Chapter Fifteen

Bimala quickened her steps and followed close behind, making for Mandarun. The night was thick with darkness; she picked her way carefully by the faint light of the stars. When she turned into the open road across the plain, a chill of unease crept upon her. Her companion came on behind her in perfect silence, not a word passing his lips. At such a moment the sound of a human voice is a comfort, and one is glad enough to hear it; so Bimala turned to ask Gajapati, "Rasikratna! What art thou thinking upon?"

Rasikratna replied, "I am thinking upon the brass vessels!"

Bimala made no answer, but covered her mouth with the end of her garment and fell to laughing.

After a little while she spoke again. "Diggaj, art thou afraid of ghosts?"

"Ram! Ram! Ram! Say the name of Ram," cried Diggaj, and drew himself two full paces back behind Bimala.

She who gains an inch will ask for an ell. Bimala said, "This road is much troubled by spirits." At once Diggaj came up and caught hold of the end of her garment. Bimala continued, "We were returning the other day after worshipping at Shaileshwar, when in the middle of the road, beneath a banyan tree, we beheld a shape most horrible to look upon—"

The tugging at her garment told Bimala that the Brahmin was shaking like a leaf; she understood that if she pressed the matter further he would lose all power of movement. So she forbore, and said, "Rasikaraj! Canst thou sing?"

What man of spirit is not ready with a song? Diggaj replied, "That I can, to be sure."

Bimala said, "Let us hear one, then."

Diggaj began:

"E hum — u, hum — O friend, in what an hour did I behold the dark one on the kadamba bough!"

A cow that had been lying by the roadside chewing the cud leaped up in fright at this unnatural sound and bolted across the plain. Still the gallant's song rolled on:

"That day burned my cursed brow — I brought shame upon my clan. The crest upon his head, the flute in his hand, ever speaking with a smile — saying, O cowherd's aunt — I shall overturn thy water-pot!"

But Diggaj could sing no more. All at once his hearing was utterly bewitched; a strain of music, sweet as nectar, maddening to the soul, tender as the sound of a vina in the hands of a celestial nymph, entered the chambers of his ear. Bimala had herself begun to sing, and she sang with her whole voice.

Over the silent plain that night-song soared up and filled the heavens. It rose and moved upon the cool summer wind.

Diggaj held his very breath to listen. When Bimala had made an end, Gajapati said, "Again."

Bi. Again? What dost thou mean? Di. Sing another. Bi. What shall I sing? Di. Sing a Bengali song.

"I shall sing," said Bimala, and she began a second time.

Even as she sang, she felt a fierce tug at her garment. She turned to look behind her, and found Gajapati pressing close upon her very person, holding the end of her garment for dear life. Bimala, astonished, said, "What is the matter? Is it a ghost again?"

The Brahmin could not find his voice; he could only point a finger and show her: "There."

Bimala fell silent and looked steadily in that direction. The sound of quick, heavy breathing came to her ear, and beside the road she made out, in the direction he had indicated, some dark object lying upon the ground.

Taking her courage in both hands, she went nearer and looked. It was a well-made and handsomely caparisoned horse, lying in its death agony, labouring for breath.

Bimala continued along the road. The sight of a soldier's horse, richly trapped, lying helpless and dying by the wayside filled her with troubled thought. She spoke not a word for some considerable time. They had traversed nearly half a kos when Gajapati again tugged at her garment.

Bimala said, "What is it?"

Gajapati held up some object for her to see. Bimala looked at it and said, "This is a soldier's turban." She fell once more into deep thought and said to herself, "The horse and the turban — do they belong to one man? No — this is the turban of a foot-soldier."

After a little while the moon rose. Bimala grew more absent in her mind than before. A good while later Gajapati ventured to ask, "Fair one, hast thou no more words for me?"

Bimala said, "Dost thou mark any signs in the road?"

Gajapati looked down with particular attention and replied, "I mark the tracks of many horses."

Bi. Well thought — dost thou make anything of it? Di. No. Bi. A dead horse yonder, a soldier's turban a little further, and here so many hoof-marks — and thou canst make nothing of it? But then, to whom should I speak? Di. Of what? Bi. A great number of troops have passed this way very recently.

Gajapati, seized with fear, said, "Then let us walk slower; let them get well ahead of us."

Bimala laughed and said, "Fool! What do you mean, let them get ahead? Dost thou not see which way the horse-shoes face? This force has gone towards the fort of Mandarun." And Bimala fell silent and downcast.

Presently the white gleam of the temple of Shaileshwar came into sight not far off. Bimala thought to herself that there was no reason for the Brahmin to meet the prince, and that indeed it could only do harm. She was turning over in her mind how she might send him away, when Gajapati himself provided the means.

The Brahmin had once more come up behind Bimala and caught hold of her garment; Bimala asked, "What again?"

The Brahmin said in a broken whisper, "How far is it?"

Bi. How far is what? Di. That banyan tree. Bi. Which banyan tree? Di. Where you all saw it the other day. Bi. Saw what? Di. One must not name it after dark.

Bimala saw her opportunity.

She said in a solemn voice, "Alas!"

The Brahmin, yet more frightened, said, "What is it?"

Bimala, in a hushed voice, pointed her finger towards the banyan tree that stood near the temple of Shaileshwar and said, "That banyan yonder is the very place."

Diggaj moved no further. The power of motion left him; he stood and shook like a leaf of the pipal tree.

Bimala said, "Come."

The Brahmin, trembling, replied, "I cannot go another step."

Bimala said, "I too am frightened."

Hearing this, the Brahmin turned on his heel and made ready to flee.

Bimala looked towards the tree and perceived at its root some white object lying. She knew well enough that the bull of Shaileshwar was wont to sleep there; but to Gajapati she said, "Gajapati! Repeat the name of thy tutelary deity. What dost thou see at the foot of the tree?"

"Oh! — Oh father! —" was all that Diggaj could cry, and then he was gone in a flash. His legs were long; in half a moment he had covered half a kos.

Bimala knew Gajapati's character well enough to understand that he would go straight to the gate of the fort without stopping.

Bimala then set her mind at rest and walked on towards the temple.

She had thought of every contingency when she set out — save one. Whether the prince had come to the temple at all — this doubt now arose in her heart and gave her great distress. She called to mind that the prince had said nothing certain about coming; he had only said: "Thou wilt find me here — if thou dost not find me here, we shall not have met." It was quite possible, then, that he had not come.

If he had not come, all this trouble had gone for nothing. Bimala said to herself with a heavy heart, "Why did I not think of this before? Why did I send the Brahmin away? How am I to find my way back alone at this hour of the night? Shaileshwar! Thy will be done!"

The path to the temple of Shaileshwar led beneath the banyan tree. As Bimala passed beneath it she saw that the bull was not there; the white object she had seen at the foot of the trunk was gone. This surprised her somewhat; had the bull merely moved off, it would still have been visible on the open plain.

Bimala looked more carefully at the foot of the tree; it seemed to her that she could see the edge of some white garment half-hidden behind the trunk. With very quick, light steps she went on towards the temple and knocked at the door with both hands.

The door was shut. From within came a deep voice asking, "Who is there?"

From the empty interior of the temple the echo answered in the same deep tone, "Who is there?"

Bimala, summoning all her courage, said, "A woman, weary from the road."

The door opened.

She saw, within the temple, a lamp burning; and before her stood a tall man with a scabbarded sword in his hand. Bimala looked, and knew him at once — it was Prince Jagatsingh.