princess gave a cry of delight on seeing all these wonderful play-things; but the minister said “These are nothing to what you will see, if you will visit our ship. My master the merchant who is on board would only let me bring the commonest toys ashore.” The princess was wild to see the other toys and taking six maid-servants with her went with the minister to the seashore and aboard the ship. There the young king received her with the greatest courtesy and respect and began to shew her other toys. But as she was looking at them and clapping her hands at each fresh one, the crew quietly cut the anchor cable and were out to sea, before the princess or her friends on shore had any idea what was happening.

When the poor princess found that she had been taken captive, she wept bitterly, but the king soothed her and told her how he had fallen in love with her picture and had sailed across half the world to win her. At last she dried her eyes and promised to be his queen directly the ship brought them to his country. The journey took many weary months, but at last they were only three days sail off and the king and betrothed, as happy as possible, together were walking up and down the deck, hand in hand. The chief minister was sitting in the bows straining his eyes trying to get a glimpse of the land. Now among the old man’s many accomplishments was the power to understand the speech of birds. As he looked landwards, he saw a parrot and a maina fly to the ship and perch in the rigging. After a little while the maina felt dull and begged the parrot to tell her a story. At first the parrot demurred, then he said: “There is a story going on before your very eyes. You see how happy the king and queen seem to be? Well, the king has only three more days to live! When he lands three days hence, he will be met by his officers and his troops, his elephants, his horses and his chariots. He will be given the most beautiful horse of all to ride; but that horse is not really a horse at all, but a demon. Directly the king is on its back, it will fly away with him into the air and will then drown him by flinging him into the sea.” The maina was affected to tears by this story; for she loved the parrot dearly and knew how the princess would grieve at the loss of her betrothed. “Is there no way,” cried the maina, “by which the king can be saved?” “Yes, my beloved,” answered the parrot, “there is one way. If someone goes up to the horse just before the king mounts it and cuts its head off, the king will be saved. But do not repeat what I have told you; for if anyone repeats it, one third of his or her body will be turned into stone.” The parrot and the maina then flew away, leaving the minister, who had understood all that they had said, a prey to the cruelest anxiety.

Next day the parrot and the maina flew back to the ship and perched in the rigging. The minister on seeing them went back to his seat in the bows of the ship, so that he might listen to what they said. The maina said “Tell me, please, what will happen to the king, if he escapes from the demon horse? Will he not wed the princess and live happily ever afterwards?” “Nay, my heart’s desire,” said the parrot, “the king and the princess will never, I fear, be happy together. Even although the king escapes from the demon horse he will still be in the gravest peril. During the wedding the king will see a beautiful gold plate. He will be so pleased with it, that he will pick it up and pass it round among his courtiers to collect alms for the Brahmans, who are conducting the ceremony. But he will not live to pass the plate to all his courtiers, for it is poisoned and as he passes it round, the poison on it will enter the pores of his skin and will kill him in a few seconds.” The poor maina was as much upset at this story as she had been at the other. “Is there no way,” she sobbed, “to save the poor king?” “Yes, my beloved,” answered the parrot, “if anyone were to put on gloves and snatch away the plate before the king can handle it, he will be saved. But do not repeat what I have told you, for if you do, a third of your body will be turned into stone.” Shortly afterwards, the parrot and the maina flew away, leaving the minister sadder even than he had been the previous day.

The next day, which was the last of the voyage, the disheartened minister went and sat in the prow of the ship, to hear anything more that the parrot might say to the maina. He had not been seated more than a few minutes before the two birds came and perched a few feet above his head. “Dear Parrot,” said the maina, “if the king is not poisoned by the plate, will he and the princess not even then marry and live happy together ever afterwards?” “Nay, well beloved, even then the king will not live long enough to make the princess happy. After the wedding ceremony, the king and the princess will be so tired that directly their heads touch the pillow, they will go off to sleep. While they are asleep, a snake that lives in the roof of the bridal chamber will drop poison from his fangs on to the princess’ cheek. When the king wakes out of his first sleep and kisses the princess, he will touch the poison with his lips and will die instantly.” The maina was dreadfully sorry to hear this new danger and asked tearfully whether there was no way by which the king could escape from that death also. “Yes, well beloved,” said the parrot, “there is one chance of his escape, but it is so remote that the king is sure to die. If someone were to hide himself in the bridal chamber until the poison fell and kissed the princess’ cheek, the king would be saved; nor would his saviour die either if he drank at once a large glass of milk. But do not tell anyone about this, for if you do a third of your body will be turned into stone.” The two birds then flew away.

The minister was in despair, but he was a brave and loyal man and he resolved to save his master, even if it cost him his life. When the king landed and tried to mount the demon horse, the minister drew his sword and with a single stroke cut its head off. The king was very angry and asked the minister why he had done it; but the minister dared not explain for fear of a third part of his body being turned into stone. The king could not understand it, still in view of the minister’s great services he forgave him. The wedding ceremonies of the king and his bride were celebrated with great splendour; and in the middle of them, the king seeing a beautiful gold plate stretched out his hand to take it and to collect alms for the officiating Brahmans. The minister at once pushed past the king and with a gloved hand, seized the golden plate and threw it far away into a running stream. The king was still more angry especially as the minister, afraid of being turned into stone, would not say why he had done it.

After the wedding ceremonies were over, the king and queen tired out with the fatigues of the day went to rest; and so sleepy were they that directly their heads touched their pillows, they fell asleep. The minister, however, had hidden himself behind a screen in the bridal chamber. He saw the snake come out of his hiding place in the roof, wriggle along a beam and then drop poison on the face of the sleeping queen. He stepped up to the bed, kissed the poison off the queen’s face and then took a deep draught of milk. The queen woke up on feeling the kiss and roused the king. They were both very angry at seeing the minister in their room and the king called to his guards to seize the minister and hang him early next morning from the battlements of the palace. The guards seized the poor old minister and took him to prison. There the old man asked to see the king before he died, as a last favour. The king had not the heart to refuse it. The minister was taken in chains to the royal palace and there he poured out the whole truth. But as he related how the parrot had warned him about the demon horse, his feet and legs turned to marble; then as he told about the poisoned plate, his body as far as his armpits turned to marble; lastly when he had finished the tale of the poison dropped by the snake, his head and shoulders became marble, too.

The king was at first too astonished to do anything and then he wept bitterly at the awful fate that had overtaken his loyal and faithful servant. He put the petrified body in a room in his palace and daily for several years prostrated himself at its feet to shew his sorrow. In course of time the queen bore him a son and every day he used to bring the little boy into the minister’s room to shew him what a good and true servant he had once had. One day when the little boy was three years old, the very same parrot and maina, that had perched in the ship’s rigging, flew into the minister’s room and began talking to each other. The king just because he was standing close to the minister was able to follow what they were saying. The parrot said to the maina “The king is very sad at the fate of his minister; but he could bring him back to life now, if he wanted to.” “How could he?” asked the maina. The parrot answered “If he kills his own son and sprinkles his blood over the stone body, the minister will become flesh and blood once more.” The king thought long and deeply where his duty lay; at last he felt that he owed more to the faithful minister who had saved his life three times than to his son. He drew his sword, cut off the little boy’s head and sprinkled his blood over the marble body. The minister at once came to life again. Nor was this all. The minister learning of the death of the little prince prayed so earnestly to God to bring him back to life that his prayer was granted. The king then took the minister and the little prince to the queen’s room and told her all that had happened. She agreed that the king had acted rightly, even though his act would but for God’s mercy, have cost her her son. The minister once more resumed his duties; and he and the king, the queen and the little prince lived together happily for ever so long afterwards.

THE NOOSE OF MURAD.

Near the small town of Naushahro in the district of Nawabshah, there is an old fort called Murad jo Killo or Murad’s Fort. It is a big place, but crumbling to ruins; still the walls that remain are so wide that three men, so it is said, can sleep on them side by side. There is also in that part of the country a proverbial saying, used when anyone grumbles at his lot, “Does he want Murad jo phaho” (the noose of Murad). Now this is the tale that is told both of the fort and of the proverbial saying:

Somewhere in the early part of the eighteenth century, when Nur Mahomed Kalhoro was ruler of Sind, he had as jamadar or headman of his grass-cutters a certain Murad, known as Murad Ganjo or Murad the Bald. So completely had his hair vanished, that you might have looked all over his head from north to south and from east to west and then any other way you liked, but you would not have found a single hair on any part of it. Murad used daily to inspect the grass-cutters’ work and when on this duty, he noticed an old half-mad woman called Fatima. For some days he paid no attention to her. Then it occurred to him that the old woman might be a witch or sorceress, whom it might be well to propitiate; so he reverently went up to her and asked for her blessing. The old woman looked at him attentively and then blessed him, adding “Murad the Bald, you will become a kardar,” or as we should say nowadays a tapedar or talati. Murad thought no more about the prophecy until one day Nur Mahomed Kalhoro, in return for Murad’s honesty and hard work, promoted him from jamadar of grass-cutters to be a kardar.

Murad was now quite certain that the old woman was a real sorceress, one to be made much of in every way. For many months he brought her daily small gifts of food or money; then he summoned up courage to ask again for her blessing. Again the old woman looked at him intently, blessed him and added “Murad the Bald, you will be a naib subha,” or as we should say nowadays a Deputy Collector. Not many months passed before Nur Mahomed Kalhoro, still more pleased with Murad’s steady and faithful work, promoted him to be a Naib Subha. There is a French proverb which says L’appétit vient en mangeant, that is to say the greedy are never satisfied; and Murad began to feel soon that the post of Naib Subha was far beneath his merits. He plied the old woman with more valuable gifts and for the third time asked her blessing. She looked intently at him as before and blessing him for the third time said “Murad the Bald, you will become a subha” or as we should say a Collector of a district. Murad the Bald not very long afterwards was given charge of a district, thereby reaching a post far above his deserts. He was still an ignorant, unlettered boor and for a time he was fully satisfied with his office. He built the great fort known as Murad jo Killo and seemed perfectly contented. But after a year or two be began to think that the old woman, who had raised him so high, might raise him higher still, might make him a king or perhaps even emperor of Delhi. After all stranger things had happened before and “Allah alone knoweth all.” Tortured by his insatiable greed, Murad the Bald showered jewels and gold on the old woman and for the fourth time asked for her blessing. But this time a terrible thing occurred. Instead of the fixed kindly look, that she had been used to give him, her eyes flashed with demoniac fury and instead of a blessing, she cursed him “Murad the Bald,” she screamed at him “you will rise higher still, you will be hanged.” Poor Murad left the witch as she raved and gnashed her teeth and going home, tried in vain to put the matter out of his mind.

Now it so happened that the Afghan ruler of Multan, Nadir Khan by name, lost the youngest and most beautiful of his wives. She fell in love with one of her lord’s servants and ran away with him right out of the Multan province into Murad’s district. She took with her a huge diamond and a priceless manuscript on surgery and medicine. Murad the Bald came to hear of the arrival of the two fugitives and promptly took from them the diamond and the manuscript, which he stored in the royal treasure house of Nur Mahomed Kalhoro. The queen and her lover, fearing that they might themselves be detained and given over to Nadir Khan, fled from Sind pretending that they were going on a pilgrimage to Mecca.

In the meantime the indignant Nadir Khan in vain looked all over his kingdom for his missing queen and servant. At last he learnt that she and her lover had fled into the lands of Nur Mahomed Kalhoro. Nadir Khan summoned his army and marching to the frontier, demanded the surrender of the queen and her lover, the diamond and the manuscript. Nur Mahomed Kalhoro enquired of Murad and learnt that the guilty couple had fled, but that the diamond and the manuscript were safe in his treasury. He sent back the manuscript and the diamond. “These came into our hands,” he wrote, “but they do not belong to us. The guilty couple have fled, so we cannot return them, but take the manuscript and the diamond since they are yours. We do not want them nor do we wish for war. Nevertheless, if you are bent on war, we shall accept your challenge. We shall gladly shew you how strong are our arms and how sharp are our swords.”

Nadir Khan liked Nur Mahomed’s answer and instead of war there was peace, and instead of battles and skirmishes there were visits and reviews and banquets. Nevertheless Nadir the Afghan was not quite sure that Nur Mahomed Kalhoro had not seized his beautiful queen and hidden her in some deep recess of his own harem. He sent for Murad and begged him to speak the truth: “If my queen and servant have really gone to Mecca, it is useless to search for them here; but if Nur Mahomed Kalhoro is secretly keeping my queen, then I shall slay him and give his throne to the man, who tells me the whole truth.” As Murad listened to the words of the Afghan, Satan the Stoned seized his five senses. Forgetting all his master’s kindness and favours, he thought to himself that there now stretched in front of him an open and easy road to a throne. With seeming reluctance he confessed that the queen and her paramour had never left Sind. Nur Mahomed Kalhoro had taken the queen to be his concubine and had cut off the head of her paramour with a single stroke of his sword, just as if he had been a buffalo. Nadir the Afghan believing Murad and angry at what he believed to be the double dealing of Nur Mahomed Kalhoro, resolved to march into Sind and to seat Murad on the throne in his place. He had gone only one march when the news reached him that his missing queen and her lover had been found in the country of a neighbouring Raja, who was sending them back in chains to their master.

Nadir the Afghan was now as angry with Murad as he had been with Nur Mahomed Kalhoro. He told the latter the lying tale told by his subha Murad. Mahomed Nur was shocked at the ingratitude of the base born wretch on whom he had lavished favours. His horsemen rode out and seized Murad the Bald and at the king’s orders, hanged him from the battlements of his own fortress. So ended the fortunes of the greedy and faithless adventurer; and that is why men say to-day that it is better to be contented with one’s lot than to rise so high that in the end one dangles from the end of a rope forty or fifty feet above the ground.

THE MAKLI HILL.

Most English visitors to Tatta go there for the shooting only and I should be the last to blame them. Below the ancient fort of Kalankot near Tatta is a lake of the same name. It is quite shallow and overgrown with tall reeds, the home of innumerable duck. They rise all round, as one is poled in boats through lanes cut among the reeds and quick eye and hand are needed before they can be bagged. But close to the bungalow are a number of ancient tombs; and as no record of their owners is to be found on the walls, a few facts about them may prove interesting to future visitors.

The tombs are built on a ridge known as the Makli Hill. Two derivations of the name are given. Some say that the hill owes its title to a pious woman called Makli who lived and was buried on it. Others say that a holy man gave it the name of Makli because he deemed it Maka laali or the threshold of Mecca. Whatever the true origin may be, let us take the tombs from north to south and put down what we know about them. The farthest to the north is a brick tomb on a masonry plinth, plastered and white-washed. Beneath it lie the earthly remains of Sayad Ali Shirazi. Great saint though he was, he would long ago have been forgotten, save for the fact that for a moment his career touched that of the great Akbar. The Emperor Humayun, defeated in battle after battle by the great Afghan soldier Sher Shah, fled to Sind. After trying in vain to establish himself at Sehwan and Bukkur, he started for Bikanir, only to learn that the Chief meant to hand him over to his enemy. He turned back and made his way first to Jasalmir and then through the desert to Umarkot. Most of his companions died of thirst. The others losing in their misery all respect for their leader, let him walk so that his wife, Akbar’s mother, should ride. At last with only seven attendants he reached Umarkot and there on the 14th October 1542 Akbar was born. Humayun had neither gifts to distribute to his friends nor clothes in which to wrap the baby. The first difficulty he overcame by breaking a pod of musk and letting its perfume spread among his guests, at the same time exclaiming with prophetic truth that his baby boy’s fame would diffuse itself through the world like the fragrance of the musk. The second difficulty he met by cutting Akbar’s first garment out of the coat of Sayad Ali Shirazi, who had been sent by the people of Tatta with gifts and greetings. Ali Shirazi lived for thirty years afterwards and the date of his burial is inscribed on his tomb, viz., 1752 A.D.

South of the Sayad’s tomb is that of Makli, the eponymous heroine of the hill, and south of Makli’s is that of Jam Nindo. It is easily distinguished as it has no roof and its stones were evidently taken from some ancient Hindu temple. Jam Nindo or the Little Jam was the founder of Tatta. His real name was Jam Nizam-ud-din and he was a Samma by caste. Here we must go back into early Sind History. When the Afghan Emperor Ala-ud-din Khilji conquered Sind, a Rajput tribe named the Sumras were in possession. Subdued then, they successfully revolted in the reign of Ghazi-ud-din Tughlak. In the middle of the 14th century, however, they were ousted by another Rajput tribe the Sammas. The latter ruled Sind from 1350 A.D. to 1521 A.D. But until Jam Nindo’s time they did not live at Tatta. They lived at Samui three miles to the northwest. When Jam Nindo had established his power and cleared the land of robbers, he thought he would build a new town, “wherein happiness might remain for ever.” He chose a site to the east of the Makli Hill and on a day picked out by the Brahmans, he founded his city, Tatta. There he ruled for at least fifty years and was buried on the Makli Hill. Another Samma chief buried there was Jam Tamachi. He was the Jam who loved the fisher maiden Nuri and was the ancestor of the Jadeja Raos of Cutch. But it is not possible to say with certainty which his tomb is! [3]

Jam Nindo’s son and successor was Jam Feroz. But the new Jam loved too warmly the beauty of his dancing girls and the jokes of his jesters to be a good ruler. The result was that in 1521 A.D. he was driven from his throne by Shahbeg Arghun, who had himself been driven from Kandahar by the lion-hearted Babar. In 1536 A.D. Shah Hussein Arghun succeeded his father Shahbeg and was the ruler of Sind when Humayun fled to it and Akbar was born. In 1554 he died and Mirza Isa Tarkhan, the founder of the Tarkhan Dynasty, became master of Tatta. It is to his tomb to which we come, shortly after saying goodbye to Jam Nindo’s. Isa Khan’s last dwelling place stands in a large courtyard close to an old mosque. The tomb is entirely of carved stone with perforated slabs let in here and there. It was in Mirza Isa’s time that the Portuguese sacked Tatta. It seems that in 1555 Mirza Isa Khan quarrelled with Sultan Mahmud the Governor of Bukkur by whose aid he had become King of Sind. Isa Khan sent an envoy to Goa to ask help from the Portuguese. The fame of that nation in India was then at its height. Only a few years before they had helped the King of Guzarat to drive out Humayun and in return had received Bassein and the whole Province of the north including Salsette Island. With their aid Isa Khan felt sure that he could humble Sultan Mahmud. On the other hand, no doubt, the Portuguese Governor-General dreamed visions of a second northern province on the banks of the Indus. He sent a fleet of 28 ships with 700 men under Pedro Baretto. The gallant Pedro duly sailed up the Indus and reaching Tatta asked for orders. In the meantime, however, Isa Khan had in several actions instilled into Sultan Mahmud Khan a sense of his inferiority and had forced him to sue for peace. Isa Khan sent word from Bukkur that he no longer needed Portuguese help. Pedro then asked for the cost of the expedition, estimated, I dare say, on a liberal scale. Isa Khan politely refused to pay. Dom Pedro flew into a rage, sacked Tatta, killed 800 people, took away two millions sterling and left the town in flames. Isa Khan rebuilt the town but he entered into no more alliances with the Portuguese. He ruled prosperously until 1572 A.D. when he died and was buried on the Makli Hill.

On Isa Khan’s death his son Mahomed Baki succeeded him. His tomb is a small ruined brick enclosure, the one immediately to the north of Tural Beg’s, of whom I shall say a word or two later. Isa Khan’s tomb is a poor thing compared with his father’s and his son’s, but then so was Mahomed Baki himself. For twelve years he gave the good people of Tatta a dreadful time. To slit their ears and noses and shave off their beards was the favourite pastime of his leisure moments. To hang them, impale them and throw them under the feet of his elephants was the serious business of his life. At last in 1584, having lived to see his daughter returned with thanks by the Emperor Akbar, he committed suicide. To him succeeded his son Jani Beg, whose tomb is the southernmost of all. It is of brick, faced with glazed blue and green tiles. It has a perforated window above the door and there are geometric tracery windows also on the four sides. By the time Jani Beg had succeeded his father, the genius of Akbar was at its zenith. Sultan Mahmud of Bukkur yielded to the great Emperor his sovereignty without a blow. But Jani Beg was of sterner stuff. Entrenching himself behind the river Phito, he withstood for some months the imperial forces. Driven from his trenches he fell back on the great fort of Kalankot; but that Akbar should not use Tatta as his base, he destroyed it and left the emperor a smouldering ruin. Yet brave as he was, he had at last to kiss the stirrup of the world conqueror, was graciously received and confirmed as imperial governor of Tatta. He died there in 1599. The Emperor confirmed in his place his son Ghazi Beg. The latter lived until 1612, when he was murdered. His body was buried in the same tomb as Jani Beg and the common grave was for many years the scene of a curious pilgrimage. Both father and son were renowned as poets and musicians and childless couples who desired off-spring, used to visit their tomb and try and win the favour of their spirits by songs and instruments. But efficacious as his spiritual aid may have been in procuring sons for barren women, poor Ghazi remained childless himself. He had no son and with him the Tarkhan dynasty of Sind ended.

The Moghul emperors thereafter ruled Sind through governors appointed directly from Delhi. The Tomb of Diwan Shurfa Khan, the minister of one of these governors, Amirkhan by name, is one of the best preserved on Makli Hill. Another less well preserved, but even more imposing tomb, that of Nawab Isa Khan, dates from the same period A.D. 1628–1644. It has an upper storey to which leads a flight of stairs. To the east of Isa Khan’s tomb are the graves of the ladies of his ample Zanana. To the south of Isakhan’s tomb is quite a small one, that of Mirza Tural Beg. It appears that he misused his position by artificially forcing up the price of grain and then selling his stock at a large profit. He was so hated in his life-time that he took the precaution to build his own tomb. But even so he did not escape infamy. He was nicknamed the “Dukario” or “Famine Man” and every one who passed his grave used regularly to heave a stone at it. In time the stones were piled up right to the stone canopy above it. Fortunately for the “Famine Man” the Public Works Department have taken charge of his tomb and have removed the stones. But his memory is still detested and his present address is believed to be somewhere in the very centre of the flaming halls of Iblis.

LARKANA.

A few miles from Larkana at a place called Fatehpur is a handsome mosque. In its courtyard hang innumerable bells. I long tried in vain to learn its history but at last I obtained from Mr. Bherumal, Inspector of Excise, the following legend.

The town of Larkana derives its name from the tribe of Larak and was probably at one time called Larakanjo got or the village of the Larak tribesmen. They were followers of a family known to history as the Kalhoras, whose family name Abbassi lent strength to their claim that they were sprung from the loins of Abbas, the uncle of the holy Prophet. After the conquest of Sind by Akbar, it became a province of the Moghul empire; but with the decline of the imperial power, authority relaxed and disorder grew. Of this disorder the Kalhoras took advantage. The first great Kalhoro was Adam Shah, who “drank the sherbet of martyrdom at Multan” or in simpler language was killed in an obscure fight with the Moghul governor of that city. Adam Shah’s grandson Shahlal Mahomed was the famous saint, whose memory still lives in the Fatehpur mosque. His first and perhaps greatest—certainly his most useful—miracle was the digging of the Ghar canal that runs past Larkana town. He did not dig it with a spade. His methods were simpler and more efficient. He mounted a Kando or thorn tree. Once firmly seated in its upper branches, he made the wretched vegetable drag its roots from Larkana to Kambar, a distance of twelve miles. In the deep hollow caused by the progress of the Kando tree, flowed the obedient water. The stream so created came to be known as the Shahlal Wah or the canal of Shahlal Mahomed. Many years later Mian Nur Mahomed Kalhoro widened the Shahlal Wah and changed its name to Ghar canal, i.e., the canal broken by the tree driven by the Saint’s superhuman powers. The Ghar canal bears this name to the present day and the tree which Shahlal Mahomed used as his humble instrument is still pointed out on the bank of the Chilo canal in the Kambar taluka.

The miracle of the Ghar canal was followed by so many others that the imperial governor became alarmed at the Saint’s growing fame and power. He reported the facts to Aurangzeb and obtained that emperor’s leave to shorten Shahlal Mahomed’s stature by a head. After a mighty resistance the Saint was taken captive and executed. The governor put his head in a wooden box and sealing it sent it in charge of a police guard to the emperor’s camp. When the police guard reached Lahore they out of curiosity opened the box, in order to see what the head looked like. The lid was no sooner lifted than the head flew out and made its way through the air to Shahlal Mahomed’s favourite village of Fatehpur, wherein the Saint’s body lay buried. The police guard were so alarmed at the strange behaviour of the head that they dared neither return to Larkana nor go on to Delhi. They buried the empty box in Lahore and building a shrine over it, appointed themselves its guardians.

The emperor, however, who was eagerly expecting the sealed box, got disturbed at its delay. He sent a body of troops to Lahore to find out what had happened to it. At first they could find out nothing. At last hearing of the new shrine, they went there and extorted from its guardians the whole truth. They then dug up the ground and unearthed the box. Opening it they found it, not only to their own amazement but to that of the quondam police guard, by no means empty. It contained another head of Shahlal Mahomed exactly similar to the one that had flown away. The troops carried away box and head and showed them to Aurangzeb. Convinced of the miracle, the devout emperor felt sure that he had killed a Saint. To show his repentance of his cruel deed, he had a tomb built at Delhi over the box and the head. In the meantime, the Larak tribe and the other countless disciples of Shahlal Mahomed had built the mosque at Fatehpur over the holy man’s body and true head, once more in union. Thus the great saint is honoured by no less than three tombs, one at Fatehpur, where lie his real head and body, a second at Lahore where the empty box was buried and disinterred, and a third at Delhi where the second head lies.

The descendants of Shahlal Mahomed were the famous Kalhoro Mirs who ruled Sind until overthrown by the Talpurs. Their capital was Haidarabad but they always loved Larkana for the sake of their ancestor; and the fame of its prosperity and wealth under the Kalhoros is still preserved in the well-known couplet

Hujie Nano Ta gumh Larkano

If you have money (to spend) then go to Larkana.

TWO LOVE TRAGEDIES.

KUTTEJI KABAR AND MAUSUM SHAH.

One of the highest peaks of the Baluch mountains along the frontier of the Larkana district is known as the Kutteji kabar. This is the tale they tell about it. Once upon a time a rich Brohi hillman owned a very faithful and obedient dog. The Brohi was at one time rich, but from one cause or another he lost his wealth and of all his riches nothing was left to him but his dog. One day when he had no money left, he mortgaged his dog for a hundred rupees to a bania of the neighbourhood. Before leaving it, he bade his hound serve its new master as faithfully as it had served him. The dog wagged its tail as if it fully understood what the hillman told him.

Several months passed by and the dog was as obedient to the bania as it had been to the Brohi. One night a band of fierce robbers broke into the house of the bania, over-powered the inmates and carried off the savings of the merchant’s life-time. After the robbers had left, the bania began to mourn and beat his breast. In an hour or so the dog came to him and tugged at his coat. The bania abused and beat it for not having guarded him against the robbers. But the dog continued so to pull at his coat, that the neighbours advised him to go with the dog and see what it wanted. The dog led by the way for a mile or so until it came to a torrent bed, when it began to dig in the ground with its paws. The bania and his neighbours also began to dig; at last they came upon the bania’s safe with his money secure inside it. The dog seeing that it could not fight with success against a band of armed robbers, waited until they had left and then followed them until it saw them conceal their plunder. Then it went back to tell the bania. The latter was so touched at the dog’s fidelity and sense that he tied round its neck a letter to the Brohi. In it he told his debtor that he cancelled his debt and asked him to take his dog back free of incumbrances. Then he told the dog to go back to its master. Off it went wagging its tail and barking delightedly at the thought of seeing its old master.

Now it so chanced that the Brohi hillman had by working in the plains saved a sum sufficient to pay off his debt and he was returning to the hills to do so. On the way he met his hound. It rushed towards him in a transport of joy. But the hillman who knew nothing of the dog’s conduct and did not notice the letter round its neck, thought that it had disgraced him by running away from his creditor before he had paid his debt. A man of high honour, he grew very angry and holding out the fingers of his right hand made the bhundo sign in the dog’s face. This deadly and contemptuous insult was too much for the poor dog. It fell at its master’s feet and died on the spot. The Brohi tried in vain to bring it back to life. As he tried, he saw the bania’s letter round its neck and learnt too late how innocent the dead dog had been. In his grief, he bore the dog’s body to the highest peak of the neighbouring mountains and buried it there. For some time he remained by the tomb as its majawar or guardian. Then he sickened and died also. But the peak is still known as Kutteji kabar.

Another love story of a different kind is told of the minaret of Mausum Shah, that looks down from a great height on the thriving town of Sukkur and the splendid river Indus, as it runs through its two limestone banks. A certain Musulman called Mausumshah fell in love with one of the bania girls of Sukkur, whose beauty is renowned through all Sind. But he was a Musulman and the lady was a Hindu. The lady would not join Islam and he could not, if he would, become a Hindu. Yet unless one or the other became a convert, marriage between them was impossible. The lady moreover had little liking for her Musulman wooer, although perhaps a little flattered by his pressing attentions. To be rid of his ardent importunities, she bade him build a minaret, two hundred feet high before he aspired to her hand. But she had not realised the passion of the unhappy Mausum Shah. He set to work, collected stones and coolies and before the Hindu lady was very much older, she saw to her horror a splendid minaret rising above the ground. In a few more months it was finished and Mausum Shah full of pride and love went to claim the hand of his beloved. But as Francis the First, an experienced judge of the fair sex, used to say “Souvent femme varie, fol qui s’y fie,” and the lady proved as untractable as ever. In spite of her former implied promise she still refused to wed a circumcised barbarian. “I did not say that I would marry you,” she said “when you had finished the minaret. I only wanted you to build it that you might throw yourself from the top!” Cruelty could go no further; and the broken-hearted lover ascending the minaret, took a last view of the splendid panorama unrolled before his eyes and plunged head first from the pinnacle. Legend, however, relates that he never struck the ground, nor was he dashed to pieces. A divine hand caught him as he fell and put him safely on his feet. His love for the beautiful Hindu girl had died within him. He had seen the selfish heart that beat within her beautiful body. Giving up the things of this world, he became an anchorite and taught the precepts of Islam until death overtook him. He was buried at the foot of the tower from which he had once thrown himself. And to this day his tomb and those of his disciples may be seen there by the visitor to Sukkur.

SWAMI VANKHANDI OF SADH BELO.

The early history of Sadh Belo is closely connected with that of the famous Swami Vankhandi. Swami Vankhandi had been incarnated once in the seventeenth century, for we find him receiving worship as early as 1710. We, however, are only concerned with his second incarnation, which occurred in or about A.D. 1764. In the later descent on earth he lived and practised yog or asceticism at Muran Jharee in the territory of H.H. The Maharaja of Nepal. While he was still a young man his reputation for holiness spread far and wide; but it aroused the envy and malice of another anchorite of Muran Jharee named Gusai Sanyasi Sadhu. At last Gusai could contain himself no longer and made his way to the court of the Maharaja. There he told his sovereign that a certain sadhu of Muran Jharee had vowed by his austerities to destroy the kingdom. He warned the Maharaja that for several months the Sadhu had touched neither food nor water and he begged his master to destroy the Sadhu before it was too late. The Maharaja was alarmed and sent an army to take prisoner the seditious anchorite and bring him to Kathmandu, the chief town of Nepal.

When the army appeared at Muran Jharee, they found Swami Vankhandi absorbed in contemplation. As they watched him their own warlike spirit ebbed away and they were filled with a great calm; without saying a word they waited until the Swami thought fit to lift his eyes towards them. The Nepal General then told the Swami that he had received orders to take him prisoner and humbly implored his pardon. The Swami forgave him and told him that he would go on ahead of the army and wait for them at Kathmandu. With these words the Swami vanished and although the General and his officers searched for him everywhere, they could not find him. At last they returned to Kathmandu and just outside the walls, they found the Swami sitting in a deep religious trance, in the shade of a banian tree. They did not disturb him but went straight to the Maharaja, to whom they told all that had happened. The Maharaja saw that he had been deceived by the wicked Gusai and drove him from the town; then he asked for the pardon and blessing of Swami Vankhandi. The Swami saw that the Maharaja had truly repented and forgave and blessed him. Then he vanished and in the twinkling of an eye was once more to be seen at his own place in Muran Jharee.

Many and great were the miracles recorded of Swami Vankhandi, but the one that will interest English readers most is the summary way in which he dealt with a certain Captain Pauk Wales, a gentleman whom I have not been able to trace in English works of reference. In 1822 Swami Vankhandi after many pilgrimages to the holy shrines of India came to Sind. Cholera was then raging in Haidarabad, but the Swami’s presence proved sufficient to drive it away. From Haidarabad he went to Khairpur and Rohri and seeing Sadh Belo island in the river Indus near Sukkur resolved to settle there and found a monastery. There he lived for twenty years until such time as Sir Charles Napier conquered Sind and appointed Captain Pauk Wales as Collector of the Shikarpur district. Captain Pauk Wales, wholly ignorant of the power and fame of the Swami, thought that Sadh Belo island would be an ideal place for a collector’s bungalow. With Captain Pauk Wales, action followed swiftly on the heels of thought. He sent for masons and building materials and began to build a bungalow. But every morning that he went to look at the work, he found that during the night it had been levelled with the ground. He was convinced that the masons and the Swami were acting in collusion and he set a guard of English soldiers over Sadh Belo. Although the soldiers never closed their eyes all night, Captain Pauk Wales next day found that not only had the masonry work been thrown down in the night, but that the bricks, mortar and all the building materials collected by him had vanished. In a rage he went up to the Swami and roundly abused him. While Captain Pauk Wales was swearing horribly, the Swami, shocked beyond measure, vanished into thin air. That night both Captain Pauk Wales and his wife were seized with internal pains of an agonising description. After a night of anguish Mrs. Pauk Wales advised her lord and master to beg the Swami’s pardon. For a long time the Swami could not be found, but with the aid of the townspeople, he was eventually traced to a spot outside Sukkur, where he was quietly singing to himself. Captain Pauk Wales threw himself at the Swami’s feet and promised never more to interfere with his holy island.

Swami Vankhandi lived on to the ripe age of a hundred. Feeling himself nigh to death, he sent for his disciples and warned them of his approaching end. He told them that he would hold his breath until his soul departed. When they thought him dead, they should put a pat of butter on his forehead. If it did not melt, it meant that he had ceased to live. They should then throw his corpse into the Indus river. The disciples faithfully carried out their master’s wishes and when the pat of butter did not melt on his forehead, they threw his body into the great river. They had barely done so, when a rich merchant of Shikarpur came to Sadh Belo with a precious necklace of pearls for Vankhandi, of whose death he was unaware. Learning that Vankhandi was no more, the merchant refused to return to Shikarpur and infinitely firm of purpose, he vowed to sit by the edge of the river and neither to eat nor to drink until the Swami came himself to accept the necklace. On the second night the Swami in a dream promised that he would appear before his devoted follower the next day. Fortified by the vision, the Shikarpur merchant sat on by the edge of the stream. At noon the body of the Swami rose out of the Indus and the merchant put the necklace round its neck. The body then lay on the bank and the merchant called to him the anchorites of the place, who once more consigned reverently the body of the Saint into the whirling waters of the mighty river.