|
ANANDAMATH OF BANKIM CHANDRA CHATTERJEE First thirteen chapters only
PROLOGUE
A wide interminable forest. Most of the trees are Sāls, but other kinds are not wanting. Treetop mingling with treetop, foliage melting into foliage, the interminable lines progress; without crevice, without gap, without even a way for the light to enter, league after league and again league after league the boundless ocean of leaves advances, tossing wave upon wave in the wind. Underneath, thick darkness; even at midday the light is dim and uncertain; a seat of terrific gloom. There the foot of man never treads; there, except the illimitable rustle of the leaves and the cry of wild beasts and birds, no sound is heard. In this interminable, impenetrable wilderness of blind gloom, if is night. The hour is midnight, and a very dark midnight; even outside the wood-land it is dark and nothing can be seen. Within the forest the piles of gloom are like the darkness in the womb of the earth itself. Bird and beast are utterly and motionlessly still. What hundreds of thousands, what millions of birds, beasts, insects, flying things have their dwelling within that forest! But not one is giving forth a sound. Rather the darkness is within the imagination; but inconceivable is that noiseless stillness of the ever-murmurous, ever noise-filled earth. In that limitless empty forest, in the solid darkness of that midnight, in that unimaginable silence, there was a sound: “Shall the desire of my heart ever be fulfilled ?” After that sound the forest reaches sank again into stillness. Who would have said then that a human sound had been heard in those wilds ? A little while after, the sound came again, again the voice of man rang forth troubling the hush: “Shall the desire of my heart ever be fulfilled?” Three times the wide sea of darkness was thus shaken. Then the answer came: “What is the stake put down?” The first voice replied, “I have staked my life and all its riches.” The echo answered, “Life! it is a small thing which all can sacrifice.” “What else is there? What more can I give?” This was the answer, “Thy soul’s worship.” Page– 317 ANANDAMATH
CHAPTER ONE It is a summer day of the Bengali year 1176, The glare and heat of the sun lies very heavy on the village of Padachinha. The village is crowded with houses, yet there is not a man to be seen. Line upon line of shops in the bazaar, rows upon rows of booths in the mart, hundreds of earthen houses interspersed with stone mansions, high and low, in every quarter. But today all is silent. In the bazaar the shops are closed, and where the shopkeeper has fled no man can tell. It is market day today, but in the mart there is no buying and selling. It is the beggars’ day, but the beggars are not out. The weaver has shut up his loom and lies weeping in his house; the trader has forgotten his traffic and weeps with his infant in his lap; the givers have left giving and the teachers closed their schools; the very infant, it would seem, has no longer heart to cry aloud. No wayfarers are to be seen in the highways, no bathers in the lake, no human forms at door and threshold, no birds in the trees, no cattle in the pastures; only in the burning-ground dog and jackal crowd. In that crowded desolation of houses one huge building, whose great fluted pillars could be seen from afar, rose glorious as the peak of a hill. And yet where was the glory ? The doors were shut, the house empty of the concourse of men, hushed and voiceless, difficult even to the entry of the wind. In a room within this dwelling where even noon was a darkness, in that darkness, like a pair of lilies flowering in the midnight, a wedded couple sat in thought. Straight in front of them stood Famine. The harvest of the year 1174 had been poor, consequently in the year 1175 rice was a little dear; the people suffered, but the Government exacted its revenues to the last fraction of a farthing. As a result of this careful reckoning the poor began to eat only once a day. The rains in 1175 were copious, and people thought Heaven had taken pity on the land. Joyously once more the herdsman sang his ditty in the fields; the tiller’s wife again began to tease her husband for a silver bracelet. Suddenly in the month of Aswin Heaven turned away its face. In Aswin and Kartick not a drop of rain fell; the grain in the fields withered and turned to straw as it stood. Page– 318 Wherever a ear or two flourished, the officials bought it for the troops. The people no longer had anything to eat. First, they stinted themselves of one meal in the day; then even from their single meal they rose with half-filled stomachs; next the two meal-times became two fasts. The little harvest reaped in Chaitra was not enough to fill the hungry mouths. But Mahomed Reza Khan, who was in charge of the revenues, thought fit to show himself off as a loyal servant and immediately enhanced the taxes by ten per cent. Throughout Bengal arose a clamour of great weeping. First, people began to live by begging but afterwards who could give alms? They began to fast. Next they fell into the clutch of disease. The cow was sold, plough and yoke were sold, the seed-rice was eaten, hearth and home were sold, land and goods were sold. Next they began to sell their girls. After that they began to sell their boys. After that they began to sell their wives. Next, girl, boy, or wife, —who would buy? Purchasers there were none, only sellers. For want of food men began to eat the leaves of trees, they began to eat grass, they began to eat weeds. The lower castes and the forest men began devouring dogs, mice and cats. Many fled, but ,| those who fled only reached some foreign land to die of starvation. Those ‘ who remained ate uneatables or subsisted without food till disease took hold of them and they died. Disease had its day, — fever, cholera, consumption, small-pox. The virulence of small-pox was especially great. In every house men began to perish of the disease. There was none to give water to his fellow, none who would touch him, none to treat the sick. Men would not turn to care for each other’s sufferings, nor was there any to take up the corpse from where it lay. Beautiful bodies lay rotting in wealthy mansions. For where once the small-pox made its entry, the dwellers fled from the house and abandoned the sick man in their fear. Mohendra Singha was a man of great wealth in the village of Padachinha. but today rich and poor were on one level. In this time of crowding afflictions his relatives, friends, servants, maid-servants had all been ‘ seized by disease and gone from him. Some had died, some had fled. In that once peopled household there was only himself, his wife and one infant girl. This was the .couple of whom I spoke. The wife, Kalyani, gave up thinking and went to the cowshed to milk the cow; then she warmed the milk, fed her child and went again to give the cow its grass and water. When she returned from her task Mohendra said, “How long can we go on in this way?” Page– 319 “Not long,” answered Kalyani, “as long as we can. So long as possible I will keep things going, afterwards you and the girl can go to the town.” mohendra If we have to go to the town at the end, why should I inflict all this trouble on you at all? Come, let us go at once. After much arguing and contention between husband and wife, Kalyani said, “Will there be any particular advantage in going to the town?” mohendra Very possibly that place too is as empty of men and empty of means of subsistence as we are here. kalyani If you go to Murshidabad, Cossimbazar or Calcutta, you may save your life. It is in every way best to leave this place. Mohendra answered, “This house has been full for many years of the gathered wealth of generations. All this will be looted by thieves.” kalyani If thieves come to loot it, shall we two be able to protect the treasure? If life is not saved who will be there to enjoy? Come, let us shut up the whole place this moment and go. If we survive, we can come back and enjoy what remains. “Will you be able to do the journey on foot?” asked Mohendra. “The palanquin-bearers are all dead. As for cart or carriage, where there are bullocks there is no driver; and where there is a driver there are no bullocks.” kalyani Oh, I shall be able to walk, do not fear. In her heart she thought, even if she fell and died on the way, these two at least would be saved. The next day at dawn the two took some money with them, locked up room and door, let loose the cattle, took the child in their arms and set out for the capital. At the time of starting Mohendra said, “The road is very difficult, at every step dacoits and highwaymen are hovering about, it is not well to go empty-handed.” So saying Mohendra returned to the house and took from it musket, shot, and powder. When she saw the weapon, Kalyani said, “Since you have remembered to take arms with you, hold Sukumari for a moment and I too will Page– 320 bring a weapon with me.” With these words she put her daughter into Mohendra’s arms and in her turn entered the house. Mohendra called after her, “Why, what weapon can you take with you?” As she came, Kalyani hid a small casket of poison in her dress. Fearing what fate might befall her in these days of misfortune, she had already procured and kept the poison with her. It was the month of Jyaistha, a savage heat, the earth as if a flame, the wind scattering fire, the sky like a canopy of heated copper, the dust of the road like sparks of fire. Kalyani began to perspire profusely. Now resting under the shade of a bāblā tree, now sitting in the shelter of a date-palm, drinking the muddy water of dried ponds, with great difficulty she journeyed forward. The girl was in Mohendra’s arms and sometimes he fanned her with his robe. Once the two refreshed themselves, seated under the boughs of a creeper-covered tree flowering with odorous blooms and dark-hued with dense shade-giving foliage. Mohendra wondered to see Kalyani’s endurance under fatigue. He drenched his robe with water from a neighbouring pool and sprinkled it on his and Kalyani’s face, forehead, hands and feet. Kalyani was a little cooled and refreshed, but both of them were distressed with great hunger. That could be borne, but the hunger and thirst of their child could not be endured, so they resumed their march. Swimming through those waves of fire they arrived before evening at an inn. Mohendra had cherished a great hope that on reaching the inn he would be able to give cool water to his wife and child to drink and food to save their lives. But he met with a great disappointment. There was not a man in the inn. Big rooms were lying empty, the men had all fled. Mohendra after looking about the place made his wife and daughter lie down in one of the rooms. He began to call from outside in a loud voice, but got no answer Then Mohendra said to Kalyani, “Will you have a little courage and stay here alone? If there is a cow to be found in this region, may Sri Krishna have pity on us and I shall bring you some milk.” He took an earthen water jar in his hand and went out. A number of such jars were lying about the place. Page– 321 CHAPTER TWO
Mohendra departed. Left alone with no one near her but her little girl, Kalyani in that solitary and unpeopled place, in that almost pitch-dark cottage began to study closely every side. Great fear was upon her. No one anywhere, no sound of human existence to be heard, only the howling of the dogs and the jackals. She regretted letting her husband go—hunger and thirst might after all have been borne a little longer. She thought of shutting all the doors and sitting in the security of the closed house. But not a single door had either panel or bolt. As she was thus gazing in every direction suddenly something in the doorway that faced her caught her eye, something like a shadow. It seemed to her to have the shape of a man and yet not to be human. Something utterly dried up and withered, something like a very black, a naked and terrifying human shape had come and was standing at the door. After a little while the shadow seemed to lift a hand — with the long withered finger of a long withered hand, all skin and bone, it seemed to make a motion of summons to someone outside. Kalyani’s heart dried up in her with fear. Then just such another shadow, withered, black, tall, naked, came and stood by the side of the first. Then another came and yet another came. Many came, — slowly, noiselessly they began to enter the room. The room with its almost blind darkness grew dreadful as a midnight burning-ground. All those corpse-like figures gathered round Kalyani and her daughter. Kalyani almost swooned away. Then the black withered men seized and lifted up the woman and the girl, carried them out of the house and entered into a jungle across the open fields. A few minutes afterwards Mohendra arrived with the milk in the water jar. He found the whole place empty. Hither and thither he searched, often called aloud his daughter’s name and at last even his wife’s. There was no answer, he could find no trace of his wife and child. Page– 322 CHAPTER THREE
It was a very beautiful woodland in which the robbers set down Kalyani There was no light, no eye to see the loveliness, — the beauty of the wood remained invisible like the beauty of soul in a poor man’s heart. There might be no food in the country, but there was a wealth of flowers in the woodland; so thick was the fragrance that even in that darkness one seemed to be conscious of a light. On a clear spot in the middle covered with soft grass, the thieves set down Kalyani and her child and themselves sat around them. Then they began to debate what to do with them, for what ornaments Kalyani had with her were already in their possession. One group was very busy with the division of this booty. But when the ornaments had been divided, one of the robbers said, “What are we to do with gold and silver ? Someone give me a handful of rice in exchange for an ornament; I am tortured with hunger, I have eaten today nothing but the leaves of trees.” No sooner had one so spoken than all echoed him and a clamour arose. “Give us rice, give us rice, we do not want gold and silver!” The leader tried to quiet them, but no one listened to him. Gradually high words began to be exchanged, abuse flowed freely, a fight became imminent. Everyone in a rage pelted the leader with his whole allotment of ornaments. He also struck one or two and this brought all of them upon him striking at him in a general assault. The robber captain was emaciated and ill with starvation; one or two blows laid him prostrate and lifeless, Then one in that hungry, wrathful, excited, maddened troop of plunderers cried out, “We have eaten the flesh of dogs and jackals and now we are racked with hunger; come, friends, let us feast to-day on this rascal.” Then all began to shout aloud, “Glory to. Kali! Bom Kali! today we will eat human flesh.” And with this cry those black emaciated corpse-like figures began to shout with laughter and dance and clap their hands in the congenial darkness. One of them set about lighting a fire to roast the body of the leader. He gathered dried creepers, wood and grass, struck flint and iron and set light to the collected fuel. As the fire burned up a little, the dark green foliage of the trees that were neighbors to the spot, mango, lemon, jackfruit and palm, tamarind and date, were lit up faintly with the toes. Here the leaves seemed ablaze, there the grass brightened in the light; in some places the darkness only became more crass and deep, Mien the fire was ready, one began to drag the corpse by the leg and was to throw it on the fire, but another intervened and said, “Drop it! Page– 323 stop, stop! if it is on the grand meat that we must keep ourselves alive today, then why the tough and juiceless flesh of this old fellow? We shall eat what we have looted and brought with us today. Come along, there is that tender girl, let us roast and eat her.” Another said, “Roast anything you like, my good fellow, but roast it; I can stand this hunger no longer.” Then all gazed greedily towards the place where Kalyani and her daughter had lain. They saw the place empty; neither child nor mother was there. Kalyani had seen her opportunity when the robbers were disputing, taken her daughter into her arms, put the child’s mouth to her breast and fled into the wood. Aware of the escape of their prey, the ghost-like ruffian crew ran in every direction with a cry of “Kill, Kill”. In certain conditions man is no better than a ferocious wild beast. Page– 324 CHAPTER FOUR
The darkness of the wood was very deep and Kalyani could not find her way. In the thickly-woven entanglement of trees, creepers, and thorns there was no path at the best of times and on that there came this impenetrable darkness. Separating the branches and creepers, pushing through thorn and briar, Kalyani began to make her way into the thickness of the wood. The thorns pierced the child’s skin and she cried from time to time; and at that the shouts of the pursuing robbers rose higher. In this way with torn and bleeding body, Kalyani made farther progress into the woodland. After a little while the moon rose. Until then there was some slight confidence in Kalyani’s mind that in the darkness the robbers would not be able to find her and after a brief and fruitless search would desist from the pursuit, but, now that the moon had risen, that confidence left her. The moon, as it mounted into the sky, shed its light on the woodland tops, and the darkness within was suffused with it. The darkness brightened, and here and there, through gaps, the outer luminousness found its way inside and peeped into the thickets. The higher the moon mounted, the more the light penetrated into the reaches of foliage, the deeper all the shadows took refuge in the thicker parts of the forest. Kalyani too with her child hid herself farther and farther in where the shadows retreated. And now the robbers shouted higher and began to come running from all sides, and the child in her terror wept louder. Kalyani then gave up the struggle and made no further attempt to escape. She sat down with the girl on her lap on a grassy thornless spot at the foot of a great tree and called repeatedly, “Where art Thou? Thou whom I worship daily, to whom daily I bow down, in reliance on whom I had the strength to penetrate into this forest, where art Thou, 0 Madhusudan?” At this time, what with fear, the deep emotion of spiritual love and worship and the lassitude of hunger and thirst, Kalyani gradually lost sense of her outward surroundings and became full of an inward consciousness in which she was aware of a heavenly voice singing in mid-air,
“0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu! 0 Gopal, O Govinda, O Mukunda, 0 Shauri! Page– 325 0 Hari, 0 Murari, O foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
Kalyani had heard from her childhood, in the recitation of the Puranas, that the sages of Paradise roam the world on the paths of the sky, crying aloud to the music of the harp the name of Hari. That imagination took shape in her mind and she began to see with the inner vision a mighty ascetic, harp in hand, white-bodied, white-haired, white-bearded, white-robed, tall of stature, singing in the path of the azure heavens,
“0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
Gradually the song grew nearer, louder she heard the words,
“0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
Then still nearer, still clearer, — “0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
At last over Kalyani’s head the chant rang echoing in the woodland, “0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
Then Kalyani opened her eyes. In the half-lustrous moonbeams suffused and shadowed with the darkness of the forest, she saw in front of her that white-bodied, white-haired, white-bearded, white-robed image of a sage. Dreamily all her consciousness centred on the vision. Kalyani thought to bow down to it, but she could not perform the salutation; even as she bent her head, all consciousness left her and she lay fallen supine on the ground. Page– 326 CHAPTER FIVE
In a huge tract of ground in the forest there was a great monastery engirt with ruined masses of stone. Archaeologists would tell us that this was formerly a monastic retreat of the Buddhists and afterwards became a Hindu monastery. Its rows of edifices were two-storeyed; in between were temples and in front a meeting-hall. Almost all these buildings were surrounded with a wall and so densely hidden with the trees of the forest that, even at day-time and at a short distance from the place, none could divine the presence of a human habitation here. The buildings were broken in many places, but by daylight one could see that the whole place had been recently repaired. A glance showed that man had made his dwelling in this profound and inaccessible wilderness. It was in a room in this monastery, where a great log was blazing, that Kalyani first returned to consciousness and beheld in front of her that white-bodied, white-robed Great One. Kalyani began once more to gaze on him with eyes large with wonder, for even now memory did not return to her. Then the Mighty One of Kalyani’s vision spoke to her: “My child, this is a habitation of the Gods, here have no apprehension. I have a little milk, drink it and then I will talk with you.” At first Kalyani could understand nothing, then, as by degrees her mind recovered some firm foundation, she threw the hem of her robe round her neck and made an obeisance at the Great One’s feet. He replied with. a blessing and brought out from another room a sweet-smelling earthen pot in which he warmed some milk at the blazing fire. When the milk was warm he gave it to Kalyani and said, “My child, give some to your daughter to drink and then drink some yourself, afterwards you can talk.” Kalyani, with joy in her heart, began to administer the milk to her daughter. The unknown then said to her, “While I am absent, have no anxiety,” and left the temple. After a while he returned from outside and saw that Kalyani had finished giving the milk to her child, but had herself drunk nothing; the milk was almost as it was at first, very little had been used. “My child,” said the unknown, “you have not drunk the milk; I am going out again, and until you drink I will not return.” The sage-like personage was again leaving the room, when Kalyani once more made him an obeisance and stood before him with folded hands. “What is it you wish to say?” asked the recluse. Then Kalyani replied, “Do not command me to drink the milk, there ;ii an obstacle. I will not drink it.” Page– 327 The recluse answered in a voice full of compassion, “Tell me what is the obstacle; I am a forest-dwelling ascetic, you are my daughter; what can you have to say which you will not tell me? When I carried you unconscious from the forest, you then seemed to me as if you had been sadly distressed with thirst and hunger; if you do not eat and drink, how can you live?” Kalyani answered, the tears dropping from her eyes, “You are a god and I will tell you. My husband remains still fasting and until I meet him again or hear of his tasting food, how can I eat?” The ascetic asked, “Where is your husband?” “I do not know,” said Kalyani, “the robbers stole me away after he had gone out in search of milk.” Then the ascetic by question after question elicited all the information about Kalyani and her husband. Kalyani did not indeed utter her husband’s name, — she could not; but the other information the ascetic received about him was sufficient for him to understand. He asked her, “Then you are Mohendra Singha’s wife?” Kalyani, in silence and with bowed head, began to heap wood on the fire at which the milk had been warmed. Then the ascetic said, “Do what I tell you, drink the milk; I am bringing you news of your husband. Unless you drink the milk, I will not go.” Kalyani asked, “Is there a little water anywhere here?” The ascetic pointed to ajar of water. Kalyani made a cup of her hands, the ascetic filled it with water; then Kalyani approaching her hands with the water in them to the ascetic’s feet, said, “Please put the dust of your feet in the water.” When the ascetic had touched the water with his foot, Kalyani drank it and said, “I have drunk nectar of the gods, do not tell me to eat or drink anything else; until I have news of my husband I will take nothing else.” The ascetic answered, “Abide without fear in this temple. I am going in search of your husband.” Page– 328 CHAPTER SIX
It was far on in the night and the moon rode high overhead. It was not the full moon and its brilliance was not so keen. An uncertain light, confused with shadowy hints of darkness, lay over an open common of immense extent the two extremities of which could not be seen in that pale lustre. This plain affected the mind like something illimitable and desert-like, a very abode, of fear. Through it there ran the road between Murshi dabad and Calcutta. On the road-side was a small hill which bore upon it a goodly number of mango-trees. The tree-tops glimmered and trembled with a sibilant rustle in the moonlight, and their shadows, too, black upon the blackness of the rocks, shook and quivered. The ascetic climbed to the top of the hill and there in rigid silence listened, but for what he listened, it is not easy to say; for in that great plain that seemed as vast as infinity, there was not a sound except the murmurous rustle of the trees. At one spot there was a great jungle near the foot of the hill, — the hill above, the high road below, the jungle between. I do not know what sound met his ear from the jungle, but it was in that direction the ascetic went. Entering into the denseness of the growth he saw in the forest, under the darkness of the branches at the foot of long rows of trees, men sitting, — men tall of stature, black of hue, armed; their burnished weapons glittered fierily in the moonlight where it fell through gaps in the woodland leafage. Two hundred such armed men were sitting there, not one uttering a single word. The ascetic went slowly into their midst and made some signal, but not a man rose, Bone spoke, none made a sound. He passed in front of all, looking at each is he went, scanning every face in the gloom, as if he were seeking someone lie could not find. In his search he recognised one, touched him and made a sign, at which the other instantly rose. The ascetic took him to a distance and they stood and talked apart. The man was young; his handsome face we a thick black moustache and beard; his frame was full of strength; his whole presence beautiful and attractive. He wore an ochre-coloured robe and on all his limbs the fairness and sweetness of sandal was smeared. The Brahmacharin said to him, “Bhavananda, have you any news of Mohendra Singha?” Bhavananda answered, “Mohendra Singha and his wife and child left their house today; on the way, at the inn, —” At this point the ascetic interrupted him, “I know what happened at Page– 329 the inn. Who did it?” “Village rustics, I imagine. Just now the peasants of all the villages have turned dacoits from compulsion of hunger. And who is not a dacoit nowadays ? Today we also have looted and eaten. Two maunds of rice belonging to the Chief of Police were on its way; we took and consecrated it to a devotee’s dinner.” The ascetic laughed and said, “I have rescued his wife and child from the thieves. I have just left them in the monastery. Now it is your charge to find out Mohendra and deliver his wife and daughter into his keeping. Jivananda’s presence here will be sufficient for the success of today’s business.” Bhavananda undertook the mission and the ascetic departed elsewhere. Page– 330 CHAPTER SEVEN
Mohendra rose from the floor of the inn where he was sitting, for nothing could be gained by sitting there and thinking over his loss. He started in the direction of the town with the idea of taking the help of the officials in the search for his wife and child. After journeying for some distance he saw on the road a number of bullock-carts surrounded by a great company of sepoys. In the Bengali year 1175 the province of Bengal had not become subject to British administration. The English were then the revenue officials of Bengal. They collected the taxes due to the treasury, but up to that time they had not taken upon themselves the burden of protecting the life and property of the Bengali people. The burden they had accepted was to take the country’s money; the responsibility of protecting life and property lay upon that despicable traitor and disgrace to humanity, Mirzafar. Mirzafar was incapable of protecting even himself; it was not likely that he would or could protect the people of Bengal. Mirzafar took opium and slept; the English raked in the rupees and wrote despatches; as for the people of Bengal they wept and went to destruction. The taxes of the province were therefore the due of the English, but the burden of administration was on the Nawab. Wherever the English themselves collected the taxes due to them, they had appointed a collector, but the revenue collected went to Calcutta. People might die of starvation, but the collection of their monies did not stop for a moment. However, very much could not be collected; for if Mother Earth does not yield wealth, no one can create wealth out of nothing. Be that as it may, the little that could be collected, had been made into cart-loads and was on its way to the Company’s treasury at Calcutta in charge of a military escort. At this time there was great danger from dacoits, so fifty armed sepoys inarched with fixed bayonets, ranked before and behind the carts. Their captain was an English soldier who went on horseback in the rear of the force. On account of the heat the sepoys did not march by day but only by night. As they marched, Mohendra’s progress was stopped by the treasure carts and this military array. Mohendra, seeing his way barred by sepoys and carts, stood at the side of the road; but as the sepoys still jostled him in passing, holding this to be no fit time for debate, he went and stood at the edge of the jungle by the road. Then a sepoy said in Hindustani, “See, there’s a dacoit making off.” Page– 331 The sight of the gun in Mohendra’s hand confirmed this belief. He went for Mohendra, caught hold of his neck and, with the salutation “Rogue! thief!” suddenly gave him a blow of the fist and wrested the gun from his hand. Mohendra, empty-handed, merely returned the blow. Needless to say, Mohendra was something more than a little angry, and the worthy sepoy reeled with the blow and went down stunned on the road. Upon that, three or four sepoys came up, took hold of Mohendra and, dragging him forcibly to the commander, told the Saheb, “This man has killed one of the sepoys.” The Saheb was smoking and a little bewildered with strong drink; he replied, “Catch hold of the rogue and marry him.” The soldiers did not understand how they were to marry an armed highwayman, but in the hope that, with the passing of the intoxication, the Saheb would change his mind and the marriage would not be forced on them, three or four sepoys bound Mohendra hand and foot with the halters of the cart-bullocks and lifted him into the cart. Mohendra saw that it would be in vain to use force against so many, and, even if he could effect his escape by force, what was the use ? Mohendra was depressed and sorrowful with grief for his wife and child and had no desire for life. The sepoys bound Mohendra securely to the wheel of the cart. Then with a slow and heavy stride the escort proceeded on its march. Page– 332 CHAPTER EIGHT
Possessed of the ascetic’s command, Bhavananda, softly crying the name of Hari went in the direction of the inn where Mohendra had been sitting; for he thought it likely that there he would get a clue to Mohendra’s whereabouts. At that time the present roads made by the English were not in existence. In order to come to Calcutta from the district towns, one had to travel by the marvellous roads laid down by the Mogul Emperors. On his way from Padachinha to the town, Mohendra had been travelling from south to north; thus it was that he met the soldiers on the way. The direction Bhavananda had to take from the Hill of Palms towards the inn, was also from south to north: necessarily, he too on his way fell in with the sepoys in charge of the treasure. Like Mohendra, he stood aside to let them pass. Now, for one thing, the soldiers naturally believed that the dacoits would be sure to attempt the plunder of this despatch of treasure, and on that apprehension had come the arrest of a dacoit on this very highway. When they saw Bhavananda too standing aside in the night-time, they inevitably concluded that here was another dacoit. Accordingly, they seized him on the spot. Bhavananda smiled softly and said, “Why so, my good fellow?” “Rogue!” answered a sepoy, “you are a robber.” “You can very well see I am an ascetic wearing the yellow robe. Is this the appearance of a robber?” “There are plenty of rascally ascetics and Sannyasins who rob,” retorted the sepoy, and he began to push and drag Bhavananda. Bhavananda’s eyes Hashed in the darkness, but he only said very humbly, “Good master, let me know your commands.” The sepoy was pleased at Bhavananda’s politeness and said, “Here, rascal, take this load and carry it,” and he clapped a bundle on Bhavananda’s head. Then another of the sepoys said to the first, “No, he will runaway; tie up the rascal on the cart where the other rogue is bound.” Bhavananda grew curious to know who was the man they had bound; he threw away the bundle on his head and administered a slap on the cheek of the soldier who had put it there. In consequence, the sepoys bound Bhava-nanda, lifted him on to the cart and flung him down near Mohendra. Bhavananda at once recognised Mohendra Singha. The sepoys again marched on, carelessly and with noise, and the Page– 333 creaking of the carts-wheels recommenced. Then, softly and in a voice audible only to Mohendra, Bhavananda said, “Mohendra Singha, I know you and am here to give you help. There is no need for you to know just at present who I am. Do very carefully what I tell you. Put the rope that ties your hands on the wheel of the cart.” Mohendra, though astonished, carried out Bhavananda’s suggestion without a word. Moving a little towards the cart-wheel under cover of darkness, he placed the rope that tied his hands so as to just touch the wheel. The rope was gradually cut through by the friction of the wheel. Then he cut the rope on his feet by the same means. As soon as he was free of his bonds, by Bhavananda’s advice, he lay inert in the cart. Bhavananda also severed his bonds by the same device. Both lay utterly still and motionless. The path of the soldiers took them precisely by the road where the Brahmacharin had stood on the highway near the jungle and gazed round him. As soon as they arrived near the hill, they saw under it, on the top of a mound, a man standing. Catching sight of his dark figure silhouetted against the moonlit azure sky, the havildar said, “There is another of the rogues; catch him and bring him here: he shall carry a load.” At that a soldier went to catch the man, but, though he saw the fellow coming to lay hold of him, the watcher stood firm; he did not stir. When the soldier laid hands on him, he said nothing. When he was brought as a prisoner to the havildar, even then he said nothing. The havildar ordered a load to be put on his head; a soldier put the load in place; he took it on his head. Then the havildar turned away and started marching with the cart. At this moment a pistol shot rang suddenly out, and the havildar, pierced through the head, fell on the road and breathed his last. A soldier shouted, “This rascal has shot the havildar,” and seized the luggage-bearer’s hand. The bearer had still the pistol in his grasp. He threw the load from him and struck the soldier on the head with the butt of his pistol; the man’s head broke and he dropped further proceedings. Then with a cry of “Hari! Hari! Hari!” two hundred armed men surrounded the soldiery. The sepoys were at that moment awaiting the arrival of their English captain, who, thinking the dacoits were on him, came swiftly up to the cart, and gave the order to form a square; for an Englishman’s intoxication vanishes at the touch of danger. The sepoys immediately formed into a square facing four ways and at a further command of their captain lifted their guns in act to fire. At this critical moment some one wrested Page– 334 suddenly the Englishman’s sword from his belt and with one blow severed his head from his body. With the rolling of the Englishman’s head from his shoulders the unspoken command to fire was silenced for ever. Alt looked and saw,, a man standing on the cart, sword in hand shouting loud the cry of “Hari, Hari” and calling “Kill, kill the soldiers.” It was Bhavananda. The sudden sight of their captain headless and the failure of any officer to give the command for defensive action kept the soldiers for a few moments passive and appalled. The daring assailants took advantage of this opportunity to slay and wound many, reach the carts and take possession of the money chests. The soldiers lost courage, accepted defeat and took to flight. Then the man who had stood on the mound and afterwards assumed the chief leadership of the attack came to Bhavananda. After a mutual embrace Bhavananda said, “Brother Jivananda, it was to good purpose that you took the vow of our brotherhood.” “Bhavananda,” replied Jivananda, “justified be your name.” Jivananda was charged with the office of arranging for the removal of the plundered treasure to its proper place and he swiftly departed with his following. Bhavananda alone remained standing on the field of action. Page– 335 CHAPTER NINE
Mohendra had descended from the cart, wrested a weapon from one of the sepoys and made ready to join in the fight. But at this moment it came home clearly to him that these men were robbers and the plunder of the treasure the object of their attack on the soldiery. In obedience to this idea he stood away from the scene of the fight, for to help the robbers meant to be a partner in their ill-doing. Then he flung the sword away and was slowly leaving the place when Bhavananda came and stood near him. Mohendra said to him, “Tell me, who are you?” Bhavananda replied, “What need have you to know that?” “I have a need,” said Mohendra. “You have done me today a very great service.” “I hardly thought you realized it,” said Bhavananda, “you had a weapon in your hand, and yet you stood apart. A landholder are .you, and that’s a man good at being the death of milk and ghee, but when work has to be done, an ape.” Before Bhavananda had well finished his tirade Mohendra answered with contempt and disgust, “But this is bad work,—a robbery!” “Robbery or not,” retorted Bhavananda, “we have done you some little service and are willing to do you a little more.” “You have done me some service, I own,” said Mohendra, “but what new service can you do me? And at a dacoit’s hands I am better unhelped than helped.” “Whether you accept our proffered service or not,” said Bhavanada, “depends on your own choice. If you do choose to take it, come with me. I will bring you where you can meet your wife and child.” Mohendra turned and stood still. “What is that?” he cried. Bhavananda walked on without any reply, and Mohendra had no choice but to walk on with him, wondering in his heart what new kind of robbers were these. Page– 336 CHAPTER TEN
Silently in the moonlit night the two crossed the open country. Mohendra was silent, sorrowful, full of pride, but also a little curious. Suddenly Bhavananda's whole aspect changed. No longer was he the ascetic, serious of aspect, calm of mood; no longer the skilful fighter, the heroic figure of the man who had beheaded the English captain with the sweep of a sword; no longer had he that aspect with which even now he had proudly rebuked Mohendra. It was as if the sight of that beauty of plain and forest, river and numerous streams,. all the moonlit peaceful earth, had stirred his heart with a great gladness; it was as if the Ocean were laughing in the moonbeams. Bhavananda became smiling, eloquent, courteous of speech. He grew very eager to talk and made many efforts to open a conversation, but Mohendra would not speak. Then Bhavananda, having no other resource, began to sing himself.
"Mother, I bow to thee! Rich with thy hurrying streams, Bright with thy orchard gleams, Cool with thy winds of delight, Dark fields waving, Mother of might, Mother free!"
The song astonished Mohendra, and he could understand nothing of it. Who might be this richly-fruited Mother, cool with delightful winds and dark with the harvests? "What Mother?" he asked. Bhavananda without any answer continued his song:
"Glory of moonlit dreams Over thy branches and lordly streams; Mother, giver of ease, Laughing low and sweet! Mother, I kiss thy feet. Speaker sweet and low! Mother, to thee I bow.
Mohendra said, "That is the country, it is not the Mother." Page – 337 Bhavananda replied, "We recognize no other Mother.'Mother and Motherland is more than heaven itself.' We say the motherland is our mother. We have neither mother not father not brother nor friend, wife nor son nor house nor home. We have her alone, the richly-watered, richly-fruited, cool with delightful winds, rich with harvests — " Then Mohendra understood and said, "Sing it again." Bhavananda sang once more:
Mother, I bow to thee! Rich with thy orchard gleams, Bright with thy winds of delight, Dark fields waving, Mother of might, Mother free.
Glory of moonlight dreams Over thy branches and lordly streams, — Clad in thy blossoming trees, Mother, giver of ease, Laughing low and sweet, Speaker sweet and low! Mother, to thee I bow.
Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands, When the swords flash out in seventy million hands And seventy million voices roar Thy dreadful name from shore to shore? With many strengths who art mighty and stored, To thee I call,. Mother and Lord!
Thou who savest, arise and save! To her I cry ever her foeman drave Back from plain and sea And shook herself free.
Thou art wisdom, thou art law, Thou our heart, our soul, our breath, Page – 338 Thou the love divine, the awe In our hearts that conquers death. Thine the beauty, thine the charm. Every image made divine In our temples is but thine.
Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen, With her hands that strike and her swords of sheen Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned. Pure and perfect, without peer, Mother, lend thine ear. Rich with thy hurrying streams, Bright with thy orchard gleams, Dark of hue, with jewelled hair And thy glorious smile divine, Loveliest of all earthly lands, Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
Mohendra saw the robber shedding tears as he sang. In wonder he asked, "Who are you?" Bhavananda replied, "We are the Children." "What is meant by the Children?" asked Mohendra, "Whose children are you?" Bhavananda replied, "The children of the Mother." "Good," said Mohendra. "Do the children worship their mother with theft and looting? What kind of filial piety is that?" "We do not thieve and loot," answered Bhavananda. "Why, just now you plundered the carts." "Is that theft and looting? Whose money did we plunder?" "Why, The ruler's." "The ruler's! What right has he to the money, that he should take it?" "It is his royal share of the wealth of the country." "Who rules and does not protect his kingdom, is he a ruler at all?" "I see you will be blown one day from the cannon's mouth by the sepoys." Page – 339 "I have seen your rascal sepoys more than once: I dealt with some today too." "Oh, that was not a real experience of them; one day you will get it." "Suppose it is so, a man can only die once." "But what profit is there in going out of one's way to die?" "Mohendra Singha," said Bhavananda, "I had a kind of idea that you were a man worth the name, but now I see you are what all the rest of them are, merely the death of ghee and milk. Look you, the snake crawls on the ground and is the lowest of living things, but put our foot on the snake's neck and even he will rise with lifted hood. Can nothing overthrow your patience, then? Look at all the countries you know. Magadh, Mithila, Kashi, Kanchi, Delhi, Cashmere; in what other country do men from starvation eat grass? Eat thorns? Eat the earth white ants have gathered? Eat the creepers of the forest? Where else are men forced to eat dogs and jackals, yes, even the bodies of the dead? Where else can men have no ease of heart because of fear for the money in their chests, the household gods on the sacred seats, the young women in their homes, the unborn children in the women's wombs? Ay, here they rip open the womb and tear out the child. In every country the relation with the ruler is that of protector and protected, but what protection do our Mussalman rulers give us? Our religion is destroyed, our caste defiled, our honour polluted, our family honour shamed; and now our very lives are go89ng the same way. Unless we drive out these vice-besodden longbeards, the Hinduism of the Hindu is doomed." "How will you drive them out?" asked Mohendra. "By blows". "You will drive them out single-handed? With one slap, I suppose." The robber sang:
"Who hath said thou art weak in they lands, When the swords flash out in seventy million hands And seventy million voices roar Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?"
"But," said Mohendra, "I see you are alone." "Why, just now you saw two hundred men." "Are they all Children?" "They are all Children." Page – 340 "How many more are there of them?" "Thousands like these, and by degrees there will be yet more!" "Even if there were ten or twenty thousand, will you be able with that number to take the throne from the Mussalman?" "What army had the English at Plassey?" "Can Englishmen and Bengalis be compared?" "Why not? What does physical strength mater? Greater physical strength will not make the bullet fly further." "Then," asked Mohendra, "why is there such a difference between an Englishman and a Mussalman?" "Take this first," said Bhavananda, "an Englishman will not run away even from the certainty of death. A Mussalman runs as soon as he perspires and roams in search of a glass of sherbet. Next take this, that the Englishman has tenacity; if he takes up a thing, he carries it through. 'Don't care' is a Mussalman's motto. He is giving his life for a hire, and yet the soldiers don't get their pay. Then the last thing is courage. A cannon ball can fall only in one place, not in ten; so there is no necessity for two hundred men to run from one cannon ball. But one cannon ball will send a Mussalman with his whole clan running, while a whole clan of cannon balls will not put even a solitary Englishman to flight." "Have you all these virtues?" asked Mohendra. "No," said Bhavananda, "but virtues don't fall from the nearest tree. You have to practise them." "Do you practise them?" "Do you not see we are Sannyasins? It is for this practice that we have made renunciation. When our work is done, when our training is complete, we shall again become householders. We also have wives and daughters." "You have abandoned all those ties, but have you been able to overcome Maya?" "The Children are not allowed to speak falsely, and I will not make a lying boast to you. Who has the strength to conquer Maya? When a man says, 'I have conquered Maya,' either he never had any feeling or he is making a vain boast. We have not conquered Maya, we are only keeping our vow. Will you be one of the Children?" "Until I get news of my wife and daughter, I cannot say anything." "Come then, you shall see your wife and child." The two went on their way; and Bhavananda began again to sing Bande Mataram. Page – 341 Mohendra had a good voice and was a little proficient in singing and fond of it; therefore he joined in the song, and found that, as he sang, the tears came into his eyes. Then Mohendra said, "If I have not to abandon my wife and daughter, then initiate me into this vow." "Whoever," answered Bhavananda, "takes this vow, must abandon wife and child. If you take this vow, you cannot be allowed to meet your wife and daughter. Suitable arrangements will be made for their protection, but until the vow is crowned with success, to look upon their faces if forbidden." "I will not take your vow," answered Mohendra. Page – 342 CHAPTER ELEVEN
The day had dawned. That unpeopled forest, so long dark and silent, now grew full of light, blissful with the cooing and calling of the birds. In that delightful dawn, in that joyous forest, that "Monastery of Bliss," Satyananda, seated on a deerskin, was performing his morning devotions. Jivananda sat near. It was at such a time that Bhavananda appeared with Mohendra Singha behind. The ascetic without a word continued his devotions and no one ventured to utter a sound. When the devotions were finished, Bhavananda and Jivananda saluted him and with humility seated themselves after taking the dust of his feet. The Satyananda beckoned to Bhavananda and took him outside. What conversation took place between them, we do not know; but on the return of the two into the temple the ascetic, with compassion and laughter in his countenance, said to Mohendra, "My son, I have been greatly distressed by your misfortune; it was only by the grace of the Friend of the poor and miserable that I was able to rescue your wife and daughter last night." The ascetic then told Mohendra the story of Kalyani's rescue and said at the end, "Come, lit me take you where they are." The ascetic in front, Mohendra behind, they entered into the inner precincts of the temple. Mohendra beheld a wide and lofty hall. Even in this cheerful dawn, glad with the youth of the morning, when the neighbouring groves glittered in the sunshine as if set and studded with diamonds, in this great room, there was almost a gloom as of night. Mohendra could not at first see what was in the room; but by gazing and gazing and still gazing he was able to distinguish a huge image of the four-armed Vishnu, bearing the shell, the discus, the club, the lotus-blossom, adored with the jewel Kaustubha on his breast; in front the discus called Sudarshan, the Beautiful, seemed visibly to be whirling round. Two huge headless images representing Madhu and Kaitabh were painted before the figure, as if bathed in their own blood. On the left stood Lakshmi with flowing locks garlanded with wreaths of hundred-petalled lotuses, as if distressed with fear. On the right stood Saraswati, surrounded by books, musical instruments, the incarnate strains and symphonies of music. On Vishnu's lap sat an image of enchanting beauty, lovelier than Lakshmi and Saraswati, more splendid with opulence and lordship. Gandharva and Kinnara and god and elf and giant paid her homage. The ascetic asked Mohendra in a voice of deep solemnity and awe, "Can you see all?" Page – 343 "Yes", replied Mohendra. "Have you seen what is in the lap of Vishnu?" asked the ascetic. "Yes," answered Mohendra, "who is she?" "It is the Mother." "What mother?" "She whose children we are," replied the ascetic. "Who is she." "In time you will recognise here. Cry 'Hail to the Mother!' Now come, you shall see." The ascetic took Mohendra into another room. There he saw an image of Jagaddhatri, Protectress of the world, wonderful, perfect, rich with every ornament. "Who is she?" asked Mohendra. The Brahmacharin replied, "The Mother as she was." "What is that?" asked Mohendra. "She trampled underfoot the elephants of the forest and all wild beasts, and in the haunt of the wild beasts she erected her lotus-throne. She was covered with every ornament, full of laughter and beauty. She was in hue like the young sun, splendid with all opulence and empire. Bow down to the Mother." Mohendra saluted reverently the image of the Motherland as the protectress of the world. The Brahmacharin then showed him a dark underground passage and said, "Come by this way." Mohendra with some alarm followed him. In a dark room in the bowels of the earth an insufficient light entered from some unperceived outlet. By that faint light he say an image of Kali. The Brahmacharin said, "Look on the Mother as she now is." Mohendra said in fear, "It is Kali." "Yes, Kali enveloped in darkness, full of blackness and gloom. She is stripped of all, therefore naked. Today the whole country is a burial ground, therefore is the Mother garlanded with skulls. Her own God she tramples under her feet. Alas, my Mother!" The tears began to stream from the ascetic's eyes. "Why," asked Mohendra, "has she in her hands the club and the skull?" "We are the Children, we have only just given weapons into our Mother's hands. Cry 'Hail to the Mother!' " Mohendra said, "Bande Mataram" and bowed down to Kali.. The ascetic said, "Come by this way," and began to ascend another Page – 344 underground passage. Suddenly the rays of the morning sun shone in their eyes and from every side the sweet-voiced family of birds shrilled in song. In a wide temple built in stone of marble they saw a beautifully fashioned image of the Ten-armed Goddess made in gold, laughing and radiant in the light of the early sun. The ascetic saluted the image and said, "This is the Mother as she shall be. Her ten arms are extended towards the ten regions and they bear many a force imaged in her manifold weapons; her enemies are trampled under her feet and the lion on which her foot rests is busy destroying the foe. Behold her, with the regions for her arms" — as he spoke, Satyananda began to sob, —"with the regions for her arms, wielder of manifold weapons, trampler-down of her foes, with the lion-heart for the steed of her riding; on her right :Lakshmi as Prosperity, on her left Speech, giver of learning and science, Kartikeya with her as strength, Ganesh as Success. Come, let us both bow down to the Mother." Both with lifted faces and folded hands began to cry with one voice, "O auspicious with all well-omened things, O thou ever-propitious who effectest all desire, O refuge of men, three-eyed and fair of hue, O Energy of Narayan, salutation to thee!" The two men bowed down with awe and love; and when they rose Mohendra asked in a broken voice, "When shall I see this image of the Mother?" "When all the Mothers' sons," replied the Brahmacharin, "learn to call the Mother by that name, on that day the Mother will be gracious to us." Suddenly Mohendra asked, "Where are my wife and daughter?" "Come," said the ascetic, "you shall see them." "I shall take up this mighty vow." "Where will you send them to?" Mohendra thought for a little and then said, "There is no one in my house, and I have no other place. Yet in this time of famine, what other place can I find?" "Go out of the temple," said the ascetic, "by the way by which you came here. At the door of the temple you will see your wife and child. Up to this moment Kalyani has eaten nothing. You will find articles of food in the place where they are sitting. When you have made her eat, do whatever you please; at present you will not again meet any of us. If this mind of yours holds, at the proper time I shall show myself to you." Page – 345 The suddenly by some path unknown the ascetic vanished from the place. Mohendra went forth by the way pointed out to him and saw Kalyani with her daughter sitting in the court of meeting. Satyananda on his side descended by another underground passage into a secret cellar under the earth. There Jivananda and Bhavananda sat counting rupees and arranging them in piles. In that room gold, silver, copper, diamonds,. corals, pearls were arrayed in heaps. It was the money looted on the previous night that they were arranging. Satyananda, as he entered the room, said, "Jivananda, Mohendra will come to us. If he comes, it will be a great advantage to the Children, for in that case the wealth accumulated in his family from generation to generation will be devoted to the Mother's service. But so long as he is not body and soul devoted to the Mother, do not take him into the order. As soon as the work you have in hand is completed, follow him at various times; and when you see it is the proper season, bring him to the temple of Vishnu. And in season or out of season, protect their lives. For even as the punishment of the wicked is the duty of the Children, so is the protection of the good equally their duty." Page – 346 CHAPTER TWELVE
It was after much tribulation that Mohendra and Kalyani met again. Kalyani flung herself down and wept. Mohendra wept even more than she. The weeping over, there was much ado of wiping the eyes, for as often as the eyes were wiped, the tears began to come again. But when at last the tears had ceased to come, the thought of food occurred to Kalyani. She asked Mohendra to partake of the food which the ascetic's followers had kept with her. In this time of famine there was no chance of ordinary food and vegetables, but whatever there was in the country was to be had in plenty among the Children. That forest was inaccessible to ordinary men. Wherever there was tree with fruit upon it, famishing men stripped it of what it bore, but none other than the Children had access to the fruit of the trees in this impenetrable wilderness. For this reason the ascetic's followers had been able to bring for Kalyani plenty of forest fruits and some milk. In the property of the Sannyasin were included a number of cows. At Kalyani's request, Mohendra first took some food. Afterwards Kalyani sat apart and ate something of what he had left. She gave some of the mild to her child and kept the rest to feed her with again. Then both of them, overcome with sleep, took rest for a while. When they woke, they began to discuss where they should go next. "We left home," said Kalyani," in fear of danger and misfortune, but I now see there are greater dangers and misfortunes abroad that at home. Come then, let us return to our own house." That also was Mohendra's intention. It was his wish to keep Kalyani at home under the care of some suitable guardian and take upon himself this beautiful, pure and divine vow of service to the Mother. Therefore he gave his consent very readily. Husband and wife, rested from fatigue, took their daughter in their arms and set forth in the direction of Padachinha. But which way led to Padachinha, they could not at all make out in that thick and difficult forest. They had thought that once they could find the way out of the wood, they would be able to find the road. But now they could not find the way out of the wood itself. After long wandering in the thickets, their circlings began to bring them round to the monastery once more; no way of exit could be found. In front of them they saw an unknown ascetic in the dress of a Vaishnav Gosain, who stood in the path and laughed at them. Mohendra, in some irritation, said to his, "What are you laughing at Gosain?" Page – 347 "How did you enter the forest?" asked the Gosain. "Well, we have entered it, it does not mater how." "Then, when you have entered, how is it you cannot get out again?" So saying, the ascetic resumed his laughter. "Since you laugh," said Mohendra much provoked, "I presume you can yourself get out?" "Follow me," said the Vaishnav, "I will show you the way. You must undoubtedly have entered the forest in the company of one of the ascetics. No one else knows the way either into or out of the forest." On this Mohendra asked, "Are you one of the Children?" "I am," answered the Vaishnav, "Come with me. It is to show you the was that I am standing here." "What is your name?" asked Mohendra. "My name," replied the Vaishnav, "is Dhirananda Goswami." Dhirananda proceeded in front, Mohendra and Kalyani followed. Dhirananda took them out of the forest by a very difficult path and again plunged back among the trees. On leaving the forest, one came after a little while to a common with trees. To one side of it there was the highway running along the forest, and in one place a little river flowed out of the woodland with a murmuring sound. Its water was very clear but dark like a thick cloud. On either bank beautiful dark-green trees of many kinds threw their shadows over the river, and in their branches birds of different families sat and gave forth their various notes. Those notes too were sweet and mingled with the sweet cadence of the stream. With a similar harmony the shadows of the trees agreed and mingled with the colour of the stream. Kalyani sat under a tree on the bank and bade her husband sit near. Mohendra sat down, and she took her child from her husband's lap into her own. Kalyani held her husband's hand in hers and for some time sat in silence. Then she asked, "Today I see that you are very melancholy. The calamity that was on us, we have escaped; why then are you so sad?" Mohendra answered with a deep sigh, "I am no longer my own man, and what I am to do, I cannot understand." "Why?" asked Kalyani. "Hear what happened to me after I lost you," said Mohendra, and he gave a detailed account of all that had happened to him. Kalyani said, "I too have suffered greatly and gone through many misadventures. It will be of no advantage to you to hear it. I cannot say Page – 348 how I managed to sleep in such exceeding misadventure, but today in the early hours of the morning I feel asleep, and in my sleep I saw a dream. I saw — I cannot say by what force of previous good works I went there , — but I saw myself in a region of wonder, where there was no solid Earth, but only light, a very soft sweet light, as if of a cool lustre broken by clouds. There was no human being there, only luminous forms; no noise, only a sound as if of sweet song and music at a great distance. Myriads of flowers seemed to be ever newly in bloom, for the scent of them was there, jasmines of many kinds and other sweet-smelling blossoms. There in a place high over all,. the cynosure of all, someone seemed to be sitting, like a dark blue hill that has grown bright as fire and burns softly from within. A great fiery crown was on his head, his arms seemed to be four. Those who sat on either side of him, I could not recognize; but I think they were women by their forms, but so full of beauty, light and fragrance that every time I gazed in that direction, my senses were perplex — I could not fix my gaze nor see who they were. In front of the Four-Armed another woman's form seemed to be standing. She too was luminous, but surrounded by clouds so that the light could not well manifest itself; it could only be dimply realised that one in the form of a woman wept, one full of heart's distress, one worn and thin, but exceedingly beautiful. It seemed to me that the worn and cloud-besieged woman pointed to me and said, 'This is she, for whose sake Mohendra will not come to my bosom.' Then there was a sound like the sweet clear music of a flute; it seemed that the Four-Armed said to me, 'Leave your husband and come to Me.' I wept and said, 'How shall I come, leaving my husband?' Then the flute-like voice came again, 'I am husband, father, mother, son, daughter; come to Me.' I do not remember what I said. Then I woke." Kalyani spoke and was again silent. Mohendra also, astonished, amazed, alarmed, kept silent. Overhead the doyel began its clamour, the pāpiā flooded heaven with its voice, the call of the cuckoo set the regions echoing, the bhringarāj made the grove quiver with its sweet cry. At their feet the stream murmured softly between its banks. The wind carried to them the soft fragrance of the woodland flowers. In places bits of sunlight glittered on the waves of the revulet. Somewhere palm-leaves rustled in the slow wind. Far off a blue range of Page – 349 mountains met the eye. For a long time they remained silent in delight. Then Kalyani again asked, "What are you thinking?" "I am thinking what I should do. The dream is nothing but a thought of fear, it is born of itself in the mind and of itself it disappears, — a bubble from the waking life. Come, let us go home." "Go where God bids you," said Kalyani and put her child in her husband's lap. Mohendra took his daughter in his lap and said, "And you, — where will you go?" Kalyani, covering her eyes with her hands and pressing her forehead between them, answered, "I too will go where God has bid me." Mohendra started and said, "Where is that? How will you go?" Kalyani showed him the small box of poison. "I meant to take it, but — " Kalyani became silent and began to think. Mohendra kept his gaze on her face and every moment seemed to him a year, but when he saw that she did not complete her unfinished words, he asked: "But what? What were going to say?" "I meant to take it, but leaving you behind, leaving Sukumari behind, I have no wish to go to Paradise itself. I will not die." With these words Kalyani set down the box on the earth. Then the two began to talk of the past and future and became absorbed in their talk. Taking advantage of their absorption, the child in her play took up the box of poison. Neither of them observed it. Sukumari thought, "This is a very fine toy." She held it in her left hand and slapped it well with her right, put it in her right, and slapped it with her left. Then she began pulling at it with both hands. As a result the box opened and the pill fell out. Sukumari saw the little pill fall on her father's cloth and took it for another toy. She threw the box away and pounced on the pill. How it was that Sukumari had not put the box into her mouth, it is hard to say, but she made no delay in respect of the pill. "Eat it as soon as you get it;" — Sukumari crammed the pill into her mouth. At that moment her mother's attention was attracted to her. "What has she eaten? What has she eaten?" cried Kalyani, and she thrust her finger into the child's mouth. Then both say that the box of poison was lying empty. Then Sukumari, thinking that here was another game, clenched her teeth, — only a few had just come out, — and smiled Page – 350 in her mother's face. By this time the taste of the poison-pill must have begun to feel bitter in the mouth, for a little after she loosened the clench of her teeth herself, and Kalyani took out the pill and threw it away. The child began to cry. The pill fell on the ground. Kalyani dipped the loose end of her robe in the stream and poured the water into her daughter's mouth. In a tone of pitiful anxiety she asked Mohendra, "Has a little of it gone down her throat?" It is the worst that comes first to a parent's mind — the greater the love, the greater the fear. Mohendra had not seen how large the pill was before, but now, after taking the pill into his hand and scrutinising it for some time., he said "I think she has sucked in a good deal of it." Necessarily, Kalyani adopted Mohendra's belief. For a long time she too held the pill in her hand and examined it. Meanwhile the child, owing to the little she had swallowed, became a little indisposed; she grew restless, cried, and at last grew a little dull and feeble. Then Kalyani said to her husband, "What more? Sukumari has gone the way God calls me to go. I too must follow her." And with the words Kalyani put the pill into her mouth and in a moment had swallowed it. Mohendra cried out, "What have you done, Kalyani, what have you done?" Kalyani returned to answer, but taking the dust of her husband's feet on her head, only said, "Lord and Master, words will only multiply words. I take farewell." But Mohendra cried out again, "Kalyani, what have you done?" and began to weep aloud. Then Kalyani said in a very soft voice, "I have done well. You might otherwise neglect the work give you by Heaven for the sake of so worthless a thing as a woman. See, I was transgressing a divine command, therefore my child has been taken from me. If I disregarded it further, you too might go." Mohendra replied with tears, "I could have kept you somewhere and come back, — when our work had been accomplished, I could have again been happy with you. Kalyani, my all! Why have you done this thing? You have cut from me the hand by whose strength I could have held the sword. What am I without you? "Where could you have taken me? Where is there any place? Mother, father, friends, all in this terrible time of calamity have perished. In whose Page – 351 house is there any place for us, where is the road we can travel, where will you take me? I am a burden hanging on your neck. I have done well to die. Give me this blessing that when I have gone to that luminous world, I may again see you." With these words Kalyani again took the dust of her husband's feet and placed it on her head. Mohendra made no reply, but once more began to weep. Kalyani again spoke, — her voice was very soft, very sweet, very tender, as she again said, "Consider who has the strength to transgress what God has willed, He has laid his command on me to go; could I stay, if I would? If I had not died of my own will, inevitably someone else would have slain me. I do well to die. Perform with your whole strength the vow you have undertaken; it will create a force of well-doing by which I shall attain heaven and both of us together will enjoy celestial bliss to all eternity." Meanwhile the little girl threw up the milk she had drunk and recovered, — the small amount of poison that she had swallowed was not fatal. But at that time Mohendra's mind was not turned in that direction. He put his daughter in Kalyani's lap and closely embracing both of them began to weep incessantly. Then it seemed that in the midst of the forest a soft yet thunder-deep sound arose, —
"O Hari, O Murari, O foe of Kaitabh and Madhu! O Gopal, O Govinda, O Mukunda, O Shauri!"
By that time the poison had begun to act on Kalyani. Her consciousness was being somewhat taken from her; in her half-unconscious condition she seemed to hear the words ringing out in the marvellous flute-like voice she had heard in the Vaikuntha of her dream:
"O Hari, O Murari, O foe of Kaitabh and Madhu! O Gopal, O Govinda, O Mukunda, O Shauri!"
Then Kalyani in her semi-unconsciousness began to sing in a voice sweeter than any Apsara's: Page – 352 “0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe Kaitabh and Madhu!”
She cried to Mohendra: “Say,
0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
Deeply moved by the sweet voice that rose from the forest and the sweet voice of Kalyani and in the grief of his heart thinking, “God is my only helper,” Mohendra called aloud,
“0 Hari 0 Murari, O foe of Kaitabh and Madhu’”
Then from all sides the sound arose,
“0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
“0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
“0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
“0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
Page– 353 “0 Hari O Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu”
Kalyani’s voice became fainter and fainter, but still she cried,
“0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
“0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
“0 Hari, 0 Murari, 0 foe of Kaitabh and Madhu!”
Page– 354 CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Meanwhile there was a great commotion on the high road in the capital. The noise went abroad that Sannyasins had plundered the revenue that was being despatched from the royal treasury to Calcutta. Then by order of the Government sepoys and spearsmen sped on all sides to seize Sannyasins. Now at that time in that famine-stricken country there was no great number of real Sannyasins; for these ascetics lived upon alms, and when people themselves get nothing to eat, there is not likely to be anyone to give alms to the mendicant. Therefore all the genuine ascetics had fled from the pinch of hunger to the country about Benares and Prayag. Only the Children wore the robe of the Sannyasin when they willed, abandoned it when abandonment was needed. Now too, many, seeing trouble abroad, left the dress of the ascetic. For this reason the hungry retainers of power, unable to find a Sannyasin anywhere, could only break the water-jars and cooking-pots of the householders and return with their empty bellies only half-filled. Satyananda alone would at no time leave his saffron robe. At the moment when on the bank of that dark and murmurous rivulet, on the borders of the high road, at the foot of the tree on the water’s verge, ^ Kalyani lay still and Mohendra and Satyananda in each other’s embrace were calling on God with streaming eyes, Jamadar Nazir-ud-din and his sepoys arrived at the spot. Forthwith he put his hand on Satyananda’s throat and said, “Here is a rascal of a Sannyasin.” Immediately another seized Mohendra, for a man who consorts with Sannyasins must necessarily be a Sannyasin. A third hero was about to arrest the dead body of Kalyani where it lay at length on the grass. Then he saw that it was the corpse of a woman and very possibly might not be a Sannyasin, and did not proceed with the arrest. On the same reasoning they left the little girl alone. Then without colloquy of any kind they bound the two prisoners and marched them off. The corpse of Kalyani and the still living body of her little daughter remained lying unprotected at the foot of the tree. Mohendra was at first almost senseless with the oppression of grief and the frenzy of divine love; he could not understand what was toward or what had happened and made no objection to being bound; but when they had gone a few paces, he awoke to the fact that they were being led away in bonds. Immediately it occurred to him that Kalyani’s corpse was left lying without funeral rites, that his little daughter was left lying unprotected Page– 355 and that even now wild beasts might devour them; he wrenched his hands apart by sheer force and with the one wrench tore his bonds apart. With one kick he sent the jamadar sprawling to the ground and fell upon one of the sepoys; but the other three seized him from three sides and once more overpowered him and rendered him helpless. Then Mohendra in the wretchedness of his grief said to the Brahmacharin Satyananda: — “If only you had helped me a little, I would have slain these five miscreants.” “What strength is there,” answered Satyananda, “in this aged body of mine, — except Him on whom I was calling, I have no other strength. Do not struggle against the inevitable. We shall not be able to overpower these five men. Come, let us see where they will take us. The Lord will be our protection in all things.” Then both of them without further attempt at escape followed the soldiers. When they had gone a little distance, Satyananda asked the sepoys, “My good fellows, I am in the habit of calling on the name of Hari; is there any objection to my calling on His name?” The Jamadar thought Satyananda to be a simple and inoffensive man, and he said, “Call away, I won’t stop you. You are an old Brahmacharin and I think there will be an order for your discharge; this ruffian will be hanged.” Then the Brahmacharin began softly to sing, With the lingering wind in her tresses, Where the stream its banks caresses, There is one in the woodland, A woman and fair.
Arise, 0 thou hero, let speed Be swift in thy feet to her need; For the child who is there Is full of sorrow and weeping and care.
On arriving in the city they were taken to the Chief of Police, who sent word to the Government and put the Brahmacharin and Mohendra for the time into confinement. That was a dreadful prison, for it was seldom that he who entered came out, because there was no one to judge. It was not the British jail with which we are familiar — at that time there was not the British system of justice. Those were the days of no procedure, these are the days of procedure. Compare the two! Page– 356 |