Chapter Forty

That night the land was filled with the cry of Hari's name. The Children, in band upon band, wandered hither and thither shouting aloud, some "Bande Mataram," some "Jagadish Hare." Some carried off the arms, some the garments, of the enemy's soldiery.

Some kicked the faces of the dead, and some wrought other outrage. Some hastened toward the villages, some toward the city, and seizing the wayfarer or the householder cried: "Say Bande Mataram, or else we will kill thee." Some plundered the sweetmeat-seller's shop and ate; some went to the milkman's house, and lifting down the pots took deep draughts of the curd; some cried: "We are come, the Vrajagopas; where are the milkmaidens?" In that one night, in village after village and city after city, there arose a mighty tumult.

All said: "The Mussulman is overthrown; the land is the Hindu's once again. Let all with unmuzzled mouth cry Hari, Hari." The villagers, wheresoever they saw a Mussulman, gave chase and slew.

Some, banding together that night, went forth to the Mussulmans' quarters and set fire to their houses and plundered them of all they possessed. Many a Yavana was slain; many a Mussulman cast away his beard, and smearing his body with earth began to chant the name of Hari, and being questioned would say, "Moi Hendu" — I am a Hindu.

In bands the affrighted Mussulmans fled toward the city. On every side the king's officers ran about; what soldiery remained drew up in array, well-appointed, to defend the city. At every gate of the city's bulwarks, in every guard-chamber, the watchmen took post, armed and vigilant, in the keeping of the doors. The whole people lay awake the whole night through, wondering what should befall. The Hindus said one to another: "Let them come, let the sannyasis come; Mother Durga grant that this be the day of the Hindu's fortune." The Mussulmans said: "Allah Akbar! After so many days hath the Holy Qur'an proved all a lie? We who keep our five times of namaz daily — that we could not prevail against this band of tilak-marked Hindus! The world is all a cheat." Thus, some weeping and some laughing, all passed the night in deepest anxiety.

These tidings came to the ears of Kalyani — to old man, child and woman none were they unknown. Kalyani said within her heart: "Glory to the Lord of the Universe! This day is thy work accomplished. This day will I set forth to look upon my husband's face. O Madhusudana! be thou my helper this day!"

In the deep night Kalyani rose from her bed, and alone opening the wicket-gate, looked this way and that, and seeing no one anywhere, softly and noiselessly came out from the dwelling of Gauri Devi into the highway. Within her heart she remembered her chosen deity, and said: "Look, O Lord, that this day I may meet with him at Padachinha."

Kalyani came up to the city outpost. The sentry said: "Who goes there?" Kalyani in a frightened voice replied: "I am a woman." The sentry said: "There is no leave to go." The word reached the ear of the daffadar. The daffadar said: "There is no forbidding to go out; the prohibition is upon entering." Hearing this the sentry said to Kalyani: "Go, mother, there is no bar to thy going; but this night there is great peril abroad — what do I know, mother, what may befall thee, whether thou wilt fall into the hands of dacoits or into a ditch and die — that I know not at all. This night, mother, thou shouldst not go forth."

Kalyani said: "Father, I am a beggar-woman — I have not a single farthing upon me; the dacoit will say nothing to me."

The sentry said: "There is youth, mother, there is youth: in the world that is the only jewel! Speaking thus, I myself might be the dacoit." Kalyani saw that there was great peril, and without a word made her way slowly past the outpost and went on. The sentry saw that the mother had not taken his pleasantry, and in vexation of heart drew a draught at his ganja and struck up a tappa of Sori in the Jhinjhit Khambaj mode. Kalyani went her way.

That night the roads were full of bands of wayfarers; some shouting "Slay, slay," some "Flee, flee," some weeping; whomsoever any saw, him he sought to lay hold of.

Kalyani fell into sore distress. She knew not the road; there was none to ask of, for all were set upon battle. Only by stealth, by stealth, must she pass through the darkness. Yet even so, in her stealthy going, she fell into the hands of a band of insolent, frenzied mutineers. With a horrid shout they came to seize her. Kalyani then with utmost breath fled, and entered into the jungle. Thither also one or two ruffians followed close behind her. One came and caught her by the skirt: "Now, my moon!" At that moment another suddenly came and dealt the offender one stroke with his staff.

Wounded, the man fell back. This new-comer was clad in the habit of a sannyasi, his breast covered with a black antelope-skin, and very young in years. He said to Kalyani: "Fear not, come with me. Whither wouldst thou go?"

Kalyani: To Padachinha.

The stranger was startled and amazed, and said: "How sayest thou — to Padachinha?" So saying the stranger laid both hands upon Kalyani's shoulders, and in that darkness very earnestly scanned her face.

Kalyani, all at once at the touch of a man, was thrilled, terrified, amazed, drowned in tears — power she had none to flee, so overcome was she with fear. When the stranger's scrutiny was done, he said: "Hare Murare! I know thee — thou art that ill-starred Kalyani!"

Kalyani in fear asked: "Who art thou?"

The stranger said: "I am the slave of thy slaves — O fair one! be thou gracious to me."

Kalyani very swiftly drew back from that place and burst out, chiding: "Was it for this insult that thou didst save me? I see thou art in the garb of a Brahmachari: is this the religion of a Brahmachari? This day am I helpless, else would I have spurned thy face with my foot."

The Brahmachari said: "O sweet-smiling one! these many days have I longed to touch that fair form of thine." So saying, the Brahmachari ran swiftly and seizing Kalyani embraced her close. Whereupon Kalyani burst into peals of laughter, and said: "O wretched fortune! Friend, thou shouldst have said before that thou too art in like case." Shanti said: "Friend, art thou bound in search of Mahendra?"

Kalyani said: "Who art thou? It seemeth thou knowest all."

Shanti said: "I am a Brahmachari — the captain of the Children's host — a terrible hero! I know all. Such is the riot of soldier and Sannyasi on the road this day, that to Padachinha thou canst not go."

Kalyani began to weep.

Shanti, rolling her eyes, said: "What fear? With the arrows of our glance we slay a thousand foes. Come, let us go to Padachinha."

Kalyani, finding the help of so shrewd a woman, was as one who reaching out her hand had laid hold upon heaven. She said: "Whithersoever thou takest me, thither will I go."

Then Shanti, taking her along, led her upon a way through the forest.