Bibi Rani sat in the courtyard dreaming. It was still early and the fresh, sweet air, the flat, Eastern roofs with their burden of cots and white-clad figures, and above all the quaintly clad maiden in the courtyard told of India, and India of the springtime. It was the spring, it must be the spring, thought Bibi Rani. She restlessly shifted her chin on the palm of her hand, making the jewels on her forehead and hands clink and the rich crimson scarf slip away from her dark hair and delicate face. What made her think of him? Ah, she would not think of him; it was immodest! Two slender hands covered the face; the jewels clinked again.
"Bibi Rani!" called a voice from the House of the Courtyard. "Where art thou? Come and see the beautiful silks the merchant has sent in!"
"Yes, mother." But the little gold-embroidered slippers still lay undisturbed beneath the bed, and Bibi Rani still lay dreaming. How handsome he was! And he had said, "The third time will be the last time." What had he meant?
"Bibi Rani!" and the voice was so close that the dreamer slipped from the bed and into the shoes.
"Well, thou hast missed him now; he could not wait any longer. And I wanted thee to see the green silk roll."
A stately, middle-aged woman with aristocratic Mohammedan features sat down on the bed which Bibi Rani had left.
"I might as well tell thee, Bibi Rani; I have sent to the merchants for clothes for thy dowry. It is high time! Eighteen and unmarried! Another year and thou wouldst be an old maid and our family disgraced."
"Married, mother? I," then Bibi Rani hung her head, for the Mohammedan girl must not talk of her marriage; it was immodest. Besides, what need had she to do that? Her parents saved her all trouble by choosing the man and arranging the wedding.
"Shameless girl!" started the mother, when the door of the courtyard opened and shut behind the white-clad, turbaned form of a man.
"Why, what is the matter?"
Even as he spoke Bibi Rani ran to him, her father who spoiled her and took her part against her brothers.
"Father! I - must I -?" she halted before him, her face half hidden in the falling scarf.
"Must you? What is the matter?" asked the man, turning to his wife.
"I have just told her about her marriage."
"And this is the way she takes it? For shame, Bibi Rani! After I worked so hard to get thee a man of good family! Zahir-ud-din belongs to the oldest families, is rich and healthy. What more could a girl want? - Nay, I am vexed with thee. Go indoors; I would speak to thy mother."
With the crimson scarf trailing and the jewels on the feet and hands and face chiming daintily, the little Mohammedan maiden crept into the house. Zahir-ud-din! Must she marry Zahir-ud-din? Ah, it was cruel; it was cruel. He was so young and so handsome, and that man who in three months would be her husband was as old as her father - and ugly.
Bibi Rani had wandered into one of the many little rooms that made up the House of the Courtyard. She stood crouching by the outer door. From the large living-room in the center came the sound of children bawling and women talking, while around her the heavy odor of musk and spice was almost visible - and yet - Suddenly Bibi Rani looked across the room to where hung a rose-colored scarf, torn and bunched, from which stole a fragrance of roses which overpowered even the musk and the spice. She stood still as if listening, then gently opened the door into the living-room. The noise swept in like a gust; she closed the door. They had not missed her; and, really, as no one could see her, it was not immodest. Yet she hesitated, for she was an Indian Maiden; but the sun poured in from the window, a bulbul singing outside gave sound to the waving of the green, fresh trees. It was springtime, and why should she not yield to her whim? She walked up to the pink scarf.
"My lord," she whispered in its folds, "your hand touched this - it was the second time; oh, I would not be bold - but I would see you again - no matter if it be 'the last time' and I die then."
There was silence.
"My lord," she whispered again, "I kiss the print of your hand."
"What is that thou art doing, Bibi Rani?" A little boy stood in the doorway which led to the living-room.
"Ah, Hakim." The little maid started towards him, confused. "Ah, brother, nothing at all."
"Why, that is thy best scarf - the one that got torn and mother was so angry, when our carriage upset in the sand." He chuckled. "Did n't you women squeal! Now men like me - a-hum," as Bibi Rani hid her mouth behind her hand. "Thou needst not laugh, Bibi Rani. I saw thee when the gallant on horseback pulled thee out from the sandhill, and thy scarf was torn and thy hair was mussed and the sand was in thy eyes and mouth and nose! There! Thou wast like a drowned muskrat! There!"
"Nay, nay, Hakim, do not be angry; come, I will give thee my sweetmeats; come, talk to me. Hakim!" But Hakim had slammed the door. In a moment he appeared again.
"I am glad thou art to be married! I hope thy husband will beat thee, and mother said that we have all finished breakfast and thou hadst better come."
Soberly Bibi Rani followed the haughty little man.
For the next few days there was pleasant excitement in the house. Merchants came daily to display their goods; jewelers sent in handsome bracelets and earrings. The mother, cousins, friends, and maids of the bride-to-be buzzed around the house as excited as if the nuptials were their own; but the little maiden whose marriage it was that caused the fever slunk around as if she had committed a crime, hanging her head or walking quickly away when they talked of the wedding, for that is what a modest Indian maid must do. Her friends smiled now and again or teased her indirectly, but as a rule the bride was left to herself while the bride's clothes were discussed.
"Thy mayans begin to-morrow, Bibi Rani." The mother spoke gently, for the girl was her only daughter and the mayans were the beginning of the end when she would lose her.
The huldi, a really good, strong yellow dye, which ought to make thee as ugly as can be desired, is ready. Thou wilt shine as the sun on thy wedding day in contrast to the three weeks of the yellow paint."
Bibi Rani spoke no word, and the drooping scarf hid her face.
The mother continued. "He will be good to thee, daughter. It was his great desire to have thee. May the blessing of the prophet go with thee!"
Bibi Rani murmured, "Yes, mother," and walked slowly out of the room. She wandered restlessly about the courtyard and then shut herself again in the room of the Rose-colored Scarf. The scarf was gone. She went and stood by the barred window. She could just see the tops of the trees and a bit of the sky; it was cloudy and it looked like rain; the room was gloomy, for there was no sun and the bright scarf was missing.
"He is a man," she said. "He can do anything. Why, if he wanted to he could break this door and take me away; he could, he could - but - perhaps he does n't want to,"she whispered with bent head.
The inner door jarred. Instinctively Bibi Rani went towards it; she stopped with her hand on the bar. It was her mother talking to her aunt.
"Of course, I did not know," she said.
The aunt answered, "Now really, was n't that strange! I am glad Bibi Rani was not bold."
"The poor child was as frightened as I was. We had never traveled by the Iron Road before and the snorting of that big 'engine,' they call it - well, I swore I would never travel that way again!"
"Well," the aunt said, "you always seem to have ill luck in your journeys. Let me see, two months ago it was that your closed carriage upset. Ah, that was terrible!"
"But the living horse is an animal and can be checked, while that iron monster, holy prophets! I don't wonder Bibi Rani fainted." Here the listening girl heard a thud and a yell. "Hakim, my son!" The rustling of silk accompanied her mother's footsteps as she hurried to the rescue of the Young Pretender.
Bibi Rani was frightened. Had they found out her secret? Was that the reason they were marrying her off so quickly? The handsome stranger had only caught her as she fell and saved her from the cruel iron wheels. But her parents did not care; they did not love her; they would rather have her marry the old Zahir-ud-din, because he was of good family. And then, as the rain beat on the barred window, Bibi Rani wept.
"I have been immodest to think - to think - thus - of a - man - but I do not want to marry Zahir-ud-din. Oh, Allah, Allah!"
A ray of sunlight quivered into the room of the Rose-colored Scarf; it fell at the feet of the little maiden. But still she sobbed. Then the soft spring air, wet with the scent of the fallin rain, crept in through the iron bars and touched the hair and the bent face in the shadows. Bibi Rani looked up and then out into the big, open world. There was a dark cloud across the blue sky, but it was the sunlight that made it dark. A bird flew across the window, its feathers all wet, but its song still fresh and sweet and happy.
But who was that man? She stood on tiptoe and his turbaned head was all she could see. Old Zahir-ud-din, she supposed! Why should he be in her beautiful picture of spring? He was old. Yes, when he played with her in her girlhood days he was old. - But there was the sky, the trees, and the fragrance of roses blew on her face; it was springtime, things must come right somehow. The mayans began to-morrow, that was three weeks: then the actual wedding ceremonies lasted several days. Oh, there was time, time, time; much could happen even in one hour!
Bibi Rani had been so engrossed in her calculations that she had not noticed the sudden quiet of the living-room, and a whispered conversation by her door startled her. This time her father and mother were talking.
"He can't," snapped her mother.
"He will," said her father. "What is the use? We cannot do anything. We are bound to our promise. You had better tell the girl."
There was a pause.
"It is really not so bad," continued the man's voice. "We won't be blamed and it will save much expense. Tell the girl; I will see to the things outside."
A door slammed. There was quiet.
The girl stood with dilating eyes. What was it? What was wrong? The bands of sunlight filling the room tried to draw her to the spring outside, but Bibi Rani stood by the door. What was wrong?
"Bibi! Bibi Rani, where art thou?"
"Here, mother." She unbarred the door.
The mother entered, sat down on the floor, and rocked herself as she wept.
"I had planned it all out - he has got the priest on his side - he wants thee to be married - to-morrow."
To-morrow! Bibi Rani crouched against the wall and drew her scarf around her. To-morrow!
"But the mayans," she faltered.
"Did I not tell thee he has the priest and every one else on his side?" snapped her mother. "Well," the woman rose, "we must hurry; there is much to be done; the ceremony begins in two hours. Come, thou must be washed and dressed."
The door closed on the empty room of the Rose-colored Scarf.
It was nearing dawn. Bibi Rani had sworn to the lawyer behind the curtain concerning the dowry that would content her should her husband prove unfaithful; she had submitted to the hanging of handsome clothes and jewels upon her; and now she sat in the room of the Rose-colored Scarf with her mother and the old nurse waiting, waiting for the bridegroom to come.
"Thou wilt be away beyond the mountains at this time to-morrow, Bibi Rani," said the old nurse.
Bibi Rani looked up, dazed. "Beyond -?"
"Aye," said the mother, willing to talk to the girl even of the bridegroom for the last minutes they would be together. "His regiment is ordered away. That is why he wanted thee at once - the most unheard-of thing," she moaned. "The wedding hastened and the bride carried away like that!"
"His regiment?" repeated the little bride as if she had not understood.
"Aye," began the mother.
"Hush." The old nurse raised her hand. "They are coming."
The living-room had been resounding with singing and the beating of tomtoms; now there was silence. Men's feet tramped across the room. There was a knock at the room of the Rose-colored Scarf.
"Enter," said the mother.
The priest, in his white robes, led in the bridegroom, his face hidden in garlands of jessamine.
The bride in her drooping scarf saw nothing, but she touched the wall by her as if looking for escape. A door banged. Ah, some one was coming in! She had almost unveiled her face.
Her nurse held her arm. "Hush, hush, my child."
There was a scuffling at the door.
"He is only delaying us," spoke the impatient voice of the priest. "See, the shadows are already rising."
"But I will see sister!" sniffled the voice of the imperious and much-spoiled Hakim. "They shut me up - but - now I - am going - to see her! - I'm going to see her married!"
"There, there, let him be," said the father. "We can't wait any longer."
Frightened and confused, Bibi Rani rose at the voice of the priest.
It was over. The flickering Divas tried to fuse thier yellow light into the blue white of the dawn which outlined the barred window. The odor of musk and spices filled the room. But the soft fragrance of the spring roses outside overpowered all else; to the little wife it was as the breath of freedom, and it came through the barred window.
"It is over," said the priest briskly. "Now bring the mirror!"
The respective fathers dragged out a looking-glass and laid it on the floor. The mother of the bride drew the closely veiled, shrinking girl to one side of it and the groom was led to the other.
Bibi Rani's mind was a dull maze; words and phrases seemed to stand out mechanically before her. "Married - married - the last time - Zahir-ud-din - regiment - married." Was she losing her senses? Nay, she was dreaming, she must be dreaming. Bibi Rani threw back her veil and looked into the glass. She saw the groom push aside the white garlands from his face. She shuddered.
"The third time!" said the lips of the radiant face that looked up at her from the mirror.