Chapter Eleven

Upon that moonlit night the two passed silently across the plain. Mahendra was silent—stricken with sorrow, full of pride, somewhat curious.

Bhabananda was suddenly transformed. He was no more that grave and tranquil Sannyasi; he was no longer that warlike form, the beheader of the captain of the sepoys. Nor yet was he the proud one who but lately had rebuked Mahendra. The moonlit, peaceful beauty of the earth—its plains, its forests, its rivers and streams—seemed to have wrought in his heart a wonderful gladness; as though the ocean itself laughed at the rising of the moon. Bhabananda became smiling, eloquent, sweet-spoken. He was eager for converse. Many were the attempts he made to draw Mahendra into talk, but Mahendra answered him not. Then Bhabananda, finding it of no avail, began of his own accord to sing:—

"Bande Mataram! Sujalam, suphalam, Malaja-shitalam, Shasya-shyamalam, Mataram!"

Mahendra heard the song and marvelled somewhat, yet understood it not—who was this Mother, well-watered, well-fruited, cooled with the breath of the southern winds, dark with the green of harvest? He asked, "Who is the Mother?"

Without making answer, Bhabananda sang on:—

"With pure moonlight gladdening her nights, Beautiful with the bloom-laden boughs of her trees, Sweetly smiling, sweetly speaking, Giver of bliss, granter of boons—Mother!"

Mahendra said, "But this is the land—this is not a mother."

Bhabananda replied, "We know no other mother. The mother and the motherland are greater than heaven itself. We hold the motherland to be the mother. We have no mother, no father, no brother, no friend—no wife, no son, no house, no home—naught have we save her, the well-watered, well-fruited, cooled by the southern breeze, dark with the green of harvests—"

Then, beginning to understand, Mahendra said, "Sing it once more."

Bhabananda sang again:—

"Bande Mataram! Sujalam, suphalam, Malaja-shitalam, Shasya-shyamalam, Mataram! With pure moonlight gladdening her nights, Beautiful with the bloom-laden boughs of her trees, Sweetly smiling, sweetly speaking, Giver of bliss, granter of boons—Mother! Terrible with the clamouring cry of seventy millions of throats, With twice seventy millions of arms wielding the keen sword, Who saith thou art weak, O Mother? Bearer of mighty strength, I bow to thee, deliverer, Vanquisher of the hosts of the foe, Mother! Thou art wisdom, thou art law, Thou art our heart, our soul, Thou art the very breath in our body. In our arms, Mother, art thou the strength, In our heart, Mother, art thou the devotion. Thine image we set up In temple after temple. Thou art Durga, bearer of the ten weapons, Kamala sporting on the lotus-petal, Speech, giver of learning, I bow to thee, I bow to Kamala, Stainless, peerless, Well-watered, well-fruited, Mother! Bande Mataram! Dark, simple, Sweetly smiling, adorned, Sustainer, nourisher, Mother!"

Mahendra saw that the dacoit wept as he sang. Then in amazement Mahendra asked, "Who are ye?" Bhabananda answered, "We are the Children."

M. The Children? Whose children?

B. The Mother's children.

M. Well—and do children worship the mother by thieving and committing dacoity? What manner of filial devotion is that?

B. We commit no theft, no dacoity.

M. But thou hast just now plundered a cart.

B. Was that theft or dacoity? Whose money did we plunder?

M. Whose? The king's.

B. The king's? And what right hath he over the money he was carrying off?

M. The king's revenue, his royal due.

B. The king that protecteth not the realm—what manner of king is he?

M. I foresee that one day ye shall be blown to pieces from the mouth of a sepoy's cannon.

B. Many a rascally sepoy have I seen—I saw them again this very day.

M. Thou hast not seen them aright; thou shalt one day.

B. Be it so—what if I do see them? I shall not die twice for the once that I must die.

M. Then wherefore court death of thine own will?

B. Mahendra Singh, I had held thee for a man among men, but now I see thou art as the rest—a glutton of milk and ghee, no more. Look ye, the serpent goeth upon his belly along the earth; baser creature than him surely I shall never see; yet set thy foot upon the serpent's neck, and even he reareth up his hood. Doth nothing rouse thy patience at all? Look: of all the lands of the earth—Magadha, Mithila, Kashi, Kanchi, Delhi, Kashmir—is any so wretched as ours? In what land do men, for want of food, eat grass?

Eat thorns? Eat the earth of ant-hills? Eat the creepers of the jungle? In what land do men eat the jackal and the dog, and even feed upon the dead? In what land hath the householder no peace though he keep his money in his chest, no peace though he set the Shalagrama upon his throne, no peace though he keep wife and daughter within his walls, no peace though the unborn child lie in her womb? They rip open the belly and tear forth the child. In every land there is a bond of protection between king and people; but where doth our Mussulman king protect us?

Religion is gone, caste is gone, honour is gone, lineage is gone, and now the very life is going. Unless we drive forth these drunken half-bred sots, can a Hindu any longer remain a Hindu?

M. And how wilt thou drive them forth?

B. By smiting them.

M. Thou alone wilt drive them forth? With a single buffet?

The dacoit sang:—

"Terrible with the clamouring cry of seventy millions of throats, With twice seventy millions of arms wielding the keen sword, Who saith thou art weak, O Mother?"

M. But I see thou art alone.

B. Why so? But now thou sawest two hundred.

M. Are they all Children?

B. All are Children.

M. And how many more remain?

B. Of such as these, thousands upon thousands; and more shall yet be.

M. Suppose there be ten or twenty thousand—can ye therewith drive the Mussulman from his throne?

B. How many troops had the English at Plassey?

M. The English and the Bengali?

B. Wherein lieth the difference? What can brute strength achieve? If a man have more muscle in his arm, doth a cannon-ball fly the swifter for that?

M. Then wherefore so great a difference between the English and the Mussulman?

B. Mark: an Englishman fleeth not though his life be forfeit; the Mussulman runneth at the first sweat—runneth in search of his sherbet. Mark, again, the English are obstinate—what they take in hand they accomplish; the Mussulman is shiftless. Then there is the matter of giving up life for the cause—and the sepoys are not even paid their wages. And last, there is courage: a cannon-ball falleth not in ten places at once, but in one only; therefore at the sight of a single ball there is no need that two hundred men should flee. Yet at the sight of one ball the Mussulman fleeth with all his kin; while though balls fall thick as kin, not one Englishman fleeth.

M. Have ye these qualities?

B. Nay. But virtues fall not from the tree. They must be acquired by practice.

M. And do ye practise them?

B. Seest thou not that we are Sannyasis? Our renunciation is for this very practice. When the work is accomplished—when the practice is complete—we shall once again become householders. We too have wife and daughter.

M. Ye have forsaken them all—have ye truly cut the bonds of attachment?

B. To a Child of the Mother one must not utter a lie—I will not make false boast before thee. Who can cut the bonds of attachment? He that saith "I have cut them" either never had any to cut, or boasteth falsely. We cut not our attachments; we do but keep our vow. Wilt thou be a Child?

M. Until I have tidings of my wife and daughter, I can say nothing.

B. Come, then, and thou shalt see thy wife and daughter.

So saying, the two went on; and Bhabananda again began to sing "Bande Mataram." Mahendra had a fine voice, and some learning and love of music—so he sang along with him; and as he sang, he found that the tears came to his eyes. Then Mahendra said, "If I need not forsake my wife and child, then suffer me to take this vow."

B. He that taketh this vow forsaketh wife and child. If thou take this vow, thou shalt not see thy wife and daughter. Fitting provision shall be made for their safety, but until the vow be accomplished thou mayest not look upon their faces.

M. Then I will not take this vow.