Lachmi Bai, Rani of Jhansi: The Jeanne D'Arc of India
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Title: Lachmi Bai, Rani of Jhansi: The Jeanne D'Arc of India
Author: Michael White
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LACHMI BAI, RANI OF JHANSI: THE JEANNE D'ARC OF INDIA ***
[Illustration: Cover]
LACHMI BAI
Rani
of
Jhansi
MICHAEL WHITE
LACHMI BAI
[Illustration: "Lachmi Bai! Lachmi Bai! Rani of Jhansi!" they
cried.--Page 31.]
[Illustration: Decorated title page]
Lachmi Bai
Rani
of
Jhansi
The
Jeanne D'Arc
of India
By
Michael
White
New York
J. F. Taylor & Company
1901
COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY
J. F. TAYLOR AND
COMPANY, NEW YORK
_Press of
Riggs Printing Company
Albany, N. Y._
_To
my wife_
_The_ RANI _of_ JHANSI
"Being young, vigorous, and not afraid to show herself to the
multitude, she gained a great influence over the hearts of the people.
It was this influence, this force of character, added to a splendid and
inspiring courage, that enabled her to offer a desperate resistance
to the British.... Whatever her faults in British eyes may have been,
her countrymen will ever believe that she was driven by ill-treatment
into rebellion; that her cause was a righteous cause. To them she will
always be a heroine."
KAYE AND MALLESON,
"_History of the Indian Mutiny_."
[Illustration: Female face]
LACHMI BAI
Within no peerless Taj Mahal her body lies,
No gilded dome, nor fairy minarets against the azure skies,
Proclaim the place, where she, called by her foes, the "bravest
and the best,"
Was laid by reverential hands to her victorious rest:
But in the eternal sanctuary of her race,
The holy river, holy Mother Ganges, that coveted embrace,
Doth hold her ashes, and for a monument to her name,
Sufficeth it, that in the people's hearts, her fame,
Doth shine immortal. For she was deeply loved, this Queen,
The beauteous, valiant Rani, India's great heroine.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BEFORE THE STORM 1
II. THE HOUR AT HAND 18
III. BY THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE 23
IV. A STAR IN THE ASCENDENT 36
V. AHMAD RETURNS TO COURT 48
VI. THE OATH 61
VII. HOW AHMAD KEPT HIS OATH 72
VIII. THE DARBAR 85
IX. AT THE HOUSE OF AHMAD KHAN 101
X. THE WHITE TURRET 107
XI. A SHREWD DIAGNOSIS 117
XII. AHMAD AGAIN NONPLUSSED 126
XIII. WHAT BIPIN OVERHEARD 139
XIV. AT THE TOMB OF FIROZ KHAN 155
XV. IN THE COURSE OF EVENTS 172
XVI. JHANSI BESIEGED 184
XVII. WITH SWORD AND TORCH 193
XVIII. A PRINCE IN SCARLET 207
XIX. A CALL TO THE HEART 218
XX. BIPIN TAKES A PRISONER 229
XXI. THE GREAT COUP DE MAIN 237
_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_
"Lachmi Bai--Lachmi Bai--Rani of Jhansi"! they cried
(page 31) _Frontispiece_
PAGE
"Then will I set forth to bring this dog of a Maharaja to his
senses"? 57
"Didst thou mark that languorous glance she cast on thee"? 105
With the exception of a white turban, she was attired in a
blood-red uniform from head to foot 213
Her horse leaped forward straight for Sindhia's guns 255
"Never have I hungered for aught else but thee, fair Rani" 267
LACHMI BAI
Chapter I
_BEFORE THE STORM_
It was a day of angry, torrid heat. The June sun of Central India
blazed fiercely upon an uneven plain, upon a river winding to the
northward, a lake bordered by trees, and upon the walled city of Jhansi
with its rock fortress rising precipitously to guard the western front.
Beneath the south wall, amid groves of acacia, whose parched and
dust-coated limbs seemed to implore a speedy descent of the rains then
due, were discernible the white domes of temples and tombs. A little
further away, surrounded by gardens, were situated the bungalows of the
Foreign residents, the cantonments of their troops, and the Star Fort
containing their treasure and arms.
The hour of noon approached. Over all a reposeful silence reigned.
Everyone had sought the shelter of cool halls and darkened chambers.
In the fort and cantonments the soldiers had been dismissed from their
duties; on the roads leading to the city there was little traffic;
within the gates the bazaars were deserted; not a dog even ventured
upon the blistering stones of the palace courtyard. Only in the shadow
of a pillar near the main entrance to that turreted structure, a blind
beggar sat, every now and then raising his monotonous cry for pity and
alms.
Externally, an indefinite era of peace seemed to have settled upon
Jhansi. Except for the periodical anxiety concerning the rains, there
appeared to be no disquieting feature disturbing its outward calm. Yet
for months past in that year of 1857 a token,[1] a warning of some
great impending occurrence had gone forth through the land; from whence
proceeding few men knew, to what purpose the masses did not comprehend,
though they watched. With indifference as to what it might portend, the
Foreigners had also observed the sign.
But in one place in Jhansi that day there was no rest at the noontide
hour. It was in the palace of the disinherited Rani, or Princess of
the state. There, an atmosphere of suspense, an air laden with that
mysterious foreboding that some mighty event was about to take place,
permeated every apartment, the halls, courts, and corridors. The very
walls seemed to live with sinister animation. Men, many of them with
arms displayed openly, moved stealthily back and forth from room to
room, gathering in groups to discuss some weighty topic with hushed
accents. Even the women servants appeared to have caught the infection
of the hour, pausing to glean snatches of the men's conversation, and
passing on with significant looks.
In a small enclosed garden of the palace, where palms, bright-leaved
crotons, and fragrant blossoms, afforded a refreshing retreat from the
atmospherical furnace without, a man and woman paced side by side in
earnest discourse. The man was tall, bronze-visaged, and of martial
bearing; the woman slender in form, graceful in carriage, and beautiful
in so far as one might gather from features partly concealed by a fold
of her embroidered _chuddah_. The former was a Mohammedan noble, Ahmad
Khan; the latter, Lachmi Bai, the disinherited Rani of Jhansi.
At a turn in their walk the Princess turned to confront her companion.
"You say, my Lord," she spoke quickly, "that Bahadur Shah once more
reigns supreme in Delhi; that the troops at Aligurth have marched out
to join his standard; that Bareli has fallen into the hands of Khan
Bahadur Khan; and yet there is no news from Bithur. When, in Heaven's
name, is Dundhu Panth, the Peshwa, going to send us the signal to rise
in Jhansi? For a month past my people have impatiently strained on the
leash, awaiting my word to rush forth and drive the Foreigners from the
State. I cannot--nay I cannot hold them in hand much longer. God knows,
they have their own wrongs as well as mine to redress."
Ahmad raised a hand restrainingly.
"Patience! Patience! my Lady Rani," he exclaimed. "In a little, to-day,
to-morrow, surely the Peshwa's messenger will arrive. Restraint will be
for the best in the end. The arm of your people will strike all the
harder; their onset will be the more irresistible."
"Aye, truly," she replied, "but you forget, O Ahmad, that the
Foreigners will not sleep forever. The news from Delhi must have
reached their ears. A single traitor might cause them to awake,
defeating all our plans. I fear that the blow upon which we have staked
so much, may yet fall without cleaving to the heart."
A Native officer in Foreign uniform entered the garden. He halted and
saluted.
The Rani and her companion turned quickly toward him with expressions
of sudden alarm.
The officer advanced to deliver a message.
"Your Highness," he began, addressing the Rani. "The Commissioner and
Captain Sahibs will shortly arrive at the palace to seek an audience. I
have been sent forward to acquaint you of their visit."
The Rani stepped close to the officer and scrutinized his features.
Then she grasped him tightly by the sleeve of his jacket.
"Thou art the Jamadar Golab Das"? she interrogated.
"As thou sayest, noble Rani."
"Tell me, O Golab," she besought anxiously. "Have they heard? Have the
eyes of the Foreigners been opened? Hath a traitor whispered in their
ears"?
"They sleep on, all thy people are faithful," the officer returned
significantly.
A sigh of relief escaped the Rani's lips.
"It is well," she exclaimed. "Then I will see the Foreign Sahibs. Go,
carry them that message."
The officer again saluted and left her presence.
As if a sudden inspiration had gained possession of the Rani's mind,
she turned to Ahmad and spoke authoritatively.
"It is my will to see the Foreign Sahibs alone in the _Darbar_ hall."
He made a gesture as if about to protest against her purpose.
"Nay," she continued, "Nay, good Ahmad. It is the best plan. If they
see me unattended they will be less suspicious. Go, order everyone
to hide from view. Let not a face be seen or a voice heard. Let
these walls be as silent as a tomb--aye even as the tomb that these
Foreigners have built about my life, depriving me of what was justly
mine. The palace sleeps, they will say. This woman can do no harm."
She gracefully recognized the Mohammedan noble's bow, signifying his
compliance to her order, and moved quickly to a door leading to her
private apartments.
At the southern gate of the city, the two Foreign Sahibs, attended by a
Native orderly, were met by Golab Das, bearing the Rani's reply.
"Well Jamadar," said the military officer, "What does the Rani say? Did
you see her personally"?
"I saw the Princess, your Excellency," returned the Jamadar. "She bade
me say that she waits to learn the pleasure of your will."
"Tell me, Jamadar," continued the officer. "Was there any sign of
uneasiness about the palace? People gathering, or additions being made
to the Rani's bodyguard"?
"My eyes beheld no such gathering of people," returned the Jamadar
laconically. "The Rani's servants are resting from the heat."
The officer ordered his subordinate to return to the cantonments.
As they moved forward he turned a look of satisfaction toward his
companion.
"Well Hawksley," said he. "I doubt after all if we shall have the fun
yet of cutting our way through a mass of fanatics."
The Commissioner's face maintained a thoughtful expression.
"I did not anticipate that we would," he returned.
"Yes, but you are as full of gloomy forebodings as any old fortune
teller," asserted the other.
"Oh! not at all," exclaimed the Commissioner, "only I think the
situation more serious than the rest of us are inclined to regard it."
"What in Jhansi"?
"Yes, in Jhansi. Now look here, Vane," continued the Commissioner
gravely. "Let us see how we stand. There is no doubt something horrible
has taken place in Delhi."
"Rumors only," interposed the other, "and even then an isolated case.
That old rascal, Bahadur Shah, will soon be brought to his senses, and
punished drop for drop of our blood."
"I hope so," remarked the Commissioner. "But this morning I heard that
the troops at Bareli had revolted and seized the place."
"A band of marauders," added the soldier lightly. "They will be hanged
when caught, every one of them. For my part, I fail to perceive how
these scattered out-breaks are likely to affect us in Jhansi."
"Yes, indirectly they may," the Commissioner persisted. "Now look here,
Vane. Think a moment seriously, if you can do such a thing. Here we are
a paltry hundred and fifty odd Europeans in the heart of India, far
removed from the least chance of assistance."
"We shall not need any," remarked the soldier emphatically. "If the
people hereabout should create any disturbance, my men will soon deal
with them. They have sworn to a unit that they will stand by their salt
oath of allegiance. I have implicit confidence in them."
"Granted! Granted that what you assert may be true," rejoined the
Commissioner, "but to my mind the element of danger here lies in
another direction."
"Where pray"? demanded the other dubiously.
They had passed the gate and were traversing the almost deserted
bazaars.
"Where pray"? he asked again, glancing along a row of empty stalls. "I
confess, I fail to note any sign of it."
"Perhaps not," rejoined the Commissioner, "but it is in evidence
nevertheless. I refer to the Rani."
"What, to that girl, the Rani," the officer exclaimed.
"Nonsense! What mischief can she do. Her talons have been well pared
for any evil that she might design."
"My dear Vane," said the Commissioner sagely. "Never underestimate the
power and resources of a woman, if she nourishes a grievance."
"A grievance"?
"Yes, frankly, though unofficially, I consider that she has a
grievance--even a just one against us. Now what is her position? First,
we took from her the estate of her affianced husband, that by her law
she was clearly entitled to hold."
"But transferred, I thought, according to the provisions of a treaty
made with the late Raja."
"True, but still she was none the less a heavy loser by it. Well then,
by way of recompense for this, what did we do? We gave her a paltry
$30,000 a year."
"A devilish good allowance, I call it," flippantly interposed Vane. "I
only wish I had $30,000 a year, and the Rani or the deuce might do what
they pleased with Jhansi. Dear old Pall Mall would soon see me on the
double."
The Commissioner refused to notice his companion's light humor.
"Out of that allowance," he proceeded, "small enough in all conscience
for one in her position, we insisted on deducting a sinking fund to pay
the late Raja's debts."
Vane struck his boot a smart rap with the end of his whip.
"Oh, hang it!" he exclaimed. "That was bad. It's shocking enough to be
obliged to meet one's own i.o.u.'s; but to settle up for another fellow
is monstrous. My sympathy there is with the Rani, though it wasn't our
fault, you know."
"Yes, I thought that would appeal to you," remarked the Commissioner
dryly, "but if I am not mistaken that matter of killing cows, in spite
of her protests, has enraged her more than the loss of either the
Jhansi throne or the revenue. That, was an unnecessary insult to her
religious sensibilities. Now what I maintain is this, if she has been
waiting for a favorable opportunity to strike a blow for what she may
regard as her lost position and injured feelings, the present is as
good a one as she is likely to be afforded. Her influence with the
people is, I am convinced, a quantity worth taking into account."
Vane yawned with the heat and the little interest he felt in both the
subject and the visit. He was satisfied that the Commissioner's fears
were groundless, that there was not the slightest danger of an outbreak
in Jhansi, and only with difficulty had he been persuaded to accompany
his colleague to the Rani's palace.
"In any case, suppose there is something in your idea," he asked, "what
can she do"?
"That is exactly what we are going to try and discover," returned the
Commissioner firmly.
They had arrived before the main entrance to the palace. They
dismounted and handed the reins of their horses to the native orderly.
Vane glanced contemptuously at an obsequious aged servant who had come
forth to receive them, and round upon the drowsy appearance of the
buildings.
"Conspiracy! Uprising of the people! Nonsense"! he ejaculated.
"Hawksley's imagination has gone wandering. I'd wager six months' pay
the girl is trembling at the bare idea of our visit."
As the request for an audience had been made upon the spur of the
moment, the Commissioner regarded it as a favorable sign that the Rani
consented to receive them without delay.
They were ushered through an inner courtyard surrounded by cloisters,
in the shade of which a few Natives awoke to salute the Foreign Sahibs
as they passed. Thence through dark halls and ante-chambers, in which
the echo of their footsteps alone broke the profound silence that had
descended on the palace. At last they crossed the threshold of the
_Darbar_ hall.
At the further end of the noble chamber, where for centuries it had
been the custom of the Princes of Jhansi to dispense justice, she,
from whom justice had been withheld, stood to receive her visitors.
In the sight of the two officers as they gazed down a nave of pillars
supporting the ornately decorated roof, she appeared as the statue of
some divinity in the far perspective of an ancient temple--a youthful,
white robed, graceful figure, brought into strong relief by a dark
background of gold embroidered arras.
As if to emphasize the powerless condition to which she had been
reduced, the Rani was attended by a single waiting woman, who remained
throughout the interview a few paces in her rear, motionless and
apparently unobservant.
The officers advanced to within a few paces of her position and saluted
her respectfully.
With a slight inclination of her head, she acknowledged their greeting
and waited to learn the nature of their errand.
The Commissioner had anticipated that the Rani would have hastily
surrounded herself with numerous retainers to impress him with a
semblance of her power. He realized that a hundred splendidly attired
courtiers could not have added a shade of prestige to this girl, who
stood alone.
It was not only the majestic pose, nor the beautiful contour of her
face, crowned by a mass of dark hair, ornamented with a chaplet of
pearls, that quickly confirmed the Commissioner's previous impression
that Lachmi Bai, Rani of Jhansi, was far removed from the generally
accepted type of her countrywomen. But there was a strength of
character emphasized in every line of her distinctly Aryan features, a
force of will, a mystical power in every flash of her lustrous eyes,
in every movement, in every word, however gently spoken, warning him
at the outset that he had to deal with no shrinking, simple, _zanana_
maiden.
He had come prepared to assume a firm, if necessary a dictatorial
attitude; but now in her presence he found himself slowly paving the
way by conventional compliments.
Her silence at last compelled him to come to the point.
"Your Highness," he began, "will doubtless have heard of the
disturbances that have broken out in several districts of the Northwest
Provinces."
"Some reports have reached my ears," she replied, with apparent
indifference, "but I give to them little credence."
"I am afraid," resumed the Commissioner gravely, "that there is only
too much reason to believe their authenticity. I have, therefore,
sought this audience with your Highness to request that in the event
of any threatened outbreak in Jhansi, you will use your influence to
preserve peace. I need not add that by so doing, by demonstrating at
such a crisis that your sympathy is with the British Government, you
will be rendering a service to the latter that I, personally, will
guarantee shall not be overlooked."
The representative of the power that had deprived her of her
possessions stood before her as a supplicant for her good will.
A nature less subtle, less under such admirable control, might at the
moment have been over tempted to cast prudence to the winds, and in an
outburst of long gathering passion jeopardize the complete success of
her plans by summoning her retainers to seize prematurely the persons
of the British officers. But trained in adversity, that best of schools
to curb her real feelings, by not a sign did she betray, that for
months past she had been preparing for the hour when the fate of Jhansi
should rest in the palm of her hand; nor the infallible knowledge
she possessed, that every man in the city, aye even every woman and
child, together with the whole body of native troops within the British
cantonments, awaited her signal to rise in revolt.
In a voice, in which only the faintest note of irony was mingled with
surprise, she answered quietly.
"Surely the Foreign Sahib sets too great store upon my ability to
assist him. What have I," she continued, raising the tone slightly,
and extending a hand so that the gold bangles on her wrist jingled
musically. "What influence hath Lachmi Bai with the people to control
their actions? If they should rebel, has not the Sahib soldiers and
guns to enforce his will; I, but a few poor servants to protect my
person. No," she concluded, letting her hand fall again to her side,
"the Sahib knows well I have no power, no authority in Jhansi."
The Commissioner twirled his moustache musingly. He knew that without
doubt she had stated the literal truth; but he was now more firmly
convinced than ever, that behind the dark eyes which so unflinchingly
returned his gaze, there lay a power for good or evil in a possible
emergency, that it would be suicidal to ignore.
Gravely he resumed the subject.
"It would be a poor compliment," he said, "to the esteem in which it is
well known your Highness is held by the people, to place your influence
at so low a value. Should an uprising take place in Jhansi, you could
do much to preserve law and order."
For a few moments neither spoke. Each regarded the other as if
endeavoring to find a vulnerable point in the contest of diplomacy,
when the Rani skilfully turned the subject to her own advantage.
She was anxious to discover if any suspicion of her plans had been
engendered in the minds of the Foreigners, and how far they depended
for their safety upon the fidelity of their native troops, already won
over to her cause. She therefore replied by another question.
"But have you any reason to think that the peace will be broken in
Jhansi"?
"At present, I have not," the Commissioner replied, after a short
period of reflection.
"And even in that event you can surely rely upon the loyalty of your
native troops"? she suggested with apparent absence of motive.
"Yes, I believe so," he affirmed decisively. "Certainly they will
remain true to their salt."
"Then why come to me," she asked, "to seek assistance for which you are
likely to have so little need"?
The Commissioner realized that argumentatively, his position was no
longer tenable. So he determined to revert to his original purpose and
make a firm demand upon the evasive young Princess.
"Nevertheless," he replied sternly. "It is my duty to inform you, that
the British Government will hold you responsible for any outbreak among
the people."
The Rani raised her eyebrows slightly, as she retorted in a rising tone
of protest.
"Surely the Commissioner Sahib does not remember the position in which
his Government has placed me. He forgets that it not only deprived
me of my inheritance of the throne of Jhansi, but of my affianced
husband's personal estates, and even compelled me out of the pittance
of an allowance provided for my support to pay his debts. Thus, often
have the poor in vain cried to me to alleviate their distress, daily
are Brahmans turned from my gates unfed. I cannot help them. For
the reason that you have deprived me of the means wherewith even to
influence the actions of a beggar, I cannot assist you. I do not see,
nay, I do not understand how I can be held responsible for the public
peace. As well might you extract the teeth of a watch dog and expect
it to guard your treasure safely. Does your Government also hold me
responsible for the loyalty of your troops"? she concluded, with a note
of scorn.
"No," he returned with emphasis, "but it will undoubtedly look to your
Highness to act in the event of an outbreak, as I have suggested."
The ultimatum had been delivered.
The two officers bowed to the Rani and retraced their steps to the end
of the hall. On the threshold Vane paused for a moment. He glanced over
his shoulder and met the gaze of the Rani still fixed upon them. With
her hands folded she had remained in the same position; but there was
an unmistakable expression of scornful triumph on her face, carrying
swift conviction to his mind, that their mission had failed, that this
mere girl had routed their arguments and baffled their diplomacy.
As they passed down the steps, he linked his arm in that of his
companion. He spoke in an undertone, with no vestige of his flippant
humor remaining.
"I say, Hawksley. I say, old fellow. D'you know, I think the Rani is a
devilish clever girl. We didn't get much out of her, did we"?
The Commissioner eyed his companion seriously.
"Yes," he acquiesced. "For my part, Vane, I believe it would have been
better for all of us if we had arrived at that conclusion before."
They had scarcely disappeared from the hall, when white figures seemed
to emerge from the very walls.
The Rani waved them back with a warning gesture.
"Go," she enjoined her attendant. "Go, Rati, and see if the Foreigners
have left the court."
In a few minutes the girl returned with the information that the
Foreign Sahibs had mounted their horses.
The Rani raised her arms above her head and cried aloud as she gave
full vent to her suppressed emotion.
"Fools! Fools all! Of what do they think I am made. Am I clay to be
moulded into any form, a pitcher with which to draw water for them when
thirsty? Ah! By the great God of Gods, I swear that before another sun
has set, they shall find that the will, if not the form of Lachmi Bai
is fashioned out of steel."
Quickly she was surrounded by an eager throng, clamoring for news of
the audience.
"What said the Foreign Sahibs, O Rani"? they besought her. "Tell us, O
Queen, what said they"?
She waved them from her gently.
"It is enough," she cried, "that still hearing no sound but the call to
plunder, they are deaf to the mighty whisper passed down from palace to
hovel, and on from city to jungle, that the hour for India is at hand."
Chapter II
_THE HOUR AT HAND_
In a shaded room of the palace, the Rani had cast herself upon a low
divan to obtain a short period of rest. The rugs of intricate patterns,
embroidered hangings, curiously carved and inlaid screens, tables, and
taborets, gave to the apartment an atmosphere more of richness, than
comfort from the Occidental point of view. She watched reflectively the
actions of her waiting woman in placing a smoking paraphernalia at her
side.
"Strange, how strange," she murmured, "are the ways of these
Foreigners. After all the wrongs they have visited upon me, the
insults I have suffered at their hands; they boldly come and demand my
influence to maintain such iniquities. They expect, forsooth, that if
the door of my prison is opened, I will close it again upon myself.
Surely they must think I possess less reason than a creature bereft of
its senses. I--I cannot understand them."
She turned her head to notice a stout, little man, _salaaming_
profoundly.
"Well, good Bipin," she exclaimed. "What matter of supreme weight and
urgency is it now? Hath an evil minded fox crossed thy path on thy way
to the temple, or a crow dropped a tail feather with sinister intent
upon thy turban"?
"Protector of thy People," replied Bipin, "your Extraordinary
Greatness will be pleased to know, that the illustrious Raja, Sivapuri
Prasad Singh, an emissary from the Peshwa, awaits your Highness's
command to enter."
The Rani rose to her feet instantly, manifesting intense emotion in her
voice and actions, as she cried:
"The Peshwa's messenger at last. Go, good Bipin, bring him to me
immediately. There is no one I long to see more than this same emissary
from the Peshwa."
She had scarcely spoken when Bipin ushered into the room a Hindu noble
of gallant mien, whose attire bore traces of hasty travel through
jungle by-paths. He strode hurriedly forward and bowing before the
Rani, glanced round with suspicion.
The Rani waved her male servitor from the room.
"Speak, noble sir," she urged reassuringly. "The walls are deaf as well
as dumb. Ah, _Mahadeva!_ How anxiously we have awaited thy coming."
"Good news, My Lady Rani," he replied, in an undertone. "The torch
has been ignited. To-morrow Dundhu Panth proclaims himself Peshwa,
and Cawnpore will fall into his hands. Strike now, for if Jhansi is
won, other states, that waver, will follow suit. Such is the Peshwa's
command."
"Welcome, most welcome, noble Raja," she cried, in a transport of
joyful emotion. She extended her hands in greeting. "Welcome to the
palace of the no longer unfortunate Rani of Jhansi."
He took the jeweled fingers of one of her hands in his and bowing low
placed them to his forehead. Then he drew himself up and gazed with
sudden admiration at the superb form, the beautiful features of the
high caste Princess.
In a moment he resumed the conversation, still in a tone of caution.
"Are all thy plans complete, fair Lady"?
"Aye, even over complete, I had feared," she answered. "The hidden
guns in the fortress have been disinterred, my retainers armed, guards
posted on the highways to prevent the escape of the Foreigners, when
the signal is given. All people in Jhansi wait impatiently upon my
word."
"It is well," he exclaimed, approvingly. "But how about the
Mohammedans? Can they be depended upon"?
"Ahmad Khan moves them at the raising of his hand."
"Aye, but of Ahmad Khan. At the raising of whose hand doth he obey
without question"?
The Rani slowly raised her hand and held it outstretched before her.
A dart of racial jealousy pierced the Hindu noble's breast.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "It is perhaps well thus, for the moment."
The Rani's arm fell lightly to her side.
"It is well for all time, so long as we are united," she returned, with
significant emphasis.
Prasad moved a step nearer and spoke almost in a whisper.
"What of the Foreigners? Do they suspect a rising"?
"They are in doubt, but rely implicitly upon the fidelity of their
Native troops."
"Will their Native troops join us"?
"Every man among them."
"Are you certain"?
"As certain as that the wolf will hunt with his kind."
Prasad paused thoughtfully before putting another question.
"If we succeed what is to be done with the Foreigners"?
"Ahmad has my order to secure them as prisoners. We will hold them as
hostages or send them out of the state."
Prasad took the Rani's hand in his and pressed it gently. Already he
was a slave to her will. Henceforth the form of Lachmi Bai filled his
soul with one aim above all others.
"Ah, my Lord," she cried, turning a radiant countenance toward him.
"How long hath my heart pined for this hour--the hour when the scepter
which was snatched from my grasp shall be placed in my hand; and the
law of the Foreigner be no longer obeyed in Jhansi."
"Surely it is thy right, noble Rani," he replied. "When then can the
signal be given"?
"Now, to-night, to-morrow, at any time."
"Then make certain that all is ready to-night, and let the signal be
given for to-morrow."
The Rani beckoned her waiting woman to her side.
"Go," said she. "Go swiftly, let it be known that to-morrow at noon,
the tigress will break down the bars of her cage."
Chapter III
_BY THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE_
Jhansi had fallen. At the revolt of their troops the Foreigners were
taken completely by surprise. They hastily retreated to the Star Fort
where, after a valorous defense for three days, lack of food and
ammunition compelled them to surrender. They were obliged to seek terms
of Ahmad Khan who was conducting the siege.
If they evacuated the fort would they be permitted to leave the state
unmolested? was the request made under a flag of truce.
In response, Ahmad solemnly swore upon the holy Koran that if the
Foreigners would open the gates no harm should befall them.
But the oath of the Mohammedan was not regarded as sufficiently
binding. The Foreigners required a further assurance of safety from the
Rani.
In her name Ahmad reiterated his vow of protection. This was all the
hope of security they could possibly look for in their desperate
situation. The Rani had ever been regarded as an upright woman. Upon
the faith of her word they opened the gates and laid down their arms.
Then under Ahmad's direction they marched out to a field nearby,--a
pitiful, defenseless band, of men, women, and children.
The sun never shone upon a more brutal tragedy.
Beside a clump of trees all were ruthlessly butchered. Their honor
alone was spared. Without a plea for mercy, without a cry of anguish,
these heroes met a cruel fate, that might have been averted by a less
exacting government.
Ahmad Khan was elated almost to a condition of intoxication by this
final successful act of the revolt. He was now prompted to strike
another immediate blow to gratify a long secretly nourished ambition.
While outwardly he had professed intense devotion to the Rani's cause,
in his heart, he aspired to seat himself on the throne of the Rajas of
Jhansi. As to the Rani, he purposed that her rule should be encompassed
by the walls of a luxurious _harem_.
At the head of a crime-frenzied Mohammedan band, bearing upon the
points of their bayonets ghastly trophies of the recent massacre, he
set forth on a triumphant progress to the palace.
To secure his object, he instructed his followers to overawe the Hindu
population, devoted to the Rani's cause, by fierce gestures and loud
shouts in his honor.
He entered the gate set in the massive stone wall, and waved his sword
aloft crying--
"The Faith. The holy Faith. Success to the Faith of Mohammed."
His soldiers pressed closely upon the flanks of his horse. They
brandished their weapons and struck dismay into the hearts of the Hindu
guard, by adding exultingly to their distinctive shout of victory--
"And may Ahmad Khan, the Servant of God, long reign in Jhansi."
Onward the mob swept through the city, again and again vociferously
proclaiming Ahmad Khan, Raja of Jhansi. The joy of the Hindus over
their deliverance from Foreign rule gave place to alarm. They watched
with misgiving a second _coup d' etat_ on the part of their hereditary
enemies, and began to wonder whether they would not fare worse under
the rule of a follower of Mohammed, than they had done under that of
the Foreigner.
In her palace the Rani anxiously awaited news of the surrender. Through
Ahmad she had given the assurance that the Foreigners' lives would be
spared. This course she had strenuously urged upon her lieutenant.
Apart from her womanly repugnance to ruthless slaughter, she clearly
perceived the advantage she would gain by holding them as prisoners to
exchange for the recognition of her right to the throne of Jhansi. To
kill the innocent, the already defeated, did not occupy a thought in
her mind.
The news came swift and ominous. Not only had a tragedy taken place,
but her own authority was in danger of usurpation.
The exultant Mohammedan cry rolled forward to the walls of the palace.
It penetrated to the Rani's ears at first as a welcome sound; but
as it rose in the courtyard bearing aloft the name of Ahmad Khan, a
disquieting thought flashed into her brain.
She hurried to the _Darbar_ hall, entering at one end, as Ahmad,
surrounded by his officers, crossed the threshold at the other.
The Rani halted and waited. Intuitively she gleaned confirmation of her
sudden alarm from their faces.
Ahmad advanced and saluted her with pointed courtesy. He was a tall,
powerfully built man, whose swarthy irregular features indicated a
mingling of low caste blood. As a whole his face was not unhandsome,
though the expression of his mouth and chin denoted cruelty and
treachery--the latter, perhaps, an accomplishment rather than a failing
to the Oriental mind.
"Greeting, fair Lady," he exclaimed. "Jhansi is won. The Foreigners
have surrendered."
She directed a searching glance to read the veiled meaning expressed in
his intonation as well as in his manner.
"They have surrendered. Then where are they"? she asked. "Hast thou not
brought any of them hither"?
A cruel smile broke upon Ahmad's face as he turned and pointed with the
blade of his sword to the open doorway, through which could be caught a
glimpse of the surging mob without, uplifting their bloody trophies.
"Aye," he explained, "I have brought some of them here. The rest I have
sent to a secure prison."
His gesture was observed by his followers. The shout rose with greater
volume than before--
"_Deen! Deen! Futteh. Mohammed._"
"Success to the Faith of Mohammed."
For a moment the Rani covered her eyes with her hands, as if to blot
out the gruesome spectacle. Then she demanded sternly--
"Why hast thou done this, my Lord? Surely thou hast not killed them
all"?
"Aye, all, fair Lady. And why not"? he returned, in plausible accents.
"Because I commanded you to spare their lives if they surrendered," she
retorted, passionately.
Ahmad bowed low with feigned contrition.
"But, my Lady Lachmi Bai," he protested, "a higher authority, the
Emperor of Delhi, had commanded me to spare none of them. Further his
Majesty hath been pleased to place the government of the State of
Jhansi in my hands until more settled times."
The two stood for a short period confronting each other in silence,
Ahmad with a look of unconcealed triumph on his face, on that of the
Rani, anger mingled with defiance.
"So this was his purpose! A plot within a plot revealed."
He strode up to her and with assurance took her by the hand. Then he
spoke in a lower voice.
"Ah! Fair Rani. Thou art but a child, a girl fit rather to play with
gems than swords and scepters. But fear not, thou shalt rule in Jhansi.
Thou knowest well for what I hunger. All that thou longest for, thou
shalt possess in return. It is a good bargain, is it not, Beautiful
One"?
Her glance swept from his face to the crowd of his officers standing
to his order in the background. She realized that the dominion for
which she had so long and patiently striven was about to be seized
by another at the moment of its accomplishment. By one, too whose
religious principles were repugnant, and whose profession of personal
devotion she had but tolerated for reasons of state. She saw the trap
into which she had fallen, and from which an immediate counterstroke of
diplomacy could alone save her.
Her mind was quick to grasp the situation and suggest a remedy.
With an effort she curbed her resentment and turned a look of approval
upon the traitor.
"Aye, thou speakest truly," she replied, in a thoughtful tone. "I am,
as thou sayest, but a girl, to whom the reins of government would be
of little pleasure. I had longed that the Foreigners be driven forth
from Jhansi. Now they are here no more to anger me, why should I not be
satisfied? But, O Ahmad," she continued confidentially, "I would speak
with thee alone. Send, I pray thee, these people of thine from the
palace. I like not their fierce looks and clash of arms."
Ahmad was surprised. He had anticipated a stormy scene with the Rani,
and a possible resort to force before she could be brought to submit
to his will. Consequently he was gratified to meet with so little
resistance to both his political and personal designs. For the moment
he failed to remember that the brain which had displayed such masterly
craft in plotting the downfall of the Foreigners would be swift to use
the same power in frustrating his own project.
In compliance with her desire he faced his officers.
"Go," he commanded. "Return to the cantonments and in my name seize all
the possessions of the Foreigners."
When the soldiers had left the hall the Rani drew close to him and
spoke in a beguiling voice.
"O my Lord, thou must see how poorly I am attired in honor of so great
an event. I would retire for a short space, to adorn my neck with
jewels, and my hair with flowers; so that I may appear worthy of the
noble Ahmad Khan's approval."
Blinded by vanity, he was flattered and deceived by her cajolery. He
stretched forth his arms to enfold her in an embrace.
"Thou shadow of an _houri_," he exclaimed amorously.
She eluded him by a quick movement.
"In a little," she returned, playfully. "See that thou waitest until I
come again to thee. Then shalt thou swear by thy Prophet's beard, that
Lachmi Bai hath wit as well as beauty."
"Until death," he replied, "only tarry not too long, Fair One."
She cast toward him an enthralling glance, and passing from the hall,
hurried to the inner apartments of the palace.
"Now by Allah"! he reflected, exultingly. "The fortune of Ahmad Khan,
the Humble Servant of God, doth rise as the sun in a cloudless heaven."
The Rani's action was swift and silent. She summoned those upon whom
she could rely and spoke in urgent accents.
"Go quickly," she commanded to one, "into the bazaars and summon all my
people to the courtyard of the palace." To another, "Let my retainers
arm themselves and guard every outlet so that no man passes in or
forth. Tell Prasad and my officers, that I need their presence on the
balcony overlooking the main entrance. Go, with wings on your feet.
Hasten, for there is no time to be lost."
She passed into a private chamber and hastily arrayed herself in a
magnificent embroidered _sari_, the silken clinging texture of which
displayed her form to its perfection of royal beauty. Round her neck
she hung ropes of pearls, and in her hair she entwined a wreath of
fragrant blossoms. Thus attired she proceeded to the wide balcony
overlooking the courtyard.
A throng of people had gathered and crowded about the main entrance.
Others were hurrying from the bazaars and side streets at the bidding
of the Rani's messengers. With animated countenances, they asked of
each other the meaning of the summons.
Behind the domes and turrets of the rock citadel, the sun was sinking
toward the horizon. It cast broad shadows over the courtyard, now
filling rapidly with a surging, excited, human mass. The Rani was
quickly joined by Prasad and officers faithful to her service. With
these in attendance she moved to the edge of the parapet.
Immediately an outburst of enthusiasm rose from the people, gathering
in force until a great shout filled the air about the palace.
"Lachmi Bai. Lachmi Bai. Rani of Jhansi," they cried.
She leaned over the parapet and smiled.
Again the cry rose, "Lachmi Bai. Lachmi Bai. Rani of Jhansi."
She raised her hand to enjoin silence. Gradually the tumult ceased.
Then she spoke to them. Her resonant, clear, voice filled the open
space. Each word fell musically upon the ears of her audience.
"My people," she began. "At last you have been freed from the rule of
the Foreigner. To-day, a great blow has been delivered by you for our
independence--a blow that will resound in the most distant provinces
of our land. Through your loyalty and courage, the end for which we
have so long striven has been attained. To you belongs the spoil, the
treasure that has fallen into our hands. It is your reward."
A murmur of applause told that the point had been well received.
"But my people," she proceeded. "You are still encompassed by great
peril. The Foreigner is destroyed, but others of his race may return
to try and wrest from you, your country. Enemies, too, may rise from
within as rapacious and as hateful of your religion. It is necessary
that you choose without delay a fearless and capable ruler."
A few voices called on her by name, but she again silenced them.
"As you well know," she continued, "by our law, to me belongs the right
of succession to the throne of Jhansi."
"Aye, truly," many cried. "Lachmi Bai. Lachmi Bai. Rani of Jhansi."
"But, my good people, as the noble Raja, Ahmad Khan, hath pointed out,
I am but a girl, uninstructed in the wiles of statecraft, unused to
the wielding of a sword in dangerous times. A Raja, he declares, must
be seated on the throne of Jhansi. Why not then the illustrious Ahmad
Khan"?
Spontaneously the cry rose, "For us no stranger, no Mohammedan! We want
him not to rule over us. Lachmi Bai. Lachmi Bai. Rani of Jhansi."
"But, good people," she persisted, as if earnestly pleading Ahmad's
cause. "Ahmad Khan is a brave soldier. He is"----
Her voice was drowned in an uproar that shook the walls of the palace.
Her name alone was borne upward by thousands of unyielding throats.
"Lachmi Bai. Rani of Jhansi. Lachmi Bai. Rani of Jhansi."
She stretched out her arms lovingly toward them. She appealed to them
with a captivating smile.
"Would you then have Lachmi Bai for your ruler in Jhansi"?
A great shout rose and confirmed her in her right to the title. The
throngs surged back and forth in the endeavor of those furthest away to
reach a spot nearer to her person.
"Come to us," they cried. "Come down amid thy people, O Rani."
With a radiant countenance, she passed down the flight of stone steps
into the courtyard. Unguarded she moved among the mass of people,
stirred to a frenzy of enthusiasm by her presence. Some knelt in her
path to touch the hem of her garment, while others waved their weapons
aloft, vowing they would defend her to the death.
Darkness fell with the swiftness of the Tropics. She turned to re-enter
the palace, and torches flared to light her path. They gave to the
scene a weird, majestic splendor--the irregular outlines of the palace
overshadowed by the huge black mass of the fortress; the exultant,
white robed throng; the stern faces of the soldiers; the girl, whose
mysterious being swayed their emotions like the wind playing upon lotus
reeds.
In the _Darbar_ hall Ahmad Khan impatiently awaited the Rani's return.
He was startled by the cries of the populace, and dismayed at the
discovery that his egress was blocked. Uneasily he paced back and
forth, wondering what these ominous signs betokened. He cursed his
imprudence at having dismissed his followers at so critical a moment.
"Tricked, I doubt not," he savagely exclaimed. "But one more fool who
loses a crown in exchange for a woman's smile."
The Rani and her officers swept into the hall. Ahmad's hand impulsively
grasped the hilt of his sword--a gesture which Prasad imitated by half
withdrawing his from its scabbard.
The Hindu noble advanced a few paces, regarding Ahmad's sullen
countenance as if willing to accept a challenge.
"Peace, my Lords," the Rani cried authoritatively.
She laid a restraining hand on Prasad's arm.
"Peace. It is my will. This is no hour to broach a feud."
She then fearlessly advanced to Ahmad's side, and addressed him calmly.
"My Lord Raja," said she. "My people will have it that I rule over
Jhansi."
She held up her hand to draw his attention to the acclamations which
penetrated the innermost recesses of the palace.
"You hear them," she continued. "I espoused your cause to the best of
my ability; but, it seems, they will have no other than Lachmi Bai to
be their Rani."
"And now," she concluded, addressing all present, "I look to you,
Ahmad, Prasad, and all my brave officers to unite for one object, the
defense of my throne and Jhansi."
Ahmad glanced round upon the determined faces of the Rani's loyal
supporters, as they vowed to maintain the crown upon her head. He
realized that, in turn, he had been outwitted. By a low obeisance he
outwardly acknowledged her authority.
"The people are God's," he murmured, "the country is the _Padshah's_,
and the _Raj_ is the Rani's."
Thus was Lachmi Bai proclaimed Rani of Jhansi.
Chapter IV
_A STAR IN THE ASCENDENT_
The Rani's ambition to ascend the throne of Jhansi was achieved. But
immediately she beheld difficulties rise on all sides. Everyone in
Jhansi seemed to have a claim to urge upon her gratitude. The larger
the pecuniary recompense that was supposed to be attached to a place of
honor, the more numerous were the applicants. To that of the greatest
responsibility, the command of the troops, the Rani was in a dilemma as
to whom she would appoint.
From his well known military skill and tried valor, Ahmad Khan might
wisely have been selected for the office; but the Rani hesitated to
confide to his hands so much power after his recent exhibition of
disloyalty.
In the meantime Ahmad had sullenly retired to his house without the
city, there to plead sickness as an excuse for failing to respond to
her summons to court.
On the other hand, Prasad remained close to her side, hourly
transforming the early esteem which the Rani had conceived for him,
into a warmer sentiment. He, too, intimated that his aspiration lay
toward the chief military prize in the Rani's gift; but thus far she
had let it pass ungratified, if not unrecognized. Apart from his
untried ability as a commander, she realized that to appoint Prasad, a
newcomer to the state, to such a coveted position, would surely stir
up a feeling of bitter jealousy in the breasts of a score of Jhansi
officers, who might justly claim a prior right to her consideration.
These matters increasingly harassed the Rani's mind.
The morning of a few days after her accession discovered the Rani in
the act of formally announcing that event, by letter, to the other
princes who had risen in rebellion against the rule of the Foreigners.
Before her, Bipin Dat sat cross-legged upon a mat. He was laboriously
endeavoring to indite these missives in what he considered to be
correct form.
After a period of effort, he drew the Rani's attention to his latest
production.
"This letter, noble Rani," said he, "is to the most illustrious Dhundu
Panth, Peshwa of the Marathas."
The Rani signified her willingness to listen, and Bipin proceeded to
read in a sonorous voice, emphasizing the repetition of his own name by
inflection of tone, and gestures--
_By the hand of the Intellectual
Bipin Dat
Secretary to Her Highness, Lachmi Bai,
Rani of Ihansi
To
The most noble, Dhundu Panth,
Peshwa of the Marathas
Greeting_
"Be it known to you, O most Illustrious Sir, that by the will
of God and the pleasure of the great Rani, the Honorable Bipin
Dat ventures to address your Sublimity, for the purpose of
disclosing certain information, as follows:
"On the 8th of the month the Foreigners were obliterated from
the face of the earth in Jhansi, as if the devil had swept them
all off into Hades. Further, on the same day, it pleased the
great God to direct His people to seat Her Immortal Highness,
Lachmi Bai, upon the throne of the Rajas of Jhansi, which
events were witnessed by the observant eye, and recorded by the
unerring hand of her faithful and esteemed servant, Bipin Dat.
"Lastly, it hath pleased Her Highness the Rani, to recognize
the services of the aforesaid Bipin Dat in these great times,
by appointing him her _munshi_.[2] Whereby he has set his hand
to this letter on the 12th day of the month, etc.
(Signed) "BIPIN DAT,
"Secretary to the Rani of Jhansi."
Bipin finished his reading with a flourish of the hand and a look
upon his solemnly cherubic countenance, that indicated his perfect
satisfaction with the composition.
"That, noble Rani," said he, "will in proper form convey to the Peshwa
the news of your Highness's accession."
A smile momentarily relieved the Rani's serious expression.
"He will also," she remarked, "be in little doubt as to the identity of
the writer. The Peshwa, the Rani, and the Intellectual Bipin Dat. He
may wonder if the third is not the most important of the three."
Bipin stroked his chin musingly.
"Dust under thy feet," he replied at last. "That could scarcely be the
case, but it has ever been the opinion of the most learned _pundits_
that in the work of great writers their personality shines forth as a
diamond amid false gems."
"Then Bipin, thou must be a veritable stone of the first water," she
replied. "But one thing I gather. You, at any rate, out of a multitude
of aspirants for office, appear satisfied with your position."
"Noble Rani," he continued. "Satisfied am I of thy graciousness; but of
the precise moment when it will be advisable for me formally to take
upon myself the burden of my duties, I am not yet determined."
A look of displeasure crossed the Rani's face.
"How mean you"? she asked. "Have you, too, some petition to make that I
will exchange it for one that brings a better revenue"?
"Noble Lady," he replied, "mere wealth holds out little inducement
for those of intellectual worth. We, who are writers with inspired
thoughts, look for a more imperishable reward; but in all events of
importance it is ever well to consult those who read the future and who
can discern the most auspicious moment to take an important step."
"Oh!" exclaimed the Rani. "Thou wouldst consult thy friend, the
astrologer"?
Bipin bowed.
"Such is my desire, noble Lady."
"Go, then," she cried, "and get thy consultation over quickly, for I
need the service of thy pen."
Bipin rose from his sitting posture. He _salaamed_ thrice before his
mistress and departed with an important air.
In the shadow of the pillar by the main entrance the blind beggar,
who appeared to have sat there from the beginning of all time,
instinctively recognized Bipin's footsteps. He accosted the secretary
with a petition for alms.
"Good clerk," he cried. "Have pity upon the unfortunate."
Bipin halted and faced him with a look of offended dignity.
"Good clerk!" he returned, in scornful accents. "Good clerk! Thou fool.
Dost know to whom thou art speaking"?
"Surely to the worthy clerk, Bipin Dat," replied the beggar,
innocently. "Many a time hath he cast a crumb to the afflicted."
Bipin scowled magnificently upon the beggar.
"Then seldom in future will the afflicted benefit by his compassion,"
he returned sternly, "unless they have more discernment than to style
him a clerk. Know, thou fool, that he to whom thou criest is no longer
a clerk, but hath so gained the ear of the noble Rani, that she hath
appointed him to be her secretary."
His breast swelled with pride as he authoritatively announced his new
rank.
"Secretary to the Rani," cried the beggar in astonishment. "Secretary
to the Rani. Behold how God rewardeth the deserving. Protector of
the Humble," he whined, "it was my infirmity that led me to make the
mistake."
"Be careful then not to make such a mistake again," replied Bipin,
mollified by the beggar's submissive tone.
He tossed a _pice_ into the beggar's outstretched palm. Then, with
lordly gait, he strutted on his way through the bazaars.
That Bipin Dat had become a man of authority was quickly impressed
upon the friends and acquaintances he encountered. With condescending
dignity he returned their effusive salutations, clearly intimating that
a wide gulf of distinction lay between Bipin Dat the Rani's present
secretary, and Bipin Dat the former ordinary clerk. Upon the children
that sedately played in his path he frowned so threateningly that they
shrunk back at his approach. He carried his head as if his turban
already swept the clouds. In his mind the question uppermost was, to
what height might his ascending star of fortune still further exalt the
name of Bipin Dat.
At length he turned from the broad, booth-lined thoroughfare into a
narrow alley, and directed his steps toward the door of a squalid
house. He halted and knocked several times before he received an
answer to his summons. The door was cautiously opened, and a woman
appeared.
"Is thy learned husband, Mohurran Goshi, within"? he demanded.
"My honored husband is at present deeply engaged in compiling the
horoscope of a noble raja," replied the woman, "but if you will enter,
I will bear him a message."
"Aye, do thou tell him that the Honorable Bipin Dat, Secretary to the
Rani, would engage his ear for a space. Thy husband hath already done
me service."
At the woman's invitation he crossed the threshold of a bare and dingy
room, the air of which was filled with a savory odor, rising from a pot
placed upon a small fire. To this, Bipin directed his attention, that
ever in close sympathy with his stomach, was alert to be interested in
the progress of cooking.
The woman disappeared from view through an inner door.
After an absence of several minutes she returned with a reply. Her
husband, though deep in study, would nevertheless receive so good a
client as the Rani's secretary. Would he be pleased to pass into the
other room?
Bipin followed the woman's direction and found himself in an apartment
divided in the center by a curtain. There, seated upon the floor, the
grave astrologer Mohurran Goshi, was surrounded by books and a variety
of scientific instruments.
For some moments after Bipin's entrance the astrologer appeared too
profoundly absorbed in his work to notice the presence of his visitor.
At last he withdrew his gaze from an abtruse calculation, and directed
a keen glance toward the face of the Rani's secretary.
"Welcome, worthy Secretary," he exclaimed. "Thou seest I prophesied
truly. Yesterday a clerk, to-day a secretary; who knows, to-morrow thou
mayest attain thy ambition and become a zemindar."
"A zemindar, forsooth!" cried Bipin, disdainfully. "Thou must know,
learned Astrologer, that my ambition now rises beyond the station of
a zemindar. A raja! Why not a raja"? he exclaimed, strutting back and
forth. "Why should I not aspire to become a raja"?
"There is truly no reason, good Secretary," replied the astrologer,
"why you should not become a raja, if the fates are propitious. Is not
the great Maharaja Sindhia descended from a slipper-bearer"?
"To be sure," acquiesced Bipin, confidently. "I see no reason why I
should not become a raja, and for that matter even a maharaja."
"Thou mayest even become a king," suggested the astrologer, with a note
of sarcasm in his voice.
"Perhaps, who can tell, a king," agreed Bipin, reflectively. "But not
too great a jump at first, learned sir. One might become a trifle
dizzy. At present I will beg of thee to cast thy eye into the future
and see if I am in the right way to become a raja. To that end, is the
moment propitious for my taking upon myself the duties of the Rani's
secretary"?
The astrologer glanced slyly toward his client.
"For such work," he explained, "the fee is necessarily higher than it
was in forecasting your path toward the position of a zemindar. The
deeper an astrologer is required to penetrate into futurity, the larger
is the sum he is compelled to ask for his services."
"Speak not of that," returned Bipin, grandiloquently.
"You may suppose that all the spoil of the Foreigners did not escape my
fingers. Name thy fee for disclosing my way to become a raja."
The astrologer trading upon his client's vanity, named an extravagantly
high figure. For a moment Bipin winced, but producing the money, he
urged the astrologer to lose no time in the matter.
For a space, the astrologer pored over a chart of the heavens,
muttering to himself unintelligibly; while Bipin impatiently awaited
the result.
At last the astrologer spoke in an abstracted manner.
"Thy way to become a raja, O Secretary, is clearly revealed, but in thy
path there stands a powerful enemy, who is even now within the palace
of the Rani."
Bipin's countenance lengthened considerably.
"Is it that accursed pundit, Krishna Lal"? he asked.
"His name is not so written upon the heavens," returned the astrologer,
"though its exact lettering I cannot as yet discern. But he is himself
a raja and detesteth thee with all his soul."
"Blessed Devi"! exclaimed Bipin, with nervous apprehension. "What raja
is there in the Rani's palace who beareth me so much ill-will. I know
of no such one."
"So far he hath screened his animosity under a mask of kindness,"
replied the astrologer, returning to a scrutiny of his chart. "But
thy path is clearly set in contradiction to his own. When they meet
thou wilt be in danger of bodily harm. Thou wilt not lose thy life,"
he added, reassuringly, "but thou mayest be deprived of some of thy
organs--thy nose, and possibly thy ears, good Secretary."
"Holy Kali," cried Bipin, impulsively raising his hand to his
terror-stricken face. "At such a price I have no desire to be a raja.
Nay, if such a danger encompasses me, the Rani may find another
secretary."
"Patience, patience, good sir," continued the astrologer. "I did not
say that there was no way of warding off these evils. By following such
advice as I can give thee, thou mayest escape them all and yet live to
be an unmaimed raja."
"Tell me how, I pray thee, O learned Astrologer," besought Bipin, with
little trace of his importance remaining.
The astrologer appeared to reflect deeply before he replied:
"First, thou wouldst do well," he enjoined, "to remain in thy present
service, because even if thou wert to fly to the end of the earth, that
which is written on the heavens is bound to come to pass. But do thou
carefully take note of everything in the palace, reporting each event
to me from time to time, so that when thy evil moment approaches I can
place before thee a sure defense. Especially do thou regard the actions
of a Hindu noble recently arrived to join the Rani's cause. His looks I
like not, though they be fair outwardly."
"Thou canst not mean the Raja Prasad Singh"? asked Bipin, in astonished
accents.
"His name I cannot read as yet," returned the astrologer, "but if his
image rises to thy mind from what I say, be assured he is the one who
seeks to do thee so much injury."
Then the astrologer put a question pointedly.
"Of this Raja Prasad, of whom you speak. Does he stand close to the
person of the Rani"?
"He is ever at her side," replied Bipin. "He seeks to be appointed to
the command of the troops in Jhansi."
The astrologer shook his head gravely.
"Come to me again shortly," he concluded. "Then I will disclose to thee
further. Remember to do as I have counseled thee."
As the astrologer appeared to be about to withdraw himself again into
a state of profound abstraction. Bipin promised to return at an early
date. With misgiving in place of elation in his heart, he left the
house dejectedly.
"It seems to me," he reflected, as he made his way thoughtfully
along the alley. "It seems to me I have gained little satisfaction
by visiting that astrologer. For twenty rupees I have found out that
the Raja, Prasad Singh, is an enemy who seeks to possess himself
of my nose and ears. Twenty rupees is a large sum to pay for such
information. What evil things might not the astrologer have disclosed
for fifty rupees? As to Prasad Singh, he is evidently jealous of my
influence with the Rani. I must keep a close watch on him, and report
to the astrologer frequently."
Bipin had scarcely left the astrologer's presence, when the curtain was
thrust aside and Ahmad Khan stood in the aperture.
"Well, noble sir," said the astrologer, "I think I reduced that fool to
a pliable state for our purpose."
Ahmad laughed sardonically.
"It is well," he replied. "No doubt his fears will temper him into a
useful tool. To-morrow I return to the Rani's court in a new character.
Keep my counsel, O Mohurran, and thou shalt receive better pay than
thou ever didst before in thy musty calling, well recompensed as I note
it is. One thing we have gleaned from his chatter. It was that dog of
a Prasad who advised the Rani to play me such a trick. He aspires to
become commander of the troops, does he? Well, he will yet be obliged
to seek his appointment at the hands of Ahmad Khan, Raja of Jhansi."
Chapter V
_AHMAD RETURNS TO COURT_
The rains had burst over India with terrific force. Even the arid and
ever drought threatened State of Jhansi received a deluge. This soon
rendered the main lines of communication impassable, and cut Jhansi off
from the outside world.
Rumors only of stirring events reached the Rani's ears. In that
mysterious way, by which news in India seems to filter through
inanimate channels, she heard of the Foreigner's advance upon Delhi;
but of the course which they intended to pursue toward her own State,
she could obtain no reliable information. It appeared as if their
desperate need to strike a blow at the center of the revolt would leave
her unmolested for the present.
This was satisfactory as it gave her time to prepare for their return.
But her position was still precarious from danger near at hand.
In the city of Jhansi her authority was now unquestioned, even though
the rivalries among her retainers made it a delicate matter to enforce.
But in the remaining parts of the State, the nobles, uninfluenced by
her personality, were not so ready to submit to what they were inclined
to regard as the capricious rule of a girl. From similar instances
they feared the advent to power of some court favorite. More than one,
also, had claims of his own to urge forward to the prize that had
fallen into the Rani's grasp. With native caution they had waited for
the result of the _coup d'état_ before irrevocably declaring their own
hands.
Thus, with the exception of a few minor nobles, the Rani's proclamation
of her accession had been received by the Jhansi rajas throughout the
State in ominous silence. A disquieting report persistently reasserted
that the Maharaja Sadescheo, a cousin of the late Raja of Jhansi was
collecting troops near his fortress of Shahpur, for the purpose of
joining forces with the Peshwa. This did not deceive the Rani's alert
intelligence. A descent upon the city of Jhansi was, in her reckoning,
the Maharaja's more probable aim.
Under these circumstances she had prudently secured the gates and
ramparts of Jhansi with her own soldiers, leaving the fort and
cantonments without the city in the possession of Ahmad Khan, whose
sullen attitude she viewed with anxiety. While the Mohammedan noble
seemed to possess every evil trait to which mortal flesh is heir, she
fully appreciated the control of his ferocious bravery, as an awe
inspiring weapon to hold over the heads of those who yet disputed her
title.
His plea of sickness, as an excuse for his absence from her court,
if a ruse to screen other motives, was not confirmed by any sign of
action. She was led to hope, that by the use of subtle influence, his
allegiance might be retained without making too great a sacrifice to
his ambition.
How to accomplish this was the question of the hour.
The Rani was seated in one of her private apartments discussing the
news of the morning with Prasad, when Bipin entered. He paused within
the door, and glanced suspiciously at the Hindu noble.
"Well, learned Secretary," greeted Prasad affably, "Thy face seems
to reflect the scowl of the elements. Doth the weight of thy exalted
office press too heavily upon thy turban"?
"Thanks to the Rani's graciousness," returned Bipin, "my turban
rests lightly enough; and its folds well protect my ears," he added
significantly.
"He shall not imagine," thought Bipin, "that I am not forewarned of his
accursed design."
Prasad laughed good naturedly as he regarded the unusual size of the
secretary's head covering.
"It is almost large enough to protect thy nose as well, good Bipin," he
suggested.
The solemn expression on the secretary's face deepened as he received
what he believed to be sure confirmation of the evil lurking in
Prasad's mind.
"As the saying is, noble sir," he rejoined with an assumption of sage
gravity. "He who looks well to the roof of his house need trouble
little about an approaching storm."
"Truly Bipin, thou art a philosopher," remarked the Rani with a smile.
"Aye, always by thy favor, noble Lady," he answered.
"I keep a good watch not only upon my nose and ears, but upon all my
other possessions."
The secretary concluded this passage of words with a wary look directed
toward Prasad. He then advanced and delivered a missive to the Rani.
"From the Maharaja Sadescheo of Shahpur," he said, bowing. "A messenger
hath just delivered it at the palace."
The Rani took the letter eagerly.
"Ah," she exclaimed. "Now we shall know whether Sadescheo's newly
acquired martial spirit leads him to join the Peshwa. If I mistake
not, his avarice prompts him to cast longing eyes upon the revenues
of Jhansi. It is a treasure chest rather than honor which men like
Sadescheo crave."
She hastily opened the letter and gathered its contents.
"Go," she cried with a commanding air, to Bipin. "Go, but remain within
call, as I may need thy services."
When Bipin had retired, she handed the letter to Prasad.
"Read that, my Lord," she exclaimed. "We need no longer remain in doubt
as to Sadescheo's reason for collecting troops. He reminds me that as
the late Raja's cousin he is entitled to some voice in the settlement
of affairs, and that until I have been proclaimed in a _Darbar_ of the
Jhansi nobles, he cannot recognize my right to inherit the throne. The
fool! the fool"! she continued passionately. "How many of them are
there to be taught that the power of Lachmi Bai doth not rest upon the
will of nobles, but in her own spirit, and in the love of her people."?
Prasad, in turn, read the letter, and then tossed it contemptuously
from him.
"Who is this Sadescheo that presumes to question your authority"? he
demanded.
"Oh," she returned with a gesture of disdain. "Maharaja Sadescheo
possesses a fortress at Shahpur. He hath some followers; but he would
never have dared to address me in this fashion had Ahmad Khan remained
at my side. I fear he must have received some hint of the Mohammedan's
defection."
"Ah! Ahmad Khan! Ahmad Khan"! Prasad ejaculated impatiently. "His name
is ever sounding in my ears."
He rose abruptly and passed to one of the windows where he gazed
angrily out upon the lowering clouds, that swept across the sky, at
intervals drenching the land with cyclonic violence.
Then as if a resolution was suddenly formed in his mind, he returned to
the Rani's side and besought her in fervent accents.
"Fair Rani," he cried. "Why speakest thou so much of this Ahmad Khan?
Surely thou canst no longer hold him in thy favor. One look upon his
surly countenance and thou beholdest treachery marked by every line. Of
this, recently thou hast had ample proof. But give me, ah, dear lady, I
implore thee, give into my hands the command of thy troops, and thou
shalt see how quickly I will subdue this presumptuous Maharaja."
The Rani smiled approvingly upon his eager countenance, but shook her
head negatively.
"Prasad, well do I believe in thy devotion and courage, but thou art
hasty in judgment. Consider how rash would be thy action. Thou wouldst
carry my troops away to Shahpur, and leave me--to whom wouldst thou
leave the defense of the city? To Ahmad's soldiers? Nay surely! No,"
she added thoughtfully. "In my mind all such work without the city must
fall to Ahmad's lot. But how to control his savage nature, for the
moment, I see not clearly."
Prasad again paced to a little distance. An expression of keen
disappointment settled on his face.
"Nay Prasad," she enjoined in a gentle voice. "Be not out of humor with
me. Thou dost not rightly see these things. Thou dost not understand
what bitter jealousy would be stirred up among my own people, if I gave
to thee that which many worthy officers covet most. Ahmad may be a
greater villain than even thou wouldst have him, but forget not he goes
to battle with greater zest than to a banquet. Bloodshed and rapine are
his calling, and few there are who do not shudder at his name. Ah! If I
could only send him forth to this impertinent Sadescheo."
"Is it possible thou, too, art afraid of him"? suggested Prasad.
A laugh of derision escaped the Rani's lips.
"Lachmi Bai afraid of Ahmad--of anyone? Nay, you know her not, O
Prasad."
The Hindu noble's intense jealousy prompted him to an ungallant retort.
He turned quickly toward her and muttered between his clenched teeth:
"Perchance thou art in love with the Mohammedan"?
She rose to her feet and stood confronting him; her form quivering with
emotion; her cheeks aflame; her eyes flashing threateningly; her breast
throbbing with the insult.
"Dare not thou ever speak to me again such thought," she retorted
sternly. "Dost think that I, of noble birth and lofty caste, would
descend to gratify the passion of an accursed Moslem, even if he could
place upon my head an empire's crown. Dost think--Ah, Prasad," she
continued in a softer tone. "Thou art surely out of thy mind to speak
thus to me. Thou hast forgotten that although I am the Rani, I am still
a woman. I did not think this of thee."
Her voice quavered as the passion roused by the insult to her dignity
gave place to a realization of the wound made, by one, for whom she had
come to form a tender regard.
Prasad glanced at the eyes from which the fire had been quenched by
gathering tears. He was seized with contrition, and cast himself
abjectly at her feet.
"Ah! Beast that I am," he cried in accents of self reproach. "How dare
I throw a doubt upon thine honor? Forgive me. Forgive my folly, thou
dear one. Surely thou knowest it is my love for thee, which maketh me
hate the very name of any other uttered by thy matchless lips. I vow it
is my only desire to do thee service, aye, if it be the will of God, to
give my life for thee."
She rested a hand gently upon his shoulder, and gazed down upon him
with affection.
"This time thou art forgiven," she returned. "But distress me not so
again, my Prasad. Thou shall yet do me not unrequited service, if thou
canst be unresentful of the means I am compelled to use to make my will
obeyed. If thou seest me take in hand a two edged sword, be assured it
is the best weapon I can find to parry disloyalty in both Hindu and
Mohammedan."
"So be it, fair lady," he replied. "Thou art my will, my life."
He rose to his feet and for the moment was tempted by an uncontrollable
desire to enfold her in his arms. He took a hurried pace forward, but
the act was prevented by the entrance of a woman servant.
"My Lady Rani," the latter announced. "Ahmad Khan hath come to the
palace. He urgently craves an audience with your Highness."
The Rani's face expressed welcome surprise.
"So," she cried. "Ahmad returns to caress the hand that sways his
destiny. Fierce beast that he is. I--I am his mistress, aye, his master.
"Come," she added, beckoning to Prasad. "Be watchful of thy temper, O
good friend."
When the Rani entered the room in which Ahmad was waiting, he saluted
her with profound reverence. Thrice he made a courtly _salaam_ at a
respectful distance. In his outward manner there was no sign of the
arrogance which had marked his last abrupt entrance into her palace.
Whatever conclusion the Rani drew from the glance directed toward
him, she extended a friendly greeting. "Thou art welcome, Ahmad," she
exclaimed, intimating her pleasure that he should draw nearer. "Thou
art ever welcome to the Palace of the Rani. I trust thou art recovered
from thy sickness."
"Noble Lady," he replied, as if with an effort. "The physician had
enjoined a longer period of confinement to my room; but the news from
Shahpur made me hasten to thy side."
The Rani started.
"Hast thou heard from Sadescheo then"? she asked wistfully.
"Of him rather than from him, noble Lady," replied Ahmad. "Sadescheo
gathers troops about his fortress, so it is thy humble servant's advice
that thou dost, without loss of time, dispatch a strong body to learn
his reason."
The Rani turned a searching look upon the Mohammedan.
He met her gaze unflinchingly.
[Illustration: "Then will I set forth to bring this dog of a Maharaja
to his senses"?--Page 57.]
"Noble Rani," he petitioned. "Thou hast good cause to doubt my faith
and word. But, gracious Lady, hear my explanation. True is it that
Bahadur Shah commanded me to protect the Government of Jhansi, but
surely for thy sake. My people were carried away by their zeal and
triumph over the Foreigners. They were guilty of an offense against thy
authority. In the same enthusiasm of the hour I, too, lost control of
my proper reverence for thy person. For this, noble Rani, I do seek thy
pardon; and as evidence of my regret, I beg that thou wilt direct me to
march instantly with three hundred Afghan troopers, who have arrived
this morning without the city, and demand submission of this Sadescheo.
Be assured if he does not comply speedily, I will rout his people like
sheep before a band of wolves. In chains, at my horse's hoofs, will I
drag him and his relatives hither."
While Prasad gazed with wonder at the Mohammedan's altered manner, the
Rani assured him that the past had already been forgotten.
"Then will I set forth for Shahpur, noble Rani," he asked, "to bring
this dog of a Maharaja to his senses"?
"Not so hastily, my Lord," the Rani answered thoughtfully. "The sword
once out of its sheath, the fight is on, and who knows what a turmoil
we may stir up in the state. Wiser it would seem to me, to overawe
Sadescheo by a display of greater force. How many people, think you,
hath he already collected to his support"?
"Noble Lady," replied the Mohammedan, "I know, nor care not. But give
to me the order and with a hundred Afghans to every thousand of his
people few will remain in Shahpur to tell of Ahmad's visit."
"Ahmad, good friend," replied the Rani authoritatively. "That must not
be. Well do I know and appreciate thy courage, but bloodshed among
ourselves is what I strive to avoid."
"Better to crush the cobra before it raises its head," he remarked
significantly.
"Aye, but I would rather that with thy Afghan horsemen, thou dost take
an equal number of my troopers. Then will Sadescheo perceive that both
Hindu and Mohammedan are united in my cause, and will submit without
resort to force."
Ahmad appeared to coincide with her argument.
"Thou speakest ever wisely, O Rani," he returned. "But in such event
might not I ask that the noble Prasad Singh here, doth lead thy troops,
if he will deign the comradeship of so rough a man at arms."
Prasad looked up eagerly at the unexpected request, and implied
compliment. He began to view Ahmad in a different light.
"With the Rani's permission, gladly will I do so," he acquiesced.
The Rani perceived that Prasad's presence with the expedition might act
as a restraining influence, as well as a safeguard upon the Mohammedan.
She gave her consent readily.
"Thou wilt take three hundred of my horsemen," she addressed Prasad,
"and accompany Ahmad Khan to Shahpur. Upon thy return a _Darbar_ shall
be held in which I will make the chief appointments in the state."
She then turned to Ahmad and asked if it would be possible for him to
reach Shahpur in the present state of the weather.
"Fair Lady," replied the Mohammedan. "Have I not fought among the
Afghan passes when the winter snows were tinged a bloody red. Have I
not chased Kurd horsemen into their bleak fastnesses. Such squalls as
these but refresh the mettle of our steeds. Fear not, at daybreak,
Ahmad Khan will break his fast with Sadescheo."
"Then farewell, my Lords," the Rani cried. "Go, terrify Sadescheo as
much as thou wilt, but, remember, draw not the sword unless thou art
compelled as thou regardest my favor."
Ahmad saluted and retired first from her presence. Prasad was about to
follow, when he paused a moment.
"What are thy commands"? he asked in a low tone, as if he expected an
order yet to be disclosed.
"Be watchful," she replied. "For the present he may be trusted,
because"--
A smile of triumph broke upon her face as she concluded--
"If thou dost love the Rani, remember her command."
She passed to a window and watched the two nobles mount their chargers.
Her spirit was stirred by the sight of their martial bearing.
"Ah"! she sighed regretfully. "Ah! How I would like to be one of them.
To be a man and ride forth sword in hand, to battle; to hear the cannon
roar, and mingle with the clash of arms. Perhaps, who can tell, some
day the Rani may command her troops in person."
Then her thoughts took another channel.
"Sadescheo," she exclaimed. "Sadescheo! Poor, foolish, coward. I have
no fear how he will act when the dawn finds Ahmad demanding admittance,
in my name, at the gates of Shahpur."
Chapter VI
_THE OATH_
Faithfully Ahmad kept his word to the Rani. Through the black,
tempestuous night, he swept over the road to Shahpur. He recklessly
plunged into swollen torrents. He callously hurled himself upon
whatever obstacles lay in his path. Whirlwinds and stormbursts seemed
in sympathy with his furious nature, bearing him onward rather than
impeding his progress. Struggling, swearing, crashing in his wake,
the troopers followed as best they could. A horse falling through
sheer exhaustion, rider and beast were left to extricate themselves.
Another, carried away in the flood of a river, was, without a saving
effort, abandoned to his fate. To Ahmad, such incidents were only
manifestations of the Will of Allah, by which all men must die when
their appointed hour had come.
This exhibition of splendid recklessness was not without effect
upon the brave spirit of Prasad. With rigid features he strenuously
spurred forward at Ahmad's side. In his mind there gradually formed
an understanding of the value which the Rani placed upon the services
of the Mohammedan. It was like a bolt of lightning held in reserve, a
force to be controlled only with the greatest skill and prudence; yet
one that launched forth, burning to destroy, and oblivious of meeting
with destruction itself; a terrible and awe-inspiring object.
Seldom were words exchanged. A guttural oath occasionally burst from
the Mohammedan's lips as he found his way momentarily blockaded; an
exclamation of anger went forth upon the night as he glanced back over
his shoulder to discover that his pace had outstripped that of his
followers.
The sullen break of day found Ahmad Khan and his companions, shaggy,
dirt begrimed, with sodden garments, emerging from a ravine. At the
entrance, perched upon the summit of a rock, rose indistinctly in the
misty half light, the gray walls of the citadel of Shahpur.
He halted his men for a short space to enable stragglers to rejoin the
party, and to perform a religious act. In Ahmad's nature, there was
mingled with an absolute lack of human principle, a strange leavening
of superstitious reverence. The more villainous the project upon which
he was bent, the more scrupulous would he be in conforming to certain
outward observances of his religion. If a murder was to be accomplished
by the basest treachery, he would as fervently call down the blessing
of Allah upon the act, as if another were about to sacrifice himself in
some deed of true heroism.
He unrolled a small piece of carpet, and spread it upon the ground.
Then he knelt with his face toward the west, and remained a few minutes
in prayer.
"There is but one God and Mohammed is the Prophet of God," he solemnly
ejaculated at its conclusion.
Several of his troopers added an amen.
He rose and remounted.
He then carefully inspected the company, arranging them in double file.
This done to his satisfaction he cautiously led the way toward the
mouth of the ravine, taking advantage of such cover as was afforded by
the low underbrush and projecting spurs of rock.
Ahmad thus advanced into a narrow sinuous path leading up to the
main gate of the citadel, when he pressed forward so rapidly and
noiselessly, that he was demanding admittance of the keeper, before the
watchers on the walls had discerned his approach.
"Open there," he shouted, "to Ahmad Khan and the noble Prasad Singh,
bearing a message from the Rani of Jhansi."
Ahmad Khan! Ahmad Khan! A panic seized those within the gates roused
from their slumbers by the stentorian voice of the Mohammedan.
"Open dogs," he thundered, as his summons failed of an immediate
response.
"Noble lords," at last came a quavering rejoinder. "Maharaja Sadescheo
yet sleepeth. The gates cannot be opened without his order."
"Wake him then," cried the Mohammedan. "By God's holy Prophet, time
passes upon an urgent matter."
"Noble lords, that is impossible."
"Accursed jackals. Am I to batter down the gate. Go to thy master, and
if thou wilt, lay all the blame on Ahmad Khan. He will awaken quickly,
enough, if I mistake not," he added.
A short period elapsed, passed restlessly by Ahmad, when the voice was
again raised within the gate.
"Maharaja Sadescheo extends greeting. He would welcome the noble Ahmad
Khan and his followers but that the citadel is already over filled. If
the noble Ahmad Khan will enter unattended, then will Sadescheo gladly
see him."
Ahmad cast himself impulsively from the saddle.
"Thou wilt not accept this challenge, surely"? asked Prasad.
"Surely will I," the other retorted. "Thou wilt keep these fellows
here, and if I do not return or send for thee within an hour, thou
canst ask the reason by an assault upon the gate. But there is no
danger."
He passed through the massive door and found himself in a courtyard
filled with Sadescheo's recently collected soldiers. As he strode
inward fearlessly, they fell back before his grim and martial bearing.
His way made clear through these, he was conducted to a room in the
interior of the fortress to await the Maharaja.
With soldierly instinct Ahmad stepped to a window that commanded a
partial view of the defenses.
"A good position," he reflected, as his glance swept along the walls,
"and worth holding if garrisoned by a handful of Mohammedans instead of
this Hindu rabble. Sadescheo"!--
A smile broke upon his face.
"Sadescheo thinks to trick the Rani of Jhansi. By God! he little knows
with whom he has to deal. She would make a fit wife even for the
illustrious Dost Mohammed, the Lion of Afghanistan. I warrant there
is more in that bewitching form than most give credit for. Thus, for
the undoing of this accursed Prasad, will Ahmad for a time become her
humble slipper bearer. Allah! what is it in the girl that moves a man
in spite of himself."
A voice pronouncing his name interrupted the trend of his thoughts.
He turned abruptly to confront a man of past middle age, whose
weak features bore evidence of a life of sensual debauchery. With
outstretched hands Sadescheo greeted the Mohammedan.
"Thou hast come unexpectedly, and apparently without waste of time
upon the road, O Ahmad," he exclaimed, eyeing the Mohammedan's
travel-stained attire. Then in a lower tone, "Hast determined to assist
in ousting that chit of a girl from the Raj of Jhansi"?
Ahmad drew himself up to his full height as he replied haughtily.
"I have come from Her Highness the Rani to know the reason of your
collecting troops, and to demand a recognition of her authority."
"Come! come! Good Ahmad," the other rejoined. "It is early in the day
for pleasantry. It is a new thing for Ahmad Khan to joke."
"A joke," repeated Ahmad sternly. "By the Prophet's beard it is no
joke. On the Koran I have sworn to support the Rani."
The feeble smile on Sadescheo's face gave place to an expression of
dismay.
"Thou canst not mean this," he returned, "for but the other day thou
didst send a messenger agreeing to our plans."
"And to-day," retorted Ahmad threateningly, "I come in person to
denounce that same messenger as a liar. Briefly, good friend, it doth
not suit Ahmad Khan to oppose the Rani for the purpose of uplifting
Sadescheo."
"Then thou hast surely chosen an ill-fitting place to make the
declaration," replied the Maharaja significantly. "Perchance Ahmad Khan
may remain in Shahpur until he again finds it expedient to change his
mind. He does not seem to be aware that he speaks within the walls of
Sadescheo's fortress."
With a rapid movement Ahmad was at Sadescheo's side. Roughly he laid a
firm grasp upon the Maharaja's shoulder, while his disengaged hand fell
to the hilt of a dagger protruding from his girdle.
"Aye, and thou art in Ahmad's power," he muttered fiercely. "If he sees
fit to change his mind, that is his affair. If he orders thee to throw
open thy gates to his people, three hundred Afghans and as many of the
Rani's troopers, impatient to enter, yea or nay, and summon hither his
lieutenant, thou hadst better do it quickly, or he will open thy body
and toss forth thy chicken heart to swine. Art willing to follow such
advice, valiant Sadescheo"?
Sadescheo glanced timorously toward the open door. Within call were a
dozen armed retainers who at the raising of his voice would rush to
his assistance. But he knew full well that before they could reach his
side, Ahmad's dagger would be buried a foot deep in his breast. If in
turn, the Mohammedan were slain after he had made a pile of corpses
to fall upon, that would be little satisfaction to him personally. He
therefore called an attendant and gave the required order. For a moment
the servant hesitated. "Go," cried Sadescheo nervously. "Go do my
bidding, swiftly. What would you have now"? he asked of Ahmad.
"That my troops receive food and lodging for the day," replied the
other, "and that on my return to Jhansi to-night my lieutenant, Suliman
Abhas and a hundred Afghans replace your people on the walls of the
citadel. Further, thou wilt proclaim the Rani in _Darbar_ and hoist her
banner on the gate."
To this Sadescheo made a gesture indicative of enforced compliance.
Presently, heavy footsteps in the passage announced the approach of
Prasad and Ahmad's lieutenant.
Upon entering they glanced from Sadescheo, still held in Ahmad's grasp,
to their leader, and waited.
With grim ceremony he presented them to the Maharaja.
Sadescheo bade them a reluctant welcome.
"With your permission, noble sir," suggested Ahmad, "we will proceed
to your hall of audience. There the Rani's title will be proclaimed,
and we will rest upon our return to Jhansi."
Before an hour had passed the Rani of Jhansi's banner was flying
beside that of Sadescheo, and Ahmad's troops had replaced those of the
Maharaja on the walls.
That night the two nobles set forth on their return to the capital.
The burst of the monsoon in Jhansi had for the time passed over, so
they rode leisurely through the clear atmosphere. First, they discussed
the general prospects of the rebellion, then their successful descent
upon Sadescheo, and lastly the condition of their personal affairs.
"You carried your life upon the blade of your sword, when you entered
Sadescheo's fortress," remarked Prasad admiringly. "It was an intrepid
act."
Ahmad laughed carelessly.
"In truth no," he returned. "There are some men, I grant you, with
whom it would have been a venturesome thing to do. It would be a
dangerous trick to play upon such a one as Dost Mohammed, whose valour
and resource rise with the greater odds against him. But with this
Sadescheo"--
He uttered an exclamation of contempt as he concluded:
"Upon him you have but to frown, and he shivers from his turban to his
slippers."
They rode on in silence for some distance across a wide plain, the
troopers following in a long procession, phantom like by the light of
the moon.
Ahmad, apparently deep in thought, at last spoke in a reflective manner.
"Thou art a fortunate man, friend Prasad. Providence hath undoubtedly
taken thy affairs into her special keeping."
"How so"? the other asked. "If by casting obstacles at every turn of my
way she is doing me good service, then only am I the most fortunate of
men."
"Why, good comrade," returned Ahmad. "Is it not great fortune to stand
so high in the beautiful Rani's favor. What could man desire more"?
Prasad turned a glance quickly upon the Mohammedan, but his companion's
head was bent downward toward the pommel of his saddle.
"If I stand high in her favor," he replied, "then she well keepeth it a
secret."
"Dost thou not count it a favor"? asked the Mohammedan, "to be
appointed to the supreme command of her troops when many crave so
honorable a post."
"She hath not appointed me to any office," replied Prasad, "except upon
this expedition, which was owing to thy suggestion."
Ahmad raised his face upon which rested a well feigned look of surprise.
"Truly you astonish me," he exclaimed. "But the Rani is a prudent
woman, and doubtless waits a favorable moment to give it to thee. At
the _Darbar_ she will probably pronounce thy name in honor."
"I doubt it much," returned Prasad, "though I grant you she is a
mistress in the art of not making clear her mind."
"Tut, tut," ejaculated Ahmad soothingly. "Woman like, she is but
playing with thee awhile. But I know well she holdeth thee in high
esteem. How could she do otherwise than appreciate the gallantry of
so fine a soldier. For me," he added indifferently, "I possess little
influence with the Rani, and at any moment I may be called away to set
the Emperor's house in order. But when I make my report of this little
business, be assured I will not fail to keep thy name in mind. If a
humble word of mine can do thee service, it shall not remain unspoken."
The eyes of the two men met in a steady gaze. Upon the Mohammedan's
face stern and cold as it appeared, Prasad could detect no sign of
hidden motive. He had yielded homage to the man's reckless valor; might
there not, he argued, after all dwell beneath the rough exterior, a
generous nature, carried away at times by mad impulse.
"If thou wouldst do this for me," he returned, "thou wilt have placed
me under obligation of a life. To command the Rani's troops is now my
great ambition."
For an instant a sarcastic smile flickered about the Mohammedan's lips.
But it was gone before it could be detected.
"Gladly will I take an oath upon the holy book to do it," he answered.
"These officers of the Rani are well enough, but they lack that proper
martial spirit which, as a soldier, I have noted plainly in thy
conduct. For myself, my aims now lie elsewhere than in Jhansi; but even
were that not so, I would willingly yield to thee the office, as it is
but right a Hindu noble should command the forces of a Hindu queen."
"Ahmad," Prasad cried enthusiastically. "I have done thee an injustice.
More, I have ever done the same as those of thy religion. It is said a
Moslem can never be a friend. Henceforth I vow that such is false."
Ahmad bowed his head in acknowledgment of the other's confidence.
"Everyone hath an enemy," he replied, "who will misrepresent a good
intention. If influence of mine can do thee service, by the holy
_Kaaba_ I swear the Rani will go into _Darbar_ with but thy name upon
her lips.
"Come! The day breaks," he concluded, "and we are still some leagues
from Jhansi."
Again he halted to dismount and pray with his face toward holy Mecca.
Ahmad's devotions were of short duration. He concluded with a petition
to Allah to witness the truth in his heart. Then vaulting into the
saddle, he drove his spurs into his horse's flanks. With arms glinting
in the sunshine, at a canter, he bravely led the cavalcade.
Chapter VII
_HOW AHMAD KEPT HIS OATH_
Ahmad returned alone to the Rani's palace. To avert all suspicion of
his conduct, he dismissed his Afghans to the cantonments on approaching
the city. With the plea of furthering Prasad's interest, he had advised
the Hindu noble to absent himself when the report of their expedition
was made. It would be difficult, he explained, to properly advocate the
claim of another, if the person chiefly concerned were present.
Prasad clearly perceived the force of the Mohammedan's suggestion. He
relied implicitly upon the other's good faith, and readily acquiesced.
"Make my best _salaams_ to the divine Rani," he enjoined Ahmad on
parting, "and say that I will come to her side as soon as I have
changed my attire for garments more suitable to the presence of a
queen."
Ahmad vowed that he would leave no compliment unsaid on Prasad's behalf.
"In truth," he reflected, as he proceeded on his way, "I may be wrong,
but this Rani of ours seems rather to prefer the smell of powder to the
most delicate perfume of Teheran. I fancy the courtier finds less favor
in her eyes than the man-at-arms. Ah what a treasure! What an _houri_.
She must, by the God of Islam, she shall be mine, if I am compelled to
play a hundred different parts in turn."
As Ahmad dismounted, the beggar who had petitioned everyone entering
the palace that morning, ceased his cry for alms. He crouched further
into his corner as instinct told him it was the fierce Mohammedan at
hand--one whose boast was that he neither feared nor pitied any human
being.
Ahmad remarked the beggar's action.
"Thou poor wretch," said he in a voice into which he threw as much
compassion as he could assume. "Art dumb now as well as blind."?
Surprise was depicted on the face of the beggar, who had learned by
past experience to expect a curse if he ventured to address Ahmad Khan.
"Noble Lord," he faltered. "Is it truly the voice of the great Ahmad
that I hear"?
"Whose voice else"? demanded the Mohammedan in return.
The beggar shrugged his shoulders.
"Lord I know not," he answered.
Ahmad cast a small coin at the beggar's feet, and ascended the palace
steps.
On the porch Bipin had been an interested spectator of the scene.
"Blessed Devi," he reflected. "What next will happen? Perchance we
shall behold Ahmad Khan robed as a _Mollah_ calling his people to
prayer, from the balcony of a minaret. Everyone seems to be what he
is not. To think that the well-looking Prasad should possess so
villainous a heart, and the black Mohammedan display compassion for the
unfortunate."
Bipin was still in a most unhappy frame of mind. That morning another
circumstance had occurred fraught with ill-omen. A white cat bereft
of one eye had persistently endeavored to sharpen its talons in his
legs. To fathom the significance of the beast's actions, Bipin had
promptly repaired to his friend the astrologer, who for a monetary
consideration, had assured his client that they betokened the swift
unfolding of Prasad's design. As a consequence, Bipin had armed himself
with an ancient and rusty flint lock pistol, the massive butt of which
protruded from his waistband.
The weapon at once attracted Ahmad's notice.
"What," he cried with gruff humor. "What do I behold? The worthy Bipin
Dat, the man of peace, armed for mortal combat."
"Illustrious Lord," returned Bipin gravely. "When every man goeth
armed, he is a fool who doth not follow the prevailing fashion."
"True, O Secretary," returned Ahmad, laying a familiar though heavy
hand upon the other's shoulder. "Come, I like thee all the better for
thy display of spirit. Soon thou wilt be wielding a sword with the best
Afghan in my troop."
"And why should I not," rejoined Bipin. "One need not be born in a
fortress to make a good fighter."
Ahmad threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Bipin," he replied,
"I am inclined to think thou hast mistaken thy calling. Thou shouldst
have been a soldier. Come! I will beg a commission for thee from Her
Highness, so that thou mayest win the title, _Singh_."
"Not so fast, good sir," replied Bipin. "In dangerous times arms are
well enough for protection, but he who makes a profession of exchanging
blows receives too many for my liking."
Ahmad laughed again. "Well! well! Bipin," he exclaimed. "I make no
doubt when the moment comes thou wilt acquit thyself with the best of
us. But in the meantime I would see the Heaven endowed Rani."
Bipin turned, and beckoned Ahmad to follow. He led the way into the
palace.
The Rani had feared that in spite of the solemn injunction she had laid
upon Ahmad, his uncontrolled nature might have led him into some overt
act against Sadescheo. She was relieved, early in the report, to learn,
that he had managed to enforce her authority upon the Maharaja without
igniting a racial conflagration within her territory.
"Ahmad," she cried with a display of satisfaction. "Thou hast done well
indeed. How can I reward thy services sufficiently"?
"Noble Rani," he answered. "Thy approval of my actions is all the
recompense I ask."
A momentary expression of added relief crossed the Rani's face.
She was afraid he might demand that which his soldierly qualities
entitled him to claim, but which she still hesitated to give.
"If all others were only like thee," she returned, "how much easier
would be my lot, how much more secure would be our position."
"Fair Lady," resumed Ahmad. "My position is uncertain, for I know not
how soon I may be called away to sharpen the blunted teeth of Bahadur
Shah's overfed soldiers. Wrangling among themselves over the plunder
that has fallen into their hands at Delhi, they will scatter to the
jungle like a band of jackals at the voice of the Foreign hunter. But
if Ahmad Khan might presume to offer the great Rani some advice in
certain matters, he would consider himself well repaid for any service
he has rendered."
"Gladly will I hear thee, friend Ahmad," acquiesced the Rani.
"Principally is it," continued Ahmad, "in reference to the offices thou
wilt doubtless make in _Darbar_ to-morrow. Above all things it would be
advisable to appoint a commander of the troops, to whom both thy Hindu
and Mohammedan subjects will look with respect and confidence. If thou
hast determined this already, then will the voice of thy humble servant
remain silent."
"No Ahmad," returned the Rani thoughtfully. "I have not done so as yet.
That matter troubles me more than all else. There are so many worthy
aspirants that it is difficult to select the one who would suit the
office best. Willingly will I listen to thy advice."
"Then, noble Rani," Ahmad proceeded, "Taking into account the
conflicting aspects of the question, the man to be chosen must possess
more than one qualification. Courage and daring must first of all
be his birthright, but equally important is a knowledge of military
strategy--none the less valuable if intuitive rather than acquired
by experience, and in which rapidity of action must be the outward
manifestation of an alert mind. To these must be added firmness of
character to enforce discipline even to the point of seeming cruelty,
holding human life in his own person and in that of others as of no
account when necessary, yet not unmindful of the needs of his soldiers
whose affection he will thereby gain in return. If, further, he should
possess youth and a gallant bearing it will be to his advantage, for
the trooper is ever the more eager to follow a captain of distinguished
presence. If he possesses these qualities, noble Rani, even though
thy selection were to fall upon a comparative stranger to the state,
be assured thou wouldst act most wisely. Such a one I dare to have in
mind."
Unconsciously Ahmad had faithfully portrayed the character as yet
undisplayed of the girl before whom he stood.
In the pause which ensued it was evident the Rani was mentally
reviewing the faces of those known to her who would be most likely to
coincide with Ahmad's description.
"Ah"! she exclaimed at last. "Dost thou refer to Prasad Singh"?
A look of slight astonishment broke upon Ahmad's face.
"Prasad Singh"! he ejaculated. "Noble Lady," he protested, "for aught
I know to the contrary Prasad Singh _may_ possess all these qualities
and more. Untried in any important affair, he _may_ prove to be a great
captain, though in our little ride to Shahpur, but for the banter of
his rough companion, I think he would more than once have turned back.
But Prasad surely is a good comrade and a handsome fellow, even if his
name doth not hover on my lips."
"Whose name dost thou have in mind, then"? asked the Rani somewhat
perplexed.
"It is the young officer Dost Ali, noble Lady," replied Ahmad
confidentially. "Thou wilt have heard his father was a Maratha who was
driven into exile by the Foreigners, and dying left his young son to
the protection of the illustrious Dost Mohammed. Brought up by such a
leader, he has well learned the trade of arms. By birth a Hindu and a
Mohammedan by adoption, both factions in the state might well unite to
serve under him. Moreover, such action on thy part would surely please
the great Amir of Afghanistan, some of whose troopers are now a part
of thy forces, and whose doubtful attitude toward the Foreigners might
thereby be determined in support of India's cause."
The Rani turned from Ahmad and gazed out of a window pensively. There
was forming quickly in her mind an ulterior object that might be
promoted by following Ahmad's suggestion. Among her older officers
there was a marked disposition to regard her opinion in military
affairs lightly, as that of a mere girl whose judgment in such matters
could be of no value. A younger man, susceptible to her personal charm,
would, she thought, be more likely to follow, unhesitatingly, the
dictates of her will.
"Thou hast observed the young officer of whom I speak, my Rani"? Ahmad
asked with a shade of anxiety in his voice, as he waited on her answer.
"Truly I have," she answered. "I have remarked him well several times.
I like his manner and appearance. There is much discernment in what
thou sayest. For a space I will think over it, and to-morrow make known
my decision."
Ahmad _salaamed_ low and withdrew from her presence.
So far, he was satisfied with the favorable view the Rani seemed to
take of his covert plan of installing a _protégé_ of his own in one of
the most important offices of the government, and the deeper project of
eventually destroying his rival by that means.
The Rani proceeded to an inner court, and called her chief waiting
woman to her side.
"Rati," she began. "I am curious to know what other women--the ladies
of the _zananas_--think of me. Tell me, O Rati, thou who learnest such
things, what is the opinion in such places of Lachmi Bai"?
The girl looked nonplussed.
"Speak truly," enjoined the Rani. "Flattery enough I can have for the
wish."
The girl's uneasiness increased visibly.
"Noble Rani. They say. They say"--she hesitated.
"Yes, what do they say"? the Rani demanded impatiently.
"That thou art well gifted, O noble one," the girl replied evasively.
The Rani turned a look of displeasure upon the girl. "I did not ask for
that," she spoke authoritatively. "Tell me what else do they say of me"?
"Some affirm that thou art as beautiful as the opening lotus, but
others"--
The girl broke off timidly.
"Others," concluded the Rani with a smile. "Others are afraid for their
sweethearts, aye Rati"?
"Perchance, noble Lady," acquiesced the girl.
The Rani's humor displayed itself in a silvery laugh that was echoed by
the walls of the court.
"Rati," she commanded, "what more do they say"?
"O great one," petitioned the girl, "urge me not in this manner, lest
thou become offended."
"Offended surely will I become unless thou doest as I bid thee."
The girl paused a moment, then proceeded fearfully.
"They say, O Rani, that thou art vain of thy beauty, and forgettest
thy modesty as a Hindu woman by so openly consorting with soldiers and
gallants."
"Say they so," the Rani cried passionately, stung to the quick by the
implication.
The girl fell at the Rani's feet and implored her not to visit
punishment upon an unwilling offender's head.
"Pardon, O Queen. Thou didst force me," she besought fervently.
"I am not angry with thee, poor girl," the Rani replied in a softened
tone. "But while my actions are seen by all, to what do many of these
_zanana_ beauties stoop? The shutters of their windows can best tell. I
will show them, these women of such fine sensibilities, how the Rani,
for all her pride, observes a custom too much falling into disuse among
the rich and great. I have heard that my honored _guru_[3] cometh to
aid me with advice, that he even now approaches Jhansi. Go, therefore,
order my bearers, so that I may go forth to receive him with all the
respect due his office."
The girl rose, and departed to obey the Rani's behest.
The Rani raised a hand wearily to her forehead.
"So much discussion to appease," she murmured, "so much jealousy and
envy among those who should assist, rather than thwart the only one
who dared to do what has been accomplished. Love! Ah, only it seems do
the poor and afflicted truly love the Rani. Even Prasad, who vows by
all things sacred that my image beatifies his sleep, hath ever a favor
uppermost in mind."
Presently a state _duli_[4] with curtains to screen the occupant from
view, was carried to the entrance of the palace.
To the surprise of her servants the Rani came forth without her
_burkha_, or long mantle, invariably worn by native ladies of rank to
conceal the whole person in public.
She promptly ordered the curtains of the _duli_ to be removed.
For a moment her servants hesitated to comply. Never before did they
recollect such an order to have been given.
"What," she cried. "Dost thou not hear my command? Take those hangings
away. I am not a Mohammedan, but a Hindu Rani in my own right. Of old
time our princesses were not afraid to show their faces to the people.
It is my pleasure that they shall know well the features of Lachmi Bai."
The curtains were hurriedly removed. The Rani entered her chair, and
surrounded by her servants was borne in the direction of the city gate,
through which it was expected her _guru_ would enter.
At the head of the procession, the worthy secretary, Bipin Dat, marched
with pompous dignity. Against all contingencies, he had prudently
further armed himself with a long sword, that trailed in the dust at
his side, and made him an awe inspiring object to the beggars that
chanced in his way.
As the procession passed through the streets, the people saluted the
Rani with terms of affection. Many turned to catch a glimpse of her
face.
"See," they cried. "The Rani of Jhansi fears not the gaze of our eyes."
It had gone little more than half the distance to the gate, when it was
met by a bullock cart in which rode an old man of venerable aspect.
The Rani seemed to instantly recognize his features. She commanded her
bearers to halt.
"It is my dear _Guru_," she cried. "Ah, how glad I am to see him."
On his part the old man recognized the rich liveries of the servants
as those of his godchild, the Rani. With an effort he dismounted from
his cart and would have prostrated himself before her, had she not
anticipated his action.
She alighted quickly and knelt at his feet. She embraced them
affectionately, and cried in a voice which all might hear:
"O _Guru_, live forever. Grant a blessing to thy godchild, Lachmi Bai."
For a moment the old man's face reflected the astonishment of the crowd
that had gathered. That she should thus humble herself in public was
certainly a surprising act. But its significance was not lost upon the
people, who, as the old man raised her in his arms tenderly, called
down a thousand blessings on her head.
The first greetings over, the _Guru_ was about to again climb into his
rickety vehicle, when the Rani interposed. She insisted that he take
her place in the _duli_.
At first, the old man demurred at so great an honor being accorded him.
But the Rani was persistent.
"Before, I have ever met thee, dear _Guru_," she cried, "as but a poor
captive in Jhansi. Now that I am the Rani, I desire my people shall see
I am not unmindful of the ancient customs of our race."
Thus she followed on foot behind her _Guru's_ chair, as the procession
returned to the palace.
Chapter VIII
_THE DARBAR_
The great hall of the palace presented a splendid, an imposing
spectacle. Its pillars were decorated with banners and trophies,
its walls hung with rich draperies from the looms of Kashmir and
Sind. At the further end a throne of ivory inlaid with silver and
mother-of-pearl, was placed under a gorgeous canopy. It stood upon a
platform approached by a short flight of steps, covered with a Benares
carpet of black velvet embroidered with gold thread. The subdued light,
the atmosphere of antiquity, that pervaded the audience chamber of the
Rani of Jhansi, enforced that reverential feeling, by which the human
voice naturally sinks into a whisper.
As yet the throne was unoccupied.
In the body of the hall were groups of magnificently attired maharajas,
rajas, and military officers, awaiting the entrance of the Rani.
Diamonds blazed in turbans of many colors, ropes of pearls hung about
their necks, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, scintillated in barbaric
profusion amid the gold embroidery of their robes of state.
Amid these dazzling personages, Ahmad Khan, the humble servant of God,
was a conspicuous figure by the simplicity of his martial uniform. In
his new character he had evidently curbed his passion for outward
display. In place of jewels he had mounted a green badge in his turban,
as a sign that he was one among the Faithful who had obeyed the
commandment of the Prophet and made the pilgrimage to the Holy City.
Slung from his shoulder was a plain leather band suspending a sword
encased, also in a plain leather sheath. But the sword was as sharp as
the arm was strong to wield it. He gazed proudly round upon the throng.
Was there any man who cherished evil in his heart? If so, his enemy was
careful to display no outward sign of animosity.
Indeed, it was the knowledge that this awe inspiring warrior had openly
espoused the Rani's cause, the report of his descent upon Sadescheo,
carried swiftly to the boundaries of the state, that had brought many
wavering nobles in haste to tender their allegiance at the first
_Darbar_ of the Rani.
Among the last to enter the hall before the hour set for the council
was Prasad Singh. He had undoubtedly spent much time and thought in
arraying his handsome form to striking advantage. A diamond aigrette
rose from the folds of his turban directly above his forehead. A collar
of emeralds encircled his neck, his long outer garment was stiff with
embroidery, the velvet scabbard of his sword was encrusted with gems.
Ahmad who seemed to have been watching for Prasad, at once strode to
the Hindu noble's side and greeted him with every outward mark of
friendship.
He drew Prasad apart and spoke in an undertone to avoid being overheard.
"This is thy day, O Prasad," he said congratulatingly. "Thou wilt
be reckoned as among the most fortunate of men. Thou mayest prepare
thyself to receive the felicitations of both those who wish thee well
and those who envy thee."
Prasad returned the Mohammedan's salutation responsively.
"What did the Rani say," he asked, "when thou spoke to her of me"?
"What could she say," replied Ahmad, in a tone as if he had advocated
the other's cause so well that there could be but one conclusion drawn.
"What could she say! I swear never did eloquence so flow from my tongue
in any man's behalf, as it did for thee, my Prasad. I vowed to the Fair
One that the appointment thou seekest should by every right be thine.
Upon the Holy Book I swore that but for thy dash and bravery, even the
war scarred veteran, Ahmad Khan, might have been compelled to turn
his back before the fury of that night of storm, and the strength of
Sadescheo's frowning walls."
Prasad's gratitude manifested itself in a warm tribute to the other's
friendship.
"But," he protested with a slight accent of concern, "I fear thou
mayest have performed thy task too well, O Ahmad."
"Not I," returned the other. "Fear not that one who has trod the
pavement of the Afghan court has not learned to pick his way most
warily. Be assured thy desire is already granted."
A sound of distant music broke upon their ears.
"Hark"! enjoined the Mohammedan in a whisper. "Hark! The Rani cometh to
_Darbar_."
As the music drew nearer the nobles ranged themselves on either side
of the hall leaving a passage in the center for the Rani and her
attendants to approach the throne. A profound silence fell upon the
brilliant assembly.
Nearer rolled the sound of an inspiriting martial air. Presently amid
a loud clash of cymbals and the beat of drums, the foremost of the
procession swept into the hall. Fans of peacock feathers waved aloft,
emblems of state were borne before her to whom all eyes were directed.
"The Rani, the Rani," passed in an impressive whisper from mouth to
mouth. In turn, each of the nobles made a low obeisance.
She walked with a stately, measured pace, a little apart from the
rest of her suite. As she moved along the human aisle, the earnest
expression on her beautiful features gathered an abstracted look,
as if the thunder of the music crashing upward to the roof, carried
her vision beyond the brilliant spectacle of the moment, to some
perspective scene yet to be unfolded.
For the occasion she had robed herself with great magnificence after
the Mohammedan rather than the Hindu fashion of ladies of high rank.
Her reason was, perhaps, that it afforded her a better means of
impressing those to whom a sumptuous display of jewels and fine raiment
formed a considerable part of their existence.
In place of the simple, graceful _sari_, she wore an outer garment of
scarlet cloth of gold, disclosing beneath, silken skirts of delicate
hues and of such filmy texture that one might have supposed it was by a
miracle the intricate embroidery of pearls had been stitched upon the
material. Upon her head there rested lightly a cap of scarlet velvet
set with pearls, that contrasted with the dark color of her gathered
tresses. Pearls, lustrous, priceless pearls, adorned her neck, her
ears, even her slippers. Upon her fingers, diamonds of Golconda served
to draw attention to the symmetry of her hands.
"In the Paradise of the Prophet," murmured Ahmad as she passed, "could
there be found such a one"?
Following in the Rani's train, the worthy secretary, Bipin Dat, marched
with a lofty air, as if he trod upon the necks of the nobles present.
His glance chanced to rest upon Prasad Singh. An inward tremor caused
his spirit swiftly to descend to earth.
He hastily grasped a talisman that he had purchased from his friend the
astrologer at great cost, and muttered a prayer.
"May holy Devi protect her servant from the accursed designs of the
evil one."
The Rani approached the throne and seated herself with quiet dignity.
On her right, the aged man, to whom she had accorded so great honor on
the previous day, took up his station. Behind her, grouped themselves
the personal retinue of her court.
The music ceased. Amid the silence which ensued, Ahmad Khan strode
forward to the lowest step of the throne. He _salaamed_ thrice before
the Rani, then turned, and in a loud voice proclaimed her title.
"Behold," he cried. "The Pearl of Jhansi, the noblest of our Queens.
Long live the fair Rani, Lachmi Bai."
The nobles gravely echoed the Mohammedan's salutation.
Then, one by one, they came forward, and were in customary form
presented. They returned after the ceremony to chairs of state, or to
seats upon the rugs spread on either side of the throne.
For each she found a suitable expression of greeting, but to Prasad she
spoke in a gentler tone, and bade him take a place of honor at her hand.
"What did I tell thee," whispered Ahmad aside to him.
The Mohammedan had also been similarly favored by the Rani.
"What did I tell thee, friend. But I do not blame thy qualms. Lover
like, thou canst not see a flower open until it is in full blossom."
A smile of gratification lit up Prasad's face, clouded for a moment as
the Rani singled out the young Dost Ali, to stand upon the dais.
The presentations over, the Rani then rose to address the gathering.
She spoke quietly but in her voice there was an unmistakable note of
authority. It penetrated clearly to the furthest recesses of the hall.
First, she graciously thanked the nobles for their response to her
summons to the _Darbar_, and their spontaneous recognition of her
sovereignty. In return she assured them that her one aim was to promote
the welfare of her state and people, that to everyone should be secured
justice in his person and property.
"I who had suffered so much in that respect," she cried, "can never be
unmindful of the misfortunes of others."
She then proceeded to confirm the nobles in all their ancient rights
and privileges, and reviewed the situation as it related to the cause
of India as against that of the Foreigners. The news from Delhi, she
regretted to inform them, was unsatisfactory. Disrupted by internal
dissension, the position of Bahadur Shah was fast becoming desperate,
in the face of the investment of the city by the Foreigners. It was
surely a warning to them in Jhansi, she declared emphatically, to
submerge all personal animosities in the common object of defending
to the death, the freedom they had regained with so much difficulty.
She had, the Rani further related, dispatched trustworthy messengers
to urge speedy action, on behalf of the cause, upon the powerful
Maharajas, Gækwar of Baroda, Sindhia of Gwalior, and the great
Mohammedan Nizam of Haidarabad. There was little reason to doubt that
if they could only be persuaded to follow the unmistakable sympathy of
their troops and people, Delhi might yet be preserved to the Emperor,
and the Foreigners driven into the sea.
"But, my Lords," she cried, "we, at any rate, must prepare ourselves
to defend the State of Jhansi against enemies from whatever direction
they may come. The fortresses that have fallen into decay under the
dominion of the Foreigners must be repaired speedily. New cannon must
be cast forthwith and mounted on the walls. Ammunition and stores of
grain above all our likely needs accumulated, and more troops raised to
guard the passes. With your loyal co-operation, I have no doubt this
necessary condition of affairs may be brought about with little waste
of time."
The Rani paused for a short space; an interval that was utilized by her
hearers in expressing their approval of her words.
At the commencement of her address they were impressed by her beauty
and dignity; but as she proceeded amazement at her clear perception
of the danger and needs of their position, gave place to all other
feelings. More than one exclaimed:
"Truly the voice of Lachmi Bai is that of a great Rani."
With a motion of her hand she regained their attention, and continued:
"My Lords," she said. "To direct our best efforts for the end I have
explained, there must above all things be established a firm central
government in Jhansi. Not that I aspire to deprive any noble of his
rule within his own district, but all authority must emanate from the
throne it is mine by right to occupy. For this purpose certain officers
of government must be appointed."
Ahmad's countenance remained impassive, while Prasad's gathered a look
of eager expectancy.
"It is," the Rani continued, "partly to gain your approval of such
appointments that I have called you to this _Darbar_. By such action, I
trust, no jealousies will be aroused, no mistakes made that will stir
up internal discord."
She paused for a moment, but as the countenances of the nobles thus far
indicated approval of her words, she resumed.
"First, it is my desire that my honored _Guru_ present, whose advice
hath ever been of great benefit to me since my childhood, shall occupy
the office of minister of state. In choosing him, you all know I am
but following many ancient precedents, whereby _Gurus_ of kings and
princes have, by their wisdom, added luster to the crowns worn by their
godchildren. Have I your approval of the appointment"?
Perhaps for the reason that no one particularly aspired to the office,
perhaps because they might have thought there was little to be feared
in the person of the venerable form at the Rani's side, the reply came
unanimously, that the Rani's worthy _Guru_ should be appointed her
minister of state.
"It is well, my lords," she cried. "Now to a more difficult matter. It
must be known to you all that an army without a chief commander, whose
orders must be obeyed by everyone without question, is a mere rabble
in the face of the enemy. But the difficulty in Jhansi is, that all
my officers are so brave and competent, that to single one out from
amongst the others for the high honor in my gift, is an impossibility.
I have, therefore, to suggest a remedy in this way."
She moved forward to the edge of the dais and stood before them, a
majestic figure.
"My Lords," she cried, stretching forth an arm. "I, Lachmi Bai, the
Rani, will command the forces of the State. If anyone doth say me, nay,
he hath the right to let his voice be heard in council. I will listen
to him patiently."
At critical moments in the lives of those destined to play heroic parts
in the eyes of their fellow creatures, it not infrequently happens,
that nature appears to cast a vote in their favor, by a striking
manifestation of sympathetic accord. To many, such may be no more than
coincidences, but to some, particularly to the Oriental, they are
fraught with deep significance.
The sun mounting over the Palace discovered a rent in the awning of
one of the windows set in the roof of the _Darbar_ hall. It sent forth
a shaft of dazzling light that, penetrating the darkened chamber,
descended full upon the form of the Rani of Jhansi. In her robes of
state, for the moment, she appeared in a blaze of splendor, that to
her audience betokened a supernatural power guiding her destiny.
Against such, what was man, that he should dare to raise a voice in
protest? Was it not clearly a sign that the blessing and protection
of the great God rested on her head. Even to Ahmad Khan, surprised
and dumbfounded by the Rani's unexpected action, as seeming to again
baffle his carefully laid plans, the incident was not lost upon his
sense of superstition. Prasad's mind merely reflected the feelings of
the others. A profound silence followed the Rani's declaration. No man
ventured a yea or nay.
The Rani waited patiently a few moments for their answer, then again
spoke.
"By your silence, my Lords, am I to gather your consent"? she asked.
A Raja rose from his chair of state and replied:
"Surely thou art the Rani," he exclaimed. "Is it not the will of God
that thy word shall be a law with us. Thou art the commander of us all."
"It is the will of God," came without a dissenting voice from all parts
of the hall. "Aye, it is the will of Mahadiva."
The Rani warmly thanked the nobles for their confidence. She again
eulogized their valor and loyalty, assuring them that when the moment
of danger threatened, she would not be found wanting in courage, if
necessary, to lead her army in person. So gentle yet so stirring was
her appeal, that even the hearts of those before given over to sensual
indulgences, were moved to do brave actions in her behalf.
They sprang to their feet and shouted enthusiastically. "Thou art our
Rani. We will follow thee to the death, O Queen of Jhansi."
An expression of surpassing happiness rested on her face.
"Then, my Lords," she cried, "I bid you all attend me to-morrow when I
will repair in state to the White Turret, and raise upon it my banner
as the emblem of my military authority."
"And let him who dares," she concluded, "lift his hand against it."
The walls trembled with the applause which her concluding sentence and
her defiant air brought forth.
Again she enjoined silence by a gesture.
"Before the _Darbar_ closes," she added, "I have yet to speak a word
to you. With much thought I have decided that the well tried valor of
the noble Ahmad Khan, entitles him to the subordinate command of the
forces quartered in the cantonments, as long as he shall remain in
Jhansi. Further, for certain reasons, I will appoint as my lieutenant
of Jhansi, the noble, Dost Ali, lately come to us from the great Amir
of Afghanistan, Dost Mohammed."
Briefly she recapitulated the reason urged by Ahmad Khan for the
Dost's appointment to the greater office. No voice dissenting she then
declared the _Darbar_ closed.
Kindly she turned to Prasad and invited him to accompany her to her
private apartments.
With intense chagrin, jealousy, and disappointment in his heart, he
bowed haughtily, and pleaded as an excuse a pressing matter requiring
his presence elsewhere.
For a moment a look of pain crossed her face.
But the music again sounded, the fans of state waved on high, the
procession re-formed, and between the ranks of _salaaming_ nobles, the
Rani retired from her first _Darbar_.
Ahmad Khan had scarce time to adjust his plans to the unexpected course
taken by the Rani. But in the appointment of his _protégé_, even to
the lesser position of honor, he beheld a dagger by which to stab his
rival's favor with the Rani, a fatal blow.
Prasad strode toward the door, wrapt in gloomy, bitter feelings,
without exchanging a parting salutation with anyone.
Ahmad followed quickly and caught up with the Hindu noble before the
latter had crossed the threshold.
"Stay, good friend," he cried. "Thou art in a great hurry to shake the
dust of the _Darbar_ hall from thy feet."
"Aye," returned the other, with sullen ill humor. "And it will not be
long before I shake the dust of the accursed city from my feet."
"Why so"? asked Ahmad with assumed astonishment.
"Why so," retorted Prasad angrily. "How canst thou ask, why so, after
thy cajolery"?
Ahmad shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. "Friend, Prasad," he
asserted. "I give thee my word, no man in the _Darbar_ was more
astonished than Ahmad Khan when the Rani grasped the sword of state
herself."
For once he spoke the truth honestly.
"Of that I make no complaint," retorted Prasad. "If the Rani so wished
it, hers was the prerogative; though a strange one for a woman to
assert."
"Then to what hast thou taken so much offense"? asked the Mohammedan
with apparent innocence.
Prasad, in turn, regarded Ahmad with a look of astonishment.
"Art thou so guileless, O Ahmad Khan"? he asked, "after all that has
passed between us, not to imagine that I might be offended with the
Rani's action, in giving to another--a stranger--that which she knew I
besought of her favor."
"Ah! as to that, my Prasad," returned Ahmad, pacifically, "there may
have been many reasons in the Rani's mind, apart from the chief one
given. She may have assumed thou wouldst not have cared for the lesser
honor conferred upon Dost Ali--by the way a handsome fellow too; or,
woman like, mind, I say no word against the beauty, wisdom, and courage
of the Rani, she may have admired the gallant bearing of this fellow.
A new favorite, perchance. Thou must remember, good Prasad, she is a
woman as well as Rani, and turneth her gaze first upon one, then toward
another."
Prasad's brow scowled threateningly.
"By God," he muttered. "She shall not treat me so."
"Nay, nay, Prasad," Ahmad rejoined restrainingly. "Thou canst not
dictate to the Rani. She would care little even if thou didst menace
her with a sword. With her thou must fence with other weapons. I make
no doubt it is but a passing fancy she hath conceived for this Dost
Ali."
"Dost Ali"! Prasad muttered fiercely, "Dost Ali! Dost Ali had better
look to the sharpening of _his_ sword."
"Come! come, good Prasad," continued Ahmad, laying a friendly hand upon
the other's arm. "Dost Ali hath no weight in the Lovely One's esteem.
But display thy spirit and she will quickly turn again to thee, for she
loveth thee in her heart, I could swear to it. Be advised in this way.
Absent thyself from the ceremony of to-morrow. I will tell her I know
not what ails thee, that thou art falling sick, perchance. Then behold
how she will fly to thy side. Then see how speedily she will grant
anything thou askest."
"Ahmad," the other returned gravely. "I know not what to think of thee.
Thy ways here may win for thee the Seventh Heaven of thy Prophet's
Paradise, or the lowest pit of his Inferno. But thou givest shrewd
advice, I make no doubt."
Ahmad laughed. "Come, friend," he rejoined. "Clearly thou dost not
understand a woman's ways. She delighteth in men striving for her
favor, but let the chosen one display indifference, and she is at his
feet. In the meantime let us to my house without the city. There," he
added insinuatingly, "thou wilt discover a little treasure that may
amuse thee--a Kashmir dancing girl of no ordinary charm, my Prasad.
True her eyes, her lips, her form, are not comparable to the endowments
of the superb Rani, but she hath a way with her that pleaseth many.
Some of the _Giours'_ spirits have I, too; and though as one of the
Faithful I may not taste of such, yet thou mayest in their subtle
waters, forget the passing cloud until the sun shall again blaze upon
thy turban. Come! Let us away, and forget our disappointments. All will
yet go well with thee."
To this proposal, after some demur, Prasad reluctantly consented.
With a courtly bow that concealed the sinister smile upon his face,
Ahmad motioned the Hindu noble to take precedence of him, by passing
first out of the _Darbar_ hall.
Chapter IX
_AT THE HOUSE OF AHMAD KHAN_
The house of Ahmad Khan, with numerous out-buildings, was situated
in a large compound, pleasantly shaded by willows, and overlooking
the placid waters of the lake that stretched over a wide expanse
to the eastward of the city. Both externally and internally its
atmosphere suggested the impression that the owner was not averse to a
comfortable, even a luxurious retreat after the hardships and dangers
of his military exploits.
If the stables filled with high-bred chargers, the walls decorated
with a splendid collection of trophies, and the large retinue of armed
servants unmistakably emphasized the profession of Ahmad Khan; the
shaded halls, luxurious divans, and the soft rugs woven in rich colored
arabesque patterns, told that he possessed other tastes than those
pertaining to the field of battle.
To Prasad he remarked these evidences of another life apologetically.
"For Ahmad Khan, O Prasad," he said, "the step of a mosque, or the bare
ground for a sleeping place is enough; a bowl of rice and a cup of the
coffee he has learned to drink in foreign lands sufficient provender;
but for those who honor his roof with their presence, he is bound by
the law of Islam to provide more generous entertainment."
"Truly," returned Prasad, as his eyes wandered over the handsome
furnishings of the house. "Truly if thou keepest all these things
solely for the benefit of thy guests, thou must indeed be a prince of
hospitality."
Ahmad consigned his friend to the care of a skillful barber, who, for
an hour previous to the evening meal, deftly shaved, perfumed, and
assisted in attiring the Hindu noble's person in garments befitting one
to whom the Lord of the House desired to extend the greatest honor.
In order to avoid the least semblance of offense to his guest's
susceptibilities, Ahmad had ordered the dishes of the repast to be
prepared separately, those from which Prasad was to partake being
cooked by a Brahman. For a similar reason water was served by one of
that caste.
The meal was sumptuous, both in the display of gold and silver plate,
and in the long succession of courses spiced to tempt the palate of an
Oriental epicure.
Prasad's ill humor was plainly marked in his meagre appetite. Savory
dishes, of which he would, under ordinary circumstances, have partaken
with avidity, he barely tasted. Others, he let pass without even
inserting his fingers to test their quality.
"Come," cried Ahmad, at the conclusion of the banquet, "thou shalt now
drink of the choicest of the _Giours'_ spirits. I warrant that after
the first cup thy peace of mind will be restored. Thou wilt forget past
disappointments in the happiness of the present."
Wine for Prasad's benefit, and coffee for the Mohammedan were then
served. _Hookahs_ were set before them and lit by obsequious servants.
Prasad cast restraint to the winds and drank deeply, while his
companion watched him craftily, encouraging his libations. But the
insidious spirits of the Foreigners, looted from their bungalows, only
served to intensify his dejection.
"Accursed life," he muttered. "What am I, that I should submit so
tamely to the fickle humor of the Rani"?
"Patience, good friend, a little patience," returned Ahmad assuagingly,
yet with an added sting.
"Dost Ali is but a passing fancy. Forget him in the pleasure of
the moment. Drink, and thou wilt surely feel a new man before the
_Mollah's_ voice at sunrise, calls the Faithful to their devotions."
He raised his hand as a signal to an attendant, a heavy curtain was
drawn back and a group of musicians, accompanied by dancing girls
arrayed in yards upon yards of silken drapery, entered the apartment.
They advanced to the divan upon which the two nobles sat languidly
drawing from their _hookahs_ and _salaamed_ deferentially. The
musicians then seated themselves in a half circle in front of the
divan, while the girls awaited the first bars from the instruments.
Presently an inspiring air rose in the chamber, the girls assumed
individual poses, and the _natch_ commenced.
Their graceful actions, glancing steps, and sensuous attitudes,
frequently called forth words of praise from the Mohammedan; but
Prasad's gloomy thoughts remained unconquered.
"Surely thou art hard to please," remarked Ahmad, as the girls retired
for a brief rest.
"Thou knowest the distemper of my mind," replied the other sullenly.
"Aye, but wait," exclaimed Ahmad. "The jewel that shall bring fire into
thine eyes hath not yet appeared."
He again gave a signal. The curtain was once more withdrawn. Upon the
polished surface of a slab of ebony, uplifted upon the shoulders of six
stalwart _harkars_, Ganga, the star of _natch_ girls, was borne into
the room.
For a moment, even Prasad's gaze rested approvingly upon the seductive
form of the famous dancer. Her supple figure, attired in elaborately
embroidered shawls, and colored silken skirts, artistically disclosed,
one beneath another, was displayed with an effect well chosen to
captivate those whom it was her profession to enthrall. Flowers adorned
her hair. Her neck, arms, and ankles were ornamented with jeweled
trinkets.
Upon the _harkars_ halting before the divan, she raised her arms above
her head, and assumed a graceful pose. In a low, fascinating tone, she
commenced a dreamy song of love. Presently her feet caught the rhythm
of the music, and to the accompaniment of tiny silver bells attached to
the bangles on her wrists and ankles, she portrayed by her actions, in
turn, the passions of love, hope, jealousy and despair.
From time to time Ahmad uttered exclamations of satisfaction. Prasad,
in spite of himself seemed to be fascinated by her charm.
[Illustration: "Didst thou mark that languorous glance she cast on
thee"?--Page 105.]
Ahmad quickly noticed his guest's brightening humor.
"What did I tell thee," he whispered insinuatingly. "Miserable indeed
would be the man whose soul was insensible to the eyes of such a one.
Didst thou mark that languorous glance she cast on thee"?
Prasad sighed heavily.
"I grant you," he replied, "with but one exception, she hath a
matchless form. At any other time she might have made a fair
impression. Now, chains bind my soul about a thankless vision."
The girl finished her part by lightly springing from her elevated
position, and prostrating herself before the nobles.
Ahmad took from his waistband a handful of gold coins and tossed them
to the girl.
"Take them, O Ganga," he cried. "By _Allah_! Thou hast almost performed
a miracle. Thou hast found favor in the eye of the inconsolable."
A slight note of sarcasm marked the Mohammedan's concluding sentence.
Far into the night the two nobles watched the repeated efforts of the
dancing girls, stimulated by cups of wine, to outdo their previous
displays of art. But after the first surprise on beholding Ganga's
charms, Prasad relapsed within his cloud of dejection.
At last, the early shafts of dawn penetrated the reed blinds and
mingled their light with that of the silver lamps suspended from the
roof; a warning that the moment of sunrise was at hand. Twittering of
awakened birds, and the voices of men and beasts proclaimed for the
multitude the passing of the hour from rest to labor.
Prasad rose wearily from his recumbent position.
"Ahmad," he exclaimed. "In truth, I feel as if I may be sick. Perchance
thou wilt not be obliged to resort to subterfuge in my behalf."
Ahmad turned a penetrating look toward his guest.
"Thou wilt not attend the ceremony of to-day"? he asked.
"As thou advisest," returned the other. "Do what thou thinkest best
for me. I am sick with love, with jealousy, with I know not what, for
yonder Rani."
He turned and slowly made his way toward one of the exits from the room.
Ahmad also rose to a standing posture.
From the balcony of a minaret near by, the voice of a _Mollah_
resounded through the clear atmosphere.
"There is but one God and Mohammed is the Prophet of God."
Ahmad strode from the room to a porch facing the west. He knelt and
reverentially bowed his forehead to the pavement.
"Thanks be to God," he murmured devoutly, "for the countenance He
turneth toward His servant."
Then he uplifted his face to the brightening heavens. He stretched
forth his arms above his head, as he cried in a deep, sonorous voice:
_"Allah! Allah! Allah"!_
Chapter X
_THE WHITE TURRET_
In the open space before the main entrance to the Rani's palace, a
crowd of nobles, soldiers, and sightseers had collected. High mettled
horses led by grooms, paced back and forth, while their owners in
dazzling groups discussed the news of the morning. Peddlars of trifles,
beggars, and ascetics, plied their various callings profitably in the
interval awaiting the Rani's departure for the White Turret.
Before the door a suite of officers and servants in gala liveries,
surrounded a royal elephant, gorgeously caparisoned with plumes, and
scarlet velvet cloths embroidered with gold thread. To its back was
strapped a canopied state _houdah_ for the use of the Rani.
Near by, a groom with difficulty controlled the impatient spirit of
a pure blue-black Arabian charger, the property of Ahmad Khan. The
Mohammedan noble had entered the palace to make his daily report to the
Rani.
Presently, without ceremony, the Rani came forth. A short period of
confusion ensued as the nobles hurriedly sought their horses, and the
soldiers pressed back the throng surging about the palace.
The Rani paused on the steps and gazed round as if she missed a
familiar object. In so doing her eyes chanced to rest approvingly upon
Ahmad's mount.
"Whose brave steed is that"? she asked of an attendant.
Ahmad strode forward and acknowledged himself as its owner.
"A gift from the Amir of Bukhara," he explained, "in recognition of a
slight military service rendered. I prize the beast more than all the
occupants of my stables together. No one hath ever crossed his back but
myself, and," he added, "I doubt if anyone would care to try."
"Ah," laughed the Rani. "Dost wager a challenge then on Akbar's behalf"?
"Not I, fair Rani," returned the Mohammedan, "for it might mean a
speedy death to one so venturesome."
Impulsively the Rani walked toward the beast. "Akbar," she cried, "Dost
recognize a friend with those clear eyes of thine"?
The animal started, arched its proud neck, and snorted defiantly.
"Come, good Akbar," exclaimed the Rani soothingly. "Come. Thou art too
noble a beast to display malice to a woman."
Fearlessly she raised her arm and affectionately stroked the glossy
neck, passing her hand gently downward across its face.
A tremor passed over the beast's frame. It stamped the ground and
whinnied as if half pleased with the caress, yet still uncertain in its
humor.
Ahmad hurried to the Rani's side, while others watched with expressions
of alarm.
"Noble Lady," he urged. "I pray thee touch not the beast. Its temper is
so uncertain that I cannot answer for your safety."
The Rani again laughed lightly, as she permitted the animal to sniff
her hair, her face, and hands.
"Akbar knoweth whom to trust," she cried. "See, he discerneth a true
Maratha, of whom it has been said, he is born in the saddle with a
sword in his hand. I vow, O Ahmad," she added, "this day I will ride
your Akbar, or go in no other manner to the White Turret."
Before Ahmad could interpose a further objection, she had gathered the
reins in her hand, placed her foot in the stirrup, and sprung lightly
on to the charger's back.
The horse swerved violently, then halted, with ears set back and form
rigid.
A moment of suspense for those watching followed.
"Come Akbar," urged the Rani firmly, while gently patting the beast's
neck. "Come, thou must curb thy temper for thou canst not throw a
daughter of the Marathas."
The beast pricked up its ears at her voice, and neighed its subjection.
"Ah, Ahmad," she cried with taunting pleasantry, "thou must seek
another mount. Why not ride in the _howdah_ of my elephant. How much
didst thou wager, friend"?
"Surely the devil is in the girl," he muttered in astonished accents.
"What will be her next performance"?
A servant approached the Rani deferentially.
"If my Lady Rani," said he, "elects to ride on horseback, will she let
her pleasure be known concerning the noble elephant"?
"Truly," she replied. "If Ahmad Khan likes not to go in so much state,
let my worthy secretary, Bipin Dat mount on high. From that exalted
perch, he can survey the heavens and the earth complacently, frown
majestically upon the populace, and imagine that he has at last become
a Maharaja."
The Rani shook the reins and curveted to the front of her nobles.
Gallantly she led the brilliant cavalcade through the bazaars and
streets to that part of the walls upon which the White Turret had been
specially erected to fly her banner.
Plaudits saluted her progress on all sides. The people were accustomed
to witness the exercise of greater personal freedom on the part of the
Maratha ladies, to what is usually accorded women of high rank in other
parts of India, but it was the first time they had beheld a princess of
such beauty and high spirit leading, instead of being surrounded by the
retinue of her court.
With admirable skill she controlled Ahmad's restive charger, until
shortly, as if proud of its lovely burden, the beast followed
obediently the guidance of her hand. At the bastion of the White Turret
she dismounted and approached the spot where a group of officers
awaited her arrival.
Her banner was already bent to the halliards, and held by a lieutenant
so that its silken folds might not be sullied by contact with the
ground. Near by, a soldier stood at a gun ready to ignite the powder of
a first salute as the flag rose upon its staff.
The nobles grouped themselves about the Rani. An officer holding the
halliards begged to know her command.
For a moment she hesitated. Then as if a sudden impulse had taken
possession of her mind, she took the ropes from his hand and turned
toward the nobles.
"My Lords," she cried. "The Rani will herself raise her banner on the
walls of Jhansi, aye, and defend it, against whatsoever enemy may come."
Slowly hand upon hand she pulled upon the rope. Slowly the banner,
embroidered with her device, rose upon the staff. It reached the top
and waved proudly in a gentle breeze against the pale blue morning
sky. A white cloud of smoke for an instant hung over the ditch below
the bastion, as the tongue of the cannon saluted her military rank.
Spontaneously swords flashed in the bright sunlight: spontaneously a
loud chorus rose, mingled with the repeated roar of the cannon, hailing
the fair defender of a throne.
"Lachmi Bai! Lachmi Bai! Rani of Jhansi," they cried.
She gazed round with joyful gratitude. A moment later, the same wistful
look that marked her countenance upon the palace steps, came back into
her eyes.
She beckoned Ahmad to her side.
"Where is the noble Prasad Singh"? she asked. "I have not seen him
since the _Darbar_ of yesterday."
An expression of regret settled upon Ahmad's face.
"Noble Rani," he explained. "Prasad Singh is sick."
His manner and intonation, whether intentional or otherwise, clearly
implied a desire to conceal another reason.
The Rani returned his gaze penetratingly.
"I would speak with thee upon our return to the palace," she enjoined.
Ahmad bowed his compliance to her wish.
The ceremony was over. The Rani thanked the nobles for their renewed
demonstration of affection. She again urged them to lose no time in
repairing the defenses of their fortresses, and in the arming and
drilling of fresh troops. She bade them farewell until she would again
summon them to _Darbar_.
So while the Rani's banner fluttered defiantly from the peak of the
White Turret, the procession retraced its way to the palace. Upon the
Rani's countenance happiness called forth by the enthusiastic greetings
of the people, was occasionally shaded by a look of disappointment.
Something evidently had been wanting to complete the gladness of the
hour.
On dismounting she summoned Ahmad to follow her into the interior.
"My Lord," she said, when they were alone, "thy reply concerning Prasad
Singh causeth me to suspect that something hath gone amiss with him.
Hath the foolish fellow taken umbrage at some new imaginary slight"?
Ahmad looked uneasy. He hesitated to reply, as if under the necessity
of exercising prudent dissimulation.
"Thou dost not answer me," resumed the Rani, in a tone of some
impatience. "Tell me, I command thee, why it was that Prasad Singh did
not comply with my invitation to be present at the ceremony of the
morning"?
"Fair Lady," Ahmad replied evasively, "surely the truth is, that the
noble Prasad Singh is sick. I doubt not he was unable to be present."
"Sick is he," the Rani echoed, "Aye, but thy manner leadeth me to
suspect another cause. I beg thee, good Ahmad, to tell me the nature of
his malady. Is it a distemper of the mind"?
"Noble Rani," returned Ahmad, "Prasad Singh is sick. I ask thee to urge
me to no further explanation."
"But I will urge thee," retorted the Rani imperiously. "I will have the
whole truth from thee ere thou dost leave the palace."
Ahmad Khan appeared a victim of deep confusion.
"Most gracious Rani," he besought her, "I trust thou wilt not visit
thy displeasure upon one who is my friend, my good comrade. Verily
do I love Prasad as a brother. Ill would it seem in me to expose the
pardonable follies of a gallant youth."
"Follies," exclaimed the Rani petulantly. "Speak! What follies hath
Prasad Singh committed"?
Ahmad assumed an apologetic mien.
"Merely, noble lady," he replied, "the usual overflow of spirit in one
of his high birth. He hath indulged too freely of the accursed spirits
of the Foreigners."
A look of disdain settled on the Rani's face.
"So," she cried. "Like too many others he forgets the precepts of his
caste. This, I did not think of Prasad. The spirits of the Foreigners!
Truly one of the many curses brought to India in their civilizing
wake." She concluded with intense bitterness in her voice.
"Noble Rani," continued Ahmad. "It was to draw him from the evil habit
that I took him to my house; but alas! by some means he procured the
_Giours'_ intoxicating drink, and--"
He checked himself suddenly as if he would draw back from disclosing a
moral precipice yawning beneath Prasad's life.
"And," caught up the Rani quickly. "And what more, good Ahmad Khan.
What more hast thou to tell of Prasad"?
"Noble Rani," he petitioned with apparent earnestness. "I implore thee
now to close my mouth."
"Nay, thou shalt open it the wider," she rejoined. "Speak, tell all
thou knowest, I command thee."
"Miserable, faithless friend, that I must appear," he exclaimed self
reproachfully.
"Thou wouldst be a disloyal servant if thou didst not obey thy Rani,"
she retorted. "Come! It is the Rani who commands thee."
He spoke in a tone of regretful emotion.
"Thou hast heard, noble Rani, of the charms of a certain _natch_ girl,
Ganga, by name"? he asked.
"Aye," she replied tersely.
"Alas! then," continued Ahmad. "The noble Prasad lyeth sick or drunk, I
know not which, of the Giours' spirits and the subtle influence of this
dancer of Kashmir."
For a moment even Ahmad quailed before the display of jealous anger on
the Rani's face. She raised her arm with a threatening gesture as if
about to give full play to her resentment; but as suddenly as the flame
of passion had been called forth, as quickly it yielded to her control
of temperament.
"Go," she commanded in a quiet voice, made more impressive by the
emotion with difficulty suppressed. "Go, tell Prasad Singh, the Rani
orders his presence hither immediately. If he delays, he may mount his
horse and ride forth from her state.
"I have spoken," she concluded, turning from the Mohammedan.
"Noble Lady," petitioned Ahmad, "thou dost not blame thy servant for
disclosing that which his conscience had enjoined him to conceal. Alas!
Prasad hath eaten of Ahmad's salt."
"Thou hast obeyed my command," she replied. "In so doing thou didst
well."
Ahmad bowed low and left the apartment.
The Rani turned again to watch his retreating form. When it had
disappeared from view, sorrowfully she unfettered her emotion.
"Oh! that Prasad--Prasad, whom as a woman I have loved, and as the Rani
I would honor, should appear in such a weak, a worthless light. Prasad,
my Prasad," she cried, "that thou of all men shouldst be the shadow to
darken my hour of happiness."
A sob broke from her lips. She covered her face with her hands.
Chapter XI
A SHREWD DIAGNOSIS
In spite of the Rani's urgent dispatch, Ahmad returned leisurely to his
house. If gravity rested on his face, his spirit was grimly elated at
the successful progress of his design upon Prasad.
"The accursed Hindu," he muttered at intervals. "He is well enmeshed in
the net God has placed in the hands of His humble servant."
Prasad expectantly awaited his host's arrival on the porch. He marked
the Mohammedan's serious aspect and begged of him the reason.
"Hath something gone amiss, good friend"? he asked anxiously.
Ahmad waved his hand indifferently, as he drew Prasad to a room apart.
"It is nothing that can be defined clearly," he returned, "but a
feeling of uneasiness caused by the Rani's capricious humor. One knows
not what to expect of her next. At the ceremony of the morning she
first insisted upon riding to the White Turret on my Arabian charger,
Akbar; and then raised her banner with her own hands. In truth,
though," he cried with a note of genuine admiration, "I cannot but own
she made a brave display of spirit. She looked as gallant a captain as
ever rode at the head of a troop. The people worship her, the nobles
prostrate themselves at her feet, even Akbar, who never yet submitted
to the caress of any mortal being, acted like a lover at the sound of
her voice, and followed the guidance of her hand as obediently as a
faithful hound. I confess I know not what to make of her."
"True, O Ahmad," acquiesced Prasad. "Thou hast in part stated my own
sentiment in regard to her. I know not what to make of the peerless
Rani. But tell me," he urged, "did she notice my absence? Did she by
word or sign indicate her feeling"?
Ahmad replied thoughtfully.
"I make no doubt the Rani marked thy absence, O Prasad, for it seems
nothing of any moment escapes her notice. But as she loveth thee, she
is far too circumspect a woman to disclose her tender sentiment in
public. A favor she may cast here and there, as in the case of this
Dost Ali; but the expression of her deeper feeling she will keep for
thy ear alone. Thou wilt doubtless hear from her in some covert manner.
She will, in turn, up-braid thee for thy negligence, and lavish upon
thee tributes of her devotion. Have patience, good friend, for it is no
boast that Ahmad Khan hath not mingled in more than one court intrigue
without learning somewhat of the devious ways of women. Thou must
control thy passion for a little."
"Patience"! exclaimed the other with every sign of impatience. "How can
I have patience when I think she may, even at this moment, be casting
her ravishing smiles upon Dost Ali."
"Ah! Dost Ali," Ahmad returned contemptuously. "Think not of him. He
is but a feather wafted to her feet to-day, and to-morrow blown by the
wind of Fate, God alone knows whither."
Prasad cast himself wearily upon a divan.
"Ahmad," he exclaimed. "Verily am I sick. I know not what it is that
ails me."
Ahmad regarded his guest with apparent concern.
"Aye," he responded, "thou dost look unwell. Thy brow is feverish.
Thou art out of humor, and hadst better see a skilful physician who
will soon set thee in order. One such as I have in mind, the worthy
doctor and astrologer, Mohurran Goshi. He hath mastered all the ancient
schools of medicine; a man of profound learning, a sure foreteller of
things about to happen."
"I beg thou wouldst send for him quickly," besought Prasad, "that he
may relieve me of the burden that seems to be crushing me to earth."
Ahmad readily complied. He summoned an attendant, by whom he dispatched
an urgent call to the astrologer.
In the meantime he regaled Prasad with the gossip of the court. He told
of the ceremony at the White Turret, referring insinuatingly to the
favor displayed toward Dost Ali, and of the Rani's varying humor.
As a consequence Prasad's restlessness and jealousy increased, in spite
of the mollifying clause which Ahmad invariably subjoined.
The jolting of a bullock cart as it rumbled along the uneven road
leading up to Ahmad's door, told of the astrologer's arrival.
Ahmad went forth to meet him alone. As soon as the astrologer had
alighted, the Mohammedan engaged him in a whispered conversation.
"Thou fully understandeth thy part, learned Astrologer," he said in
conclusion.
"Most rightly, noble Lord," the other answered obsequiously.
"Thy reward shall be greater than even thy mind can conjure, if thou
art successful in ridding Jhansi of this meddlesome interloper," Ahmad
promised. He conducted the astrologer-physician to Prasad's side.
In a bag slung over one shoulder, Mohurran Goshi carried his medicinal
pills and ointments; while in the hand of the other arm, he grasped
his calendar, and certain instruments pertaining to the occult branch
of his dual profession. He approached Prasad and felt the patient's
pulse gravely. Gravely, too, he examined Prasad's tongue, shook his
head several times significantly, and then betook himself to a seat on
the floor near by, where he absorbed his mind in a deep scrutiny of his
calendar, intermittently muttering an unintelligible jargon.
As a result he finally delivered a sage diagnosis of the case.
"It is clear, noble sir," he said, addressing Prasad, "that the origin
of your malady lies in the evil influence of an enemy working through
the affection of one upon whom your heart is set, but whose notice he
has temporarily beguiled. Most fortunate is it that you have called to
your assistance, in time, a physician-astrologer, by profound study and
long experience, well fitted to combat such designs."
Mohurran Goshi glanced craftily toward Ahmad, and gleaning that thus
far his opinion was being well received, proceeded:
"By a sure sign I can demonstrate to you, great sir, the truth of what
I affirm, that I am able to avert impending misfortune on your behalf,
restore the object of your affection to your arms, and further you in
your ambition. Soon will your sickness pass away like darkness before
the rising sun. Is it the noble Lord's pleasure that I should do this"?
Prasad had not escaped the atmosphere of superstition in which the
majority of his race had from time unknown been reared. In his
condition of mind he was more than ready to fall a victim to the wiles
of the astrologer.
"Do so," he replied. "From what you have said I feel great confidence
in your ability."
The astrologer first called for a bowl of water in which he requested
Prasad to wash his hands and forearms. Then he produced a splinter
of bone which he required his patient to hold in the water, while he
muttered in a low tone for several minutes.
The incantation over, he bade Prasad withdraw his hand from the water,
when there appeared, a little above the wrist, the blotch of a human
form impressed upon the skin by some dark stain.
The astrologer pointed to the mark on Prasad's arm with triumph.
"Behold, my Lord," he cried, "the image of thine enemy, the one who
seeks to do thee so much injury."
Both Ahmad and Prasad expressed their astonishment at what appeared to
them a miraculous display of the astrologer's skill.
"Now, my Lord," resumed Mohurran Goshi. "If it be thy pleasure that I
should foil this enemy of thine, thou hast but to give thy command."
Prasad well understood the covert allusion to a fee in advance implied
by the astrologer, and produced a handful of silver coins to secure his
valuable services.
These, the astrologer tucked safely away on his person, and then
proceeded to destroy the malign influence aiming for his patient's ruin.
From Prasad's hand he took the bone, and smeared it with an ointment,
which he declared was composed of the most precious ingredients--the
fat of a cobra, the blood of a white rat, salt, and the hoof of an
animal unknown to them. He then rubbed the blotch on Prasad's arm with
the bone for a space, again muttering unintelligibly, when lo! the
image had disappeared.
The astrologer solemnly held up the bone before his patient's eyes.
"Into this, noble sir, have I gathered the influence which causes you
so much bodily and mental anguish."
With wonder, the eyes of the two nobles gazed upon the bone fraught
with so much magic charm. Though as a Mohammedan, Ahmad affected
to scoff at the mysterious science professed by the astrologer,
his hereditary instinct at times caused him momentary qualms, when
inexplicable demonstrations of its power were afforded.
The astrologer next called for a metal tray, a seed, and a gold coin.
These produced, he placed the seed, the gold coin, and the piece of
bone together on the tray, and once more solemnly muttered incantations
over them. As Ahmad and Prasad watched intently, in a twinkling the
bone leaped into the air and disappeared.
"Thus, my Lord," cried Mohurran Goshi, "will thy trouble depart from
thee, if thou art careful to follow my directions."
Prasad breathed a deep sigh of relief as if already a great weight had
been lifted from his mind.
The astrologer then took the coin and passed it several times over his
patient's head, muttering incantations as before, and finally inserted
it in a fold of Prasad's turban. In the process it strangely changed
from the precious metal into copper, another convincing proof of the
astrologer's extraordinary power over inanimate things.
He then took the seed, and wrapping it in a sheet of paper bearing
cabalistic signs, handed it to Prasad.
"This," said he, "is to place beneath your pillow, which, with the
coin, will surely ward off a return of the evil influence. Now as to
the medicine for your body."
From his bag he drew forth several pills, compounded, he asserted, of
ground pearls, coral, and an herb of wonderful medicinal virtue, only
found with difficulty in the high altitudes of the Himalayas. These he
enjoined Prasad to take at certain intervals, setting a price upon them
that might have warranted their curative power over any ill to which
mortal flesh is heir.
"Now," said he, "it will be well for you not to leave the illustrious
Ahmad Khan's roof for some days, during which I will call to mark your
progress, but," he added insinuatingly, "if through the medium of a
discreet friend, the object of your affection could be brought to your
side, there is no doubt you would attain a speedy recovery. A slight
cloud is still suspended over your head, but with my aid, be assured,
it will be dispelled at the fitting moment."
Mohurran Goshi then gave some directions regarding the patient's
food, gathered his effects together, consigned the two nobles to the
protection of God, _salaamed_ several times before them, and went forth
to climb into his rickety bullock cart.
"A sage and skilful physician," remarked Ahmad approvingly.
"Undoubtedly," coincided Prasad. "Now that he hath assured me that the
accursed Dost Ali will be removed from my path, I feel a change for the
better."
"Did I not assure thee that with patience all would come well,"
rejoined Ahmad.
"Aye, truly, good friend; but didst thou remark the last advice of the
learned physician"? asked Prasad.
"Regarding the mission of a discreet friend"? queried Ahmad in return.
"To be sure."
"That is an easy matter," exclaimed Ahmad reassuringly. "To-morrow
when I make my report to the Rani I can prudently disclose to her thy
unhappy condition. No one, good Prasad, can for a purpose assume a more
sympathetic tone of voice, or a more pleading expression, than thy
friend the man of arms. In a moment, I warrant, the fair Rani will be
at thy side."
"Do this for me," returned Prasad in a grateful voice, "and there is
nothing thou canst not ask of me."
Ahmad vowed solemnly that it would be his chief duty on the morrow.
"And now," said he. "If thou art ordered a meagre diet, the learned
astrologer-physician said nothing against a bountiful feast for the
eyes. Let us see what the fair Ganga can do to assist us in passing a
leisure hour."
"As thou wilt," returned Prasad, evincing but little interest in his
host's suggestion. "Ganga is well enough doubtless for one whose soul
is not captivated by an incomparable form."
Ahmad glanced with the suggestion of a smile toward his guest.
"The swine," he muttered underneath his breath.
Chapter XII
AHMAD AGAIN NONPLUSSED
In the furtherance of his design, Ahmad anticipated what might be
termed a scene when he made his report to the Rani upon the following
morning. He fully expected, from his observation of the character of
women in general, that he would find her enraged and vindictive with
Prasad, as the result of the Hindu noble's failure to respond promptly
to her summons. In this respect he was again destined to experience a
surprise, if not a disappointment.
She received him sedately as became the nature of the business to be
transacted, and without a reference to the event which had caused her
to display so much feeling on the day before. If Prasad's image still
occupied a place in her mind, no mention of his name came from her lips
to mark her sentiment toward him. Had her heart been entirely free from
the tender passion, she could not have appeared more composed, more
secure in all that related to her nature as a woman.
From time to time Ahmad gazed upon her with wonder. In order to draw
forth from her an outburst of the fire of resentment which he was
convinced burned inwardly, he more than once skillfully turned the
conversation in the direction of her truant lover; but the Rani as
skillfully declined his lead, passing on naturally to matters of public
importance.
She absolutely refused to disclose, from the beginning to the end of
the interview, what her thoughts or intentions were in regard to the
Mohammedan's rival.
As he was about to leave her presence, Ahmad paused on the threshold
with the hope that she would yet make some reference to Prasad.
The Rani glanced toward him interrogatively.
"Hast thou more to say, O Ahmad"? she asked calmly.
"Nothing, nothing, great Lady," he answered falteringly, as he saluted.
She returned the salute with dignity.
"Then I wish thee good fortune until the morrow," she concluded.
He left the palace with uneasy speculations rising in his mind.
Treacherous to the core of his nature himself, the Rani's reserve of
manner, caused him to suspect that treachery was lurking somewhere
among his own following.
Could that rascal of an astrologer be playing a double part? was the
first thought that flashed into Ahmad's brain; or could Prasad be
acting in the Rani's confidence as a spy upon his actions? If the
latter happened to be the case, he reasoned that the Hindu noble must
possess a power of deception of which he had certainly not displayed
the least symptom as yet. Ahmad decided that this was unlikely. If,
then, the astrologer was in reality conspiring against him, for greater
pay on the part of someone else, a possible enough contingency, it
could easily be detected. In any case he perceived the necessity
of bringing Prasad's complete ruin in the Rani's estimation to a
speedy issue, or a chance disclosure of his intrigue might engulf him
hopelessly in the ditch, he had so well excavated for his rival.
He set spurs to his horse and rode quickly to the astrologer's house.
A prolonged conversation with Mohurran Goshi apparently satisfied
Ahmad that he had nothing to fear from the duplicity of that crafty
personage. He handed the astrologer a well filled purse as the best
tonic to stimulate his continued fidelity.
"Thou wilt call, then, to see thy patient later in the day, learned
Astrologer," Ahmad remarked, as he prepared to turn his face homeward.
"At thy command, noble Lord," acquiesced the astrologer submissively.
"It is well," exclaimed Ahmad. "I warrant thou wilt find him in an
excellent humor for thy purpose."
Ahmad tested the speed of his horse until he approached within a short
distance of the compound surrounding his dwelling. Then he slackened
his pace and assumed an air of grave dejection.
"Good Prasad must believe that the heart of Ahmad Khan goes out to him
in sympathy," he soliloquized, "while the disclosure of the Rani's
faithlessness is drawn forth unwillingly from his friendly lips."
Prasad awaited the Mohammedan's return in a state of feverish anxiety.
He remarked Ahmad's gloomy visage immediately.
"Thou art the bearer of ill news, O Ahmad," he exclaimed, ere the usual
greetings had been exchanged.
"Alas"! returned the other. "My countenance doubtless reflects the
sadness of my heart."
"Speak," enjoined Prasad. "Tell me the worst thou knowest, for I feel
assured it hath to deal with my unlucky case."
"The worst may be told quickly enough, good friend," replied Ahmad.
"Yet, I would that thou urgest me not to such an unpleasant office. Let
us discuss other matters, and leave the disagreeable topic to a later
hour."
Prasad waved his hand impatiently.
"Tell me quickly," he cried. "Bad news is like decaying fruit. It
becomes the more rotten with the keeping. Did the Rani refuse to
hearken to my request"?
"Aye, she did even more than that," came the reply. "She refused to
have thy name mentioned in her presence."
"So"! ejaculated Prasad. "What else hast thou to tell, my emissary"?
"Why, good Prasad, as I hold thy interest at heart it pains me deeply
to speak thus, but it doth seem the Rani hath cast herself body and
soul into the arms of this new favorite, Dost Ali. Her actions have
become the scandal of the court."
Prasad raised himself upon his elbow. His brow contracted and his eyes
flashed threateningly.
"Tell me more," he hoarsely muttered.
"In truth, there is little more to tell," rejoined Ahmad, "except, that
she rides, walks, and feasts with him, and, the court gossip saith,
yields somewhat more besides. As for me, my business over, she excused
my presence speedily. I would have kept this from thee, but rumor would
surely have broken through my desire."
Prasad rose and paced back and forth in ominous silence. Suddenly he
turned and spoke vehemently.
"Ahmad, sick or well, I vow I will not be supplanted by this Dost Ali.
Immediately will I go to the palace. Toward the Rani I mean no harm,
but with her lover, I will find an excuse to bring this matter to an
end between us. Either Prasad Singh or Dost Ali shall fall into the
dust."
Ahmad laid a restraining hand upon the Hindu noble's shoulder.
"Prasad," he enjoined, "thou canst not do this."
"Why should I not"? the other asked tersely.
"Because there must be no strife within the Rani's palace. It would be
an act against her pleasure, her authority. Deeply do I sympathize with
thee, O Prasad, but I cannot countenance thy project."
Prasad returned his host's gaze with astonishment.
"Then, in heaven's name, what wouldst thou have me do"? he demanded.
"Lie here like some decrepit hunter while another goes off with the
quarry. Not I forsooth"!
"Come, good friend, curb thy ambition, passion, and impetuosity for a
season. Await with patience the fitting opportunity for achieving all,
without resort to violent means, that would implacably offend the Rani.
Thou, must remember her palace is not a camp, a field of arms."
"Oh"! exclaimed Prasad sarcastically. "These are indeed strange words
from Ahmad Khan. Is it so long ago that he and his followers swept into
her palace little heeding her authority. Truly that scene resembled an
assault."
Ahmad winced at the retort but managed to preserve his equanimity. He
replied in a contrite tone.
"It is even as thou sayest, but the hour was full of tumult. If my
action seemed wanting in respect for the Rani's dignity, surely I have
made the amends I swore upon the holy book."
Prasad laughed cynically.
"Loyal Ahmad," he cried. "I see not very well how thou canst prevent me
settling with this Dost Ali."
"What I will prevent," the Mohammedan answered, as if conscious of a
virtuous motive, "is the hasty action of a friend leading him on to
certain ruin, aye, even if I surround the house with soldiers and hold
him as a prisoner. Prasad, the Rani in her present temper would never
forgive thee. Thou must, nay thou shalt have patience, for thine own
interest. Even if thou dost curse thy friend now, he knows thou wilt
presently call down blessings on his head."
The two regarded each other fixedly. On Ahmad's face, entreaty that
gave place to determination. Prasad's countenance, a display of
conflicting emotions.
"Come," resumed Ahmad soothingly. "Subdue thy resentment. I tell thee
thy trouble will pass over, and thou wilt find thyself high in favor
with the Rani. In the meantime enjoy thy enforced absence from her
court as becomes a noble of high spirit. Drink of the Foreigner's
spirits, and," he added in a lower tone, "if thou wilt, of the charms
of the fair Ganga. There are hundreds who would envy thy present
opportunity."
"A curse upon all this mischief," Prasad returned impatiently.
"Hath not the learned astrologer told thee all will come well"? asked
the Mohammedan reassuringly.
"A curse upon him, too," added Prasad. "If he observed a little more
carefully events passing on the earth instead of keeping his gaze fixed
upon the heavens, he would be able to prophesy more surely. The fool!
Were I the Raja of Jhansi, I would soon find a means to make him lament
his fate, for having disclosed such a budget of nonsense."
"Thou knowest that as a follower of the only true Prophet," replied
Ahmad. "I set little store upon his trade as an astrologer; but as a
physician, he hath a reputation whereby he is sought by the greatest
nobles and princes."
"I care not for him or his reputation," returned Prasad sullenly. "To
me, it seems, as if all men, aye and all women, are leagued against
me."
"That is because thou art sick. Wait a day or two and thou wilt see
things more reasonably. Because for the moment the flower thou longest
to possess lies a little beyond thy reach, content thyself with others
that are near to hand. Now I go to the cantonments to inspect the
troops. When I return we will together discuss a means of getting rid
of this Dost Ali without offending against the susceptibilities of the
Rani; for in that, upon the oath that I have made, I can take no part."
With a further profession of his unalterable friendship, Ahmad departed
to his military duties.
He had gone but an hour or so, a period consumed by Prasad in bitter
reflections and vows of revenge upon his supposed rival, when the
bullock cart of the astrologer again rumbled and creaked its slow
progress to the Mohammedan's door.
Prasad received him in illhumored silence.
The astrologer-physician nevertheless methodically proceeded to unpack
his bag, and to an examination of his patient.
As before, he gravely felt Prasad's pulse, observed his tongue, and
then expressed himself as being highly satisfied with the sick man's
improved condition.
"I had purposed advising thee to take a bath of oil," said he, "but I
find it will be unnecessary."
"Truly thou art a wise physician," remarked Prasad sarcastically. "Tell
me now, I beg, how the heavens look this evening for the attainment of
my wishes"?
The astrologer scrutinized his calendar for a space, then replied in a
satisfied tone.
"All goes well, noble sir. The moment of triumph over thine enemy draws
nigh. She whom thou lovest will fly to thy arms speedily."
"Now of all the nonsense uttered by man, thou art talking the
uttermost," replied Prasad in angry accents. "Dost know, learned
Astrologer, that only this morning, after all that gibberish of thine
yesterday, I heard the worst news possible"?
The astrologer instead of displaying offense at such a disparaging
summary of his ability, appeared to expect the news.
"Noble sir," he argued in response. "That is as I anticipated. It often
happens that a clearing sky is preceded by a thunderstorm. If thou wilt
but hold thy patience for two days, then the moment for a determined
action will have come."
"How do you mean"? asked Prasad doubtfully.
"Noble Lord," continued the astrologer in a confidential manner. "First
I must have thy assurance that thou wilt not disclose a word of what I
am about to unfold to thy illustrious host, Ahmad Khan.
"In truth he is thy friend, but in the enterprise which it will be well
for thee to undertake, he will render thee no assistance, on account of
a certain oath he has taken."
Prasad appeared to resume an interest in the astrologer's words.
"Proceed quickly," he urged. "Thou hast my promise."
"Then great sir," continued the astrologer. "Be pleased to know, that
the fair one with whom thou art enamored, lies under the influence of
one from whom she would gladly be delivered. If thou wert to repair to
her side accompanied by a few trustworthy followers, at a favorable
hour, she would hail thy appearance with joy, and thou couldst subdue
thine enemy with ease."
"Come, learned Astrologer," interposed Prasad, his humor brightening
perceptibly. "Now I realize thou art a man of action, and consequently
a man of sense. Speak more plainly how thou wouldst advise. Be assured
thou wilt be rewarded relatively with my success."
"Little further is there to say, noble Singh," returned the astrologer
"except that the signs in the heavens declare midnight two days from
hence to be the auspicious moment."
Prasad thought deeply for some minutes. At last he again spoke:
"Secluded here as I am, sage Doctor, it would be difficult for me to
arrange the plan of action. I would that you suggest one for me."
The astrologer glanced round suspiciously as if to note that they were
not overheard.
"That is an easy matter, noble Lord," he replied. "If thou wilt keep
in mind my injunction not to breathe a word of it to Ahmad Khan, and
repair to the tomb of Firoz Khan, nigh the temple of Siva, overlooking
the lake at one hour before midnight, I will arrange to have two or
three good fellows to meet thee there. A greater number would arouse
suspicion at the gate, but for thy purpose they will be sufficient. The
palace will be asleep, and thine enemy taken off his guard."
"Thou seemest to know well the secrets of this affair, learned
Astrologer," remarked Prasad.
"Such is my profession, noble sir," replied Mohurran Goshi, with a note
of pride in his voice.
Prasad again buried himself in thought before he spoke.
"Yes, learned Doctor," he rejoined finally. "If thou art sure thou
canst aid me in the way suggested, I have more than made up my mind to
follow thy counsel."
A momentary flicker of satisfaction crossed the astrologer's crafty
face.
"As certain, noble sir," he replied emphatically, "as that the sand in
the hour glass of thine enemy's fortune hath all but emptied itself
into the lower vessel."
"Then I will be there," decided Prasad, "at the appointed place and
hour."
"Good, noble Lord," exclaimed the astrologer. "Be assured I, too, will
keep my part of the agreement. Hast thou taken the medicinal pills
regularly"? he asked with professional concern.
"To the devil with all pills and ointments," retorted Prasad. "My
stomach yearns for other diet."
"Nevertheless, sir," enjoined the astrologer in his character of
physician. "They possess among other virtues that of stimulating the
heart with courage."
"I want no such stimulants," retorted Prasad. "An enchanting form ever
present in my mind is stimulant enough for any act requiring courage.
If they would only assist me in controlling my impatience for the hour
to come, then I might regard them as of some benefit."
"That they will also do, noble sir," asserted the astrologer. "Their
extraordinary value lies in the fact that they are beneficial for any
bodily or mental ailment."
"Then they must be as remarkable in virtue as they are in price,"
returned Prasad tersely.
He took a jewel from his turban and handed it to the astrologer.
"This," said he, "is but a small portion of the reward I will bestow
upon thee, if thy plan turns out as well as it promises."
The astrologer expressed his gratitude in effusive terms.
"But be careful that not even the walls shall hear of it"? he enjoined.
"Fear not," replied Prasad. "At an hour before midnight I will be at
the tomb of Firoz Khan on the day after to-morrow. See to it that the
men are awaiting me."
"Without fail, noble sir," reasserted the astrologer.
He solemnly called down a thousand benedictions upon Prasad's head,
_salaamed_, and with an air of profound mystery, retired to seek his
bullock cart.
"Now," ejaculated Prasad triumphantly. "We will see how this Dost
Ali can be brought to an accounting in spite of Ahmad's qualms of
conscience."
He called for a goblet of the Foreigners' wine, and drank with evident
appreciation of its quality.
Chapter XIII
_WHAT BIPIN OVERHEARD_
Bipin Dat was returning from his morning prayers at the temple of
Vishnu absorbed in thought. His brow was puckered, his eyes directed
toward the ground, as he made his way slowly through the press in the
bazaar. In his mind serious doubt had arisen regarding the power of the
good tempered God of the great middle caste to avert the calamity which
the astrologer persistently reasserted was suspended over his head.
Manifestly, it was useless, he reasoned, to continue his offerings
at the shrine of a deity, who either could or would not protect him,
when the face of some other of the innumerable personages of the
Hindu pantheon was turned with vindictive anger upon his career. The
difficulty was to discover the God to be propitiated, as by an unlucky
chance he might overlook the very one causing him so much unhappiness.
Truly it was a perplexing situation for the worthy secretary. He almost
wished he were a Mohammedan with only one God from which to choose.
With unbounded pride ever directing his vision to impossible heights,
he had come to believe that eventually he might forsake the God of his
birth and assume the right to pay tribute to Siva the mystical God of
the Brahmans; but clearly this was not the hour for the worship of a
deity enveloped in an abstract philosophy. A man with his ears and
nose, if not his life, in momentary danger is inclined to resort to a
more tangible incarnation of divine power, and possibly wrath. With
terror enthroned in his soul, what more human than that he should turn
to Siva in that deity's non-Aryan form, as the awe inspiring God of the
mass of the people, or his wife the bloody fury, the serpent crowned
Kali. On the morrow he determined to prostrate himself covertly in
the temple of the third person of the great Hindu Triad, and see if a
better result might not be obtained. He heartily wished he was within
reasonable distance of a shrine of holy Mother Ganges, for assuredly
immersion in the waters of the sacred river, could not fail to appease
all the Gods, by this one supreme act of devotion.
So deeply absorbed was Bipin in this all important problem, that he had
failed to more than casually notice the actions of a small boy with
well fattened limbs, displayed to somewhat unnecessary advantage by a
string tied round his waist with a charm attached as his sole approach
to clothing.
At every few steps taken by the secretary, the small boy ran forward
and interposing his chubby form, salaamed respectfully.
Several times Bipin had stepped to one side under the impression that
the boy's intention was merely to show respect for one of such exalted
station, but at last becoming conscious of the youngster's persistency,
Bipin halted and frowned down upon him threateningly.
"How now, boy"? he asked sternly. "What do you mean by continually
getting in my way"?
"Great Secretary Sahib," replied the boy. "I am the son of Mohurran
Goshi."
"_Wah_"! exclaimed Bipin. "So you are the son of Mohurran Goshi. Well!
what does the son of Mohurran Goshi mean by repeatedly making of
himself a stumbling block for my feet"?
"Lord Protector of the Poor," replied the boy deferentially. "My father
bade me seek thee urgently with the message that thou art to repair to
his house, without fail, two hours after sunset."
"Thy father bade thee tell me that I am to come to his house two hours
after sunset," repeated Bipin reflectively. "Did he say for what
purpose, dutiful son of Mohurran Goshi"?
"Not he, great sir," replied the boy, _salaaming_.
Bipin thought for a moment. It was possible that the astrologer had
discovered a charm that would forever confound the machinations of the
accursed Hindu noble.
"What answer shall I take from the great Secretary Raja"? asked the boy
with a twinkle of innate cunning.
Bipin gazed approvingly on the lad who flattered his vanity by the use
of such high sounding titles.
"Thou art a well favored youth," he remarked, "and properly trained in
the respect due to people of importance. Go, tell thy learned father,
that I will be at his door at the hour appointed."
As Bipin took a step forward the boy again interposed his person with
outstretched hand.
"A present, Secretary Raja," he cried. "A present."
"Ah, a present," returned the secretary. "What now do you want with a
present"?
"To buy sweetmeats, noble Lord," the boy answered.
Bipin discovered a small coin in his waistband, and gave it to the
astrologer's son.
The boy _salaamed_ his thanks, and danced off to a nearby stall, making
a sly grimace at the vanishing back of the Rani's worthy secretary.
A little before the time set by the astrologer, Bipin urged a matter of
importance as an excuse for his absence from the palace, and directed
his steps toward Mohurran Goshi's humble abode.
He found the astrologer in a state of suppressed excitement.
"There is not a moment to lose, worthy Secretary," said he. "Shortly
thou wilt be in possession of information that will enable thee to
frustrate thine enemy for all time. With it, thou canst repair to the
Rani and ask any reward at her hands. But be careful not to disclose
the source of thy information, or thou wilt surely fail in thy object.
Come, follow quickly, and hold thy peace at whatever thou mayest see or
hear, or our lives would go out as a torch flung into a pond."
Mohurran Goshi rapidly led the Rani's secretary by dark, narrow alleys,
to one of the gates of the city, and thence out a short distance
along a by-path to a small hut secluded amid a clump of trees. The
absence of a light and the usual yelping of mongrel dogs, suggested
the inference that the place was, at least, temporarily uninhabited.
Mohurran Goshi again enjoined the strictest silence upon Bipin and bade
him remain in the shadow of an out-building, while he went forward
apparently to reconnoiter. Bipin watched his guide approach the door
cautiously and listen. In a few minutes the astrologer returned
stealthily, and beckoned Bipin to follow. He led Bipin round to the
rear of the house and halted beside an open window. From within two
voices could be heard in conversation, for the greater part in an
unintelligible undertone, but at intervals rising so that they could be
plainly overheard.
"Dost make out who it is that is speaking"? the astrologer asked in a
whisper.
"One voice rises familiarly on my ears," returned the secretary.
"Hush"! enjoined the astrologer. "It is that of thine enemy, Prasad
Singh. Wait patiently and listen."
Bipin shivered. A groan of terror was only suppressed by the greater
fear of being discovered.
Presently the voice unknown to Bipin asked a question, distinctly heard
without.
"Dost think, my Lord, that sixty men will suffice for the affair"?
"They will be enough," returned that of the other speaker, which Bipin
believed to come from the mouth of Prasad. "We will carry the palace
by assault, and make away with everyone who intercepts our progress,
until we reach the person of the Rani."
"To-morrow night thou hast determined on the attempt"?
"To-morrow night. Be careful to come to the place of meeting at the
tomb of Firoz Khan near the lake, one hour before midnight."
"As thou commandest. Hast thou a particular desire to make a prisoner
of anyone"?
"Aye truly have I," came the quick rejoinder. "Thou wilt secure but
deal gently with that arch rascal, Bipin Dat."
Without, the astrologer clapped a hand over the secretary's mouth to
prevent a wail of despair going forth upon the night.
"Set thy knees and teeth, worthy Secretary," whispered the astrologer,
"or they will shake the heavens down upon our heads."
"Be very careful of him," continued the voice within, "as I have
somewhat to say regarding his impertinence and presumption before
cutting his nose and ears off, and flinging his liver to the dogs. Of
all those about the Rani, him I detest the most."
Bipin sank an invertebrate bundle of humanity to the ground. He
entwined his arms about the astrologer's legs in a mute appeal for
protection. His throat was incapable of uttering a sound.
The astrologer stooped down and shook Bipin by the shoulder.
"Go," he urged in an imperative whisper, "if thou wouldst save thy
life and that of others. Come, get upon thy feet. Fly to the Rani's
presence, and disclose to her this accursed plot. Remember that the
meeting place is the tomb of Firoz Khan at one hour before midnight,
to-morrow. I would come with thee but my bones are old, and must remain
to screen thy flight."
Bipin crawled on his hands and knees to a little distance, and then
rising, ran as fast as his corpulency would permit, back in the
direction of the city.
Of that journey he retained afterwards little recollection. More than
once he fell over some obstacle in his path, to rise with bruised
limbs and resume his terror-hounded course. He lost his slippers in a
ditch, and his turban in a thicket, into which he had strayed in the
darkness. Whether he entered the city by a gate or scaled the walls he
knew not, but panting, scratched, and with disordered garments, the
worthy secretary did at last reach the palace, and struggle in by the
astonished servants.
At the hour of Bipin's return, the Rani was entertaining her court with
a _natch_ in one of the gardens. Among others, Ahmad Khan had availed
himself of an invitation to be present, leaving his guest, Prasad, in
a better humor than he had displayed for some days past. As a sign of
reviving spirit, he had even promised the Mohammedan to take part in
a boar hunt on the following morning. He had scarcely mentioned the
Rani's name since the astrologer's visit of the day before, except
to remark that he believed Mohurran Goshi's pills and charms were
assisting him to control his passion.
By the light of torches the girls had delighted their audience with
several exhibitions of their art. In an interval refreshments of
sweetmeats and sherbet were being served, when the strange figure made
by Bipin Dat broke through the half circle formed by the girls and
musicians. Out of breath, with his dress in the utmost disorder, he
waddled to the Rani's position, and with a groan sank down at her feet.
"Why, what is the meaning of this"? asked the Rani in accents of
surprise. "Truly, O Bipin, thou must have been chased by the terrible
white fox of which thou livest in such dread."
"O great Lady," moaned Bipin, casting his hands upward despairingly.
"Alas! we are all, every one of us, now dead."
"Dead"! exclaimed the Rani. "Not quite dead yet, I think, good
Secretary."
"_Ah, hae, hae_"! Bipin continued to moan piteously. "Dead, all dead,"
he groaned; "or before another moon has set, most assuredly we all will
be."
"Now what dost thou mean by this nonsense"? demanded the Rani
impatiently. "Speak, what has reduced thee to such a condition of
distress. Thou art interrupting the pleasure of my guests."
A groan as if drawn from the pit of his stomach came forth from Bipin's
lips.
"O Rani," he spoke hoarsely. "The accursed Prasad Singh, may God send
his soul into the body of a scorpion for ten thousand years, he--he----"
At the mention of the Hindu noble's name, the Rani started and gazed
inquiringly upon Bipin, who hesitated, as if he knew not how to
commence his horrifying disclosure.
"Well," urged the Rani. "Well, what of the noble Prasad Singh. What
knowest thou of him"?
"Oh! great Rani. He--the accursed Prasad Singh plotteth----"
"Stay," interposed the Rani quickly. "Stay Bipin, I will hear what thou
hast to impart privately."
"Ahmad Khan," she said, turning to the Mohammedan. "As Prasad is thy
guest, thou wilt come with us apart. Let the _natch_ continue," she
added to an attendant. "We will return presently."
She led the way to a corridor at one end of the garden and then
addressed Bipin.
"Speak now what thou knowest of the noble Prasad Singh, and be certain
that it is no idle tale, no unfounded gossip, or rest assured thou wilt
suffer real pain without any doubt."
"Great Rani," returned Bipin plaintively. "Let my mouth be filled with
dust, and my face shaved only on one side as an object of ridicule for
all liars, if I do not speak the truth. From a wise man, for sometime
have I been warned that Prasad Singh had evil designs upon my nose and
ears. That----"
The Rani interposed with angry impatience.
"Thy nose and ears, fool! What would the noble Prasad Singh care for
anything that pertaineth to thy life or person. Did I not warn thee not
to trespass upon my good nature with such nonsense"?
Bipin assumed an expression of wounded dignity, but replied with
submission.
"Noble Rani, that is as may be; but the same wise man to make plain to
me Prasad Singh's accursed designs led me this evening to a meeting
place, where, in seclusion, I heard Prasad discuss a plot to assault
the palace to-morrow night. With six hundred, nay I believe it was
six thousand followers, he will put everyone to the sword, seize your
Highness's throne for himself, and, O great Lady, consign you for
evermore to a fortress guarded by terrible monsters. And as for me, O
noble one, alas"! Bipin whined in terror. "In revenge for my fidelity
to thee, my nose and ears are to be cut off and nailed to the palace
gate, and my body," he groaned deeply, "O holy Kali, chopped in pieces
and cast to swine. Alas! what a miserable fate lieth in store for all
of us."
The Rani was about to reply when Ahmad interposed angrily.
"What is all this thou sayest of the noble Prasad Singh? Dost know that
thou art accusing a high and loyal prince of the vilest treachery.
By the Prophet's beard! were it not that I regard thee as but a half
witted fool, for such lies upon a friend, I would cut thee on the spot
into the pieces of which thou speakest."
He made an impulsive motion with his hand toward the hilt of his sword,
but the Rani restrained him.
"Stay Ahmad," she enjoined. "Perchance somewhere in all this mass of
exaggeration there may lie a speck of truth. You must admit Prasad's
actions of late might warrant a measure of suspicion."
"Noble Rani," replied Ahmad in a tone of excuse. "That Prasad Singh
may have been guilty of youthful folly, that he has not paid due
respect to your exalted office and person, I will not deny; but that
he should harbor a single thought, far less attempt an act against
your authority, I will swear it to be a lie upon the sacred book. Nay,
more, I will defend his honor in such a matter, with my sword, against
whoever may make the vile assertion."
"Ahmad," returned the Rani thoughtfully. "It is to thy credit that
thou dost behold Prasad only with the eye of a friend; but I possess
my own reason for searching further into this matter. Now Bipin,"
she continued addressing the secretary impressively, "state plainly,
and without resort to a riot of thy nervous fancy, what thou hast
actually seen and heard. As thou tellest the truth thou wilt meet with
recompense, but if thou liest, I swear I will carry out the doom thou
believest is in store for thee."
With numerous checks upon his tendency to wander from the main thread
of his story, Bipin disclosed by degrees a full account of what he
had overheard at the window of the hut outside the city. In spite of
a strict cross examination on the part of the Rani and Ahmad Khan,
he held steadfastly to two points, that it was Prasad's voice he had
undoubtedly heard in the treasonable discussion, and that in his
terrified condition he had entirely forgotten the name of the wise man
who had conducted him to the spot.
Bipin's interrogation was brought finally to a conclusion. The Rani
dismissed him with the assurance that he had acted wisely in her
interest, and might fear no evil from any direction.
"Well, my Lord," she asked of Ahmad. "What do you now think of this"?
"Truly, noble Lady," he replied, "my understanding is still unable
to give credence to such a report. I cannot believe it of my friend
Prasad, staying as he is under the shelter of my roof. By not a sign
or word has he intimated any such design to me. I thought him far too
much consumed with the fair Ganga's charms to care for any project upon
earth. Alas! one knows not what to think. So noble a fellow to fall
into such evil paths."
The Rani bit her lip and clenched her hands tightly to restrain the
burst of jealous passion called to the surface of her nature by the
Mohammedan's insidious thrust.
"Noble Rani," petitioned Ahmad, "I beg thou wilt permit me to return
immediately to my house. There, I will cautiously sound the noble
Prasad on this matter, and if I find a grain of truth in the report, so
display to him the ingratitude, the wickedness of such thoughts, that
surely will he express his sorrow and ha
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