Chapter Forty Five

Edwards was a thorough Englishman. He had his agents posted at every outpost. Soon the tidings reached him that the Vaishnavi woman had cast Lieutenant Lindley to the ground and, mounting her own horse, had ridden away none knew whither. Hearing this, Edwards exclaimed, "An imp of Satan! Strike the tents."

Then thud upon thud, the mallets fell ringing upon the tent-pegs. As a city of clouds melts from the brow of Amaravati, so the city of canvas vanished away. The baggage was loaded upon the carts. The men mounted, some upon horses, others trudging upon their own feet. Hindu and Mussulman, Madrasi and white soldier, muskets shouldered, marched off with measured tread. The gun-carriages rolled rumbling behind.

Meanwhile Mahendra, leading the army of the Children, advanced steadily along the road to the fair. That afternoon Mahendra reflected: the day was waning, it were well to pitch camp.

It seemed indeed the proper hour to encamp. The Vaishnavas had no tents. Beneath the trees they spread out a strip of jute-matting or a coarse quilt and laid them down to rest. A draught of the holy water from the Lord's feet sufficed them for supper; what hunger remained was filled, in dream, by the nectar of the Vaishnavi goddess's lips. Near at hand lay a spot well suited for a camp -- a great orchard of mango, jackfruit, babool, and tamarind. Mahendra gave the order: "Pitch the camp here." Hard by stood a hillock, rugged and difficult to climb. The thought came to Mahendra that the camp might as well be set upon its summit. He resolved to go and survey the place.

So thinking, Mahendra mounted his horse and slowly began to ascend the hill. When he had gone some way up, a young warrior thrust himself into the midst of the Vaishnava host and cried, "Come, mount the hillock!" Those who stood nearest looked upon him in wonderment and asked, "Wherefore?"

The warrior, springing upon a mound of earth, stood erect and proclaimed, "Come, this moonlit night, upon yonder mountain-peak, breathing in the perfume of the new blossoms of the new spring, we shall give battle to our enemy." The Children saw that it was Jibananda, their captain.

Then with a great shout of "Hare Murare!" the whole army of the Children rose up, leaning upon their lances; and following Jibananda, they began swiftly to scale the hillock. One brought a caparisoned steed and gave it to Jibananda. From afar Mahendra beheld them and marvelled. He thought, "What is this? Wherefore do they come without my command?"

So thinking, Mahendra turned his horse's head about and, lashing him into a cloud of dust with the whip, began to descend the mountain. Meeting Jibananda at the head of the army of the Children, he asked, "What new joy is this?"

Jibananda laughed and answered, "This day there is great joy. Beyond the hillock lies Edwards Sahib. Whoso shall first gain the summit, his shall be the victory."

Then Jibananda called aloud to the army of the Children: "Do ye know me? I am Jibananda Goswami. A thousand foes have I slain."

With a tumultuous roar that shook forest and field, the answer came back: "We know thee! Thou art Jibananda Goswami!"

Jibananda: "Cry, Hare Murare!"

Forest and field rang with a thousand thousand throats: "Hare Murare!"

Jibananda: "Beyond the hillock lies the foe. This night, upon yonder summit, with this dark-blue mantle of the sky for witness, shall the Children give battle. Hasten! Whoso first gains the crest, his shall be the victory. Cry, Bande Mataram!"

Then forest and field rang with the song, "Bande Mataram." Slowly the army of the Children began to climb the mountain-peak; but on a sudden they beheld with terror that Mahendra Sinha, descending the slope with the speed of the wind, was sounding the trumpet of alarm. In a moment, upon the summit, against the blue field of heaven, the English artillery stood ranged in array with their cannon. Loud and clear the Vaishnavi host sang forth: --

"Thou art knowledge, thou art devotion, Thou art the strength in our arms, O Mother, Thou art verily the breath of our bodies."

But the boom, boom, boom of the English cannon swept that mighty song away. Hundreds upon hundreds of the Children fell slain or wounded, with horse and weapon together, upon the hillside. Again the boom, boom -- the English thunderbolt rolled on, mocking the bones of Dadhichi, holding in scorn the surging of the ocean's waves. As ripened paddy beneath the sickle of the husbandman, the army of the Children was hewn down and cast to the earth. In vain did Jibananda, in vain did Mahendra strive.

Like a torrent of falling rocks, the army of the Children rolled back from the hillside. Who fled whither, none could say. Then, to make an utter end of them all, the regiment of white soldiers, with their "Hurrah! Hurrah!" came pouring down from the height.

With bayonets levelled and at headlong speed -- like a great river loosed from a mountain, irresistible, unconquerable, invincible -- the British host pursued the flying army of the Children.

Jibananda, meeting Mahendra but once, said, "All is ended this day. Come, let us die here."

Mahendra answered, "Had dying won the battle, then would I have died. To die in vain is no virtue of the warrior."

Jibananda: "In vain shall I die. Yet shall I die in battle." Then, turning back, he called aloud, "Whoso would die with the name of Hari upon his lips, let him come with me."

Many came forward. Jibananda said, "Not so. Swear ye, with Hari for witness, that ye will not return alive." They that had stepped forward drew back. Jibananda said, "Will none come? Then I go alone."

Then, rising high upon his horse, Jibananda called back to Mahendra, who stood far behind, "Brother! Tell Nabinananda that I am gone. We shall meet in another world."

So saying, that hero of heroes spurred his horse into the rain of iron. In his left hand a lance, in his right a musket, upon his lips, "Hare Murare! Hare Murare! Hare Murare!" Of battle there was no hope, of this courage no fruit -- yet still chanting, "Hare Murare! Hare Murare!" Jibananda plunged into the very midst of the enemy's ranks.

To the fleeing Children Mahendra cried, "Look but once, brothers, turn and look upon Jibananda Goswami. Look but upon him, and ye shall not die."

Some of the Children turned and beheld Jibananda's more-than-human deeds. First they wondered, then they cried, "If Jibananda knows how to die, do we not know? Come, let us also go with Jibananda to Vaikuntha."

Hearing these words, certain of the Children turned about. Seeing them, more turned; and seeing these, yet more. A great tumult arose. Jibananda had passed into the enemy's host; the Children could no more behold him.

Now from every quarter of the battlefield the Children saw that a part of their own were returning. All thought, "The Children have conquered; the Children are driving the foe before them." Then the whole host of the Children, with shouts of "Strike, strike!" wheeled about and fell upon the English army.

Among the English a great confusion arose. The sepoys, casting off all care of the battle, were fleeing away on either flank; the white soldiers also turned, and with bayonets levelled, made all haste back toward their camp. Looking about him, Mahendra perceived upon the crest of the hillock an innumerable host of the Children. With the pride of heroes they were descending and falling upon the English. Then he cried aloud to the Children, "Children! Behold yonder, upon the summit, the banner of our master, Satyananda Goswami! This day Murari himself, slayer of Madhu and Kaitabha, destroyer of Kansa and Keshi, hath come down to the battle, and a hundred thousand Children with him upon the heights. Cry, Hare Murare! Hare Murare! Up! Strike them down chest and back, the Mussulman! A hundred thousand Children stand upon the hilltop!"

Then with the terrible cry of "Hare Murare!" forest and field were churned and shaken. Every Child, with shouts of "Fear not! Fear not!" mingled with the sweet clash of the cymbals of their weapons, bewildered the souls of all living things. With kindled valour Mahendra's host began to climb. Like a torrent flung back by the smitten rock, the royal army was shaken, dazed, struck with fear; and at that very moment, with five-and-twenty thousand of the Children, Satyananda Brahmachari, from the summit, like the rushing of a sea-cataract, descended upon them. A fearful battle was fought.

Even as, between two huge stones grinding together, a little fly is crushed to nothing, so between the two armies of the Children was that vast royal host ground to powder.

Of all who might have borne the tidings unto Warren Hastings, not one remained.