Chapter Twenty Six

Where is Tilottama? Where is the fatherless, friendless child? And where is Bimala? From whence had Bimala come to witness her husband's execution? And whither did she go thereafter?

Why did Birendrasingh not take leave of his beloved daughter at the hour of death? Wherefore, at the mere mention of her name, had he blazed up like a flame suddenly fed? Why had he said, "I have no daughter"?

Why had he flung away Bimala's letter without reading it?

Why? Recall the reproach Birendrasingh had levelled at Katlu Khan, and consider what dreadful thing had come to pass.

"A stain hath been laid upon my pure lineage" — with those words had the tiger raged, though chained.

Where are Tilottama and Bimala, dost thou ask? Seek them in the dwelling of Katlu Khan's concubines, and thou wilt find them.

Such is the way of the world! Such the merciless turning of the wheel of fate! Beauty, youth, simplicity, purity — all are crushed and ground beneath the rim of that wheel.

It was Katlu Khan's fixed custom that if any woman of surpassing beauty was taken captive in any conquered fortress or village, she was straightway dispatched to wait upon his pleasure. The day after the capture of Garh Mandarana, Katlu Khan arrived there and busied himself with disposing of the captives as he saw fit, and with stationing troops for the future defence of the fortress. The moment he set eyes upon Bimala and Tilottama among the prisoners, he sent them off to furnish his pleasure-house. Thereafter he was fully occupied with other urgent affairs. Word had come that a Rajput force, hearing of Jagatsingh's capture, was somewhere near at hand and preparing to attack; he was therefore engaged in devising suitable measures to repel them, and until now Katlu Khan had found no leisure to enjoy the company of his new captives.

Bimala and Tilottama had been confined in separate chambers. There, gentle reader, the frail form of that fatherless young girl lies prostrate upon the bare floor — do not let thine eye dwell upon the sight. For what purpose? Who now turns his eye upon Tilottama? When in the sweetness of spring the young vine sways and trembles in the soft breeze, who does not draw near, drawn by the fragrance? But when the summer storm has flung it to the earth, the tree to which it clung brought down with it — amid the wreckage of uprooted things, who looks for the vine when he may have the timber? The woodcutters take away what timber they may, and tread the creeper underfoot.

Come — let us leave Tilottama where she lies, and go elsewhere. Let us go where in the place of the lively, clever, pleasure-loving Bimala there sits a grave, remorseful, dishevelled widow, pressing the hem of her garment to her weeping eyes.

Is this Bimala? That careful arrangement of hair is gone. Dust lies thick upon her head; the exquisitely embroidered veil is no more; the jewel-studded bodice has vanished; her garments are greatly soiled. She wears a worn and scanty cloth. Where are those burdensome ornaments? Where those ear-jewels that clung with such longing to her shoulders? Why are her eyes swollen? Where is that sidelong glance? What is this wound upon her brow? There is blood upon her face.

Bimala was waiting for Osman.

Osman was the flower of the Pathan race. War was to him both livelihood and religion, and there was no act to which he would not stoop in order to prevail in battle. Yet once the purpose of war was served, he would scarcely permit a grain's weight of needless cruelty to be visited upon the vanquished. Had Katlu Khan not himself ordained this harsh fate for Bimala and Tilottama, Osman's compassion would never have suffered them to remain in captivity. It was through his indulgence that Bimala had been able to see her husband at the moment of his death. And when Osman learned that Bimala was the wife of Birendrasingh, his already compassionate heart was moved yet more deeply. Osman was Katlu Khan's nephew, and therefore, as has already been seen, no quarter of the inner apartments was barred to him. The pleasure-house where Katlu Khan's concubines resided was a place to which even Katlu Khan's own sons might not go, nor Osman either — yet Osman was Katlu Khan's right hand, and it was by his prowess that the Odisha territories as far as the banks of the Amoda had been brought under subjection. The servants of the household therefore obeyed Osman almost as readily as they obeyed Katlu Khan himself. It was for this reason that on the morning of that day, in accordance with Bimala's petition, her husband had been brought to her sight in his final hour.

Two days after her widowhood, Bimala gathered together what few ornaments she still possessed and gave them to the maidservant who had been appointed over her by Katlu Khan. The maidservant asked, "What would you have me do, mistress?"

Bimala said, "Go to Osman as thou wentest yesterday; tell him that I crave one more meeting with him. Say also that this is the last — I shall not importune him a third time."

The maidservant did as she was bidden. Osman sent word back: "For either of us to come and go within that quarter is perilous; bid her come to my own dwelling."

Bimala asked, "But how am I to go?" The maidservant replied, "He says he will contrive a way."

After nightfall, one of Ayesha's maidservants came, exchanged certain words with the eunuchs who guarded the inner apartments, and led Bimala away in her company to Osman.

Osman said, "In what further matter may I be of service to thee?" Bimala replied, "It is a very small thing only. Is the Rajput prince Jagatsingh yet alive?"

"He is alive."

"Is he free, or is he a prisoner?"

"He is a prisoner — yet not at present in a dungeon. He lies bedridden, wounded by weapons received in battle. Without Katlu Khan's knowledge I have had him kept within the inner precincts of the house, where, I told them, he would receive better care."

Bimala, on hearing this, said, "All that is ill-fated hath come to pass merely by connection with us unhappy ones. That is the work of the gods. Now if the prince should recover and live, give him this letter after he hath regained his health — keep it with thee in the meantime. This, and nothing more, is my prayer."

Osman took the letter and returned it to her, saying, "This is not a proper thing for me to do. Whatever his condition, the prince is reckoned a prisoner. It is unlawful, and contrary to my lord's command, for any letter to pass to a prisoner without our reading it first."

Bimala said, "There is nothing in this letter that can work any harm upon you or yours — it cannot therefore be unlawful. And as for your lord's command — thou art thine own master."

Osman replied, "In other matters I may at times act contrary to my uncle's commands — but not in matters of this nature. When thou sayest that this letter contains nothing contrary, I believe thee readily enough — yet in this kind of business I cannot break the rule. This thing I cannot do for thee."

Bimala said, somewhat wounded, "Then thou wilt read it and deliver it thyself."

Osman took the letter and began to read.