Chapter Thirty Four

After Jibananda had departed from the cottage, Shanti once again took up the sarangi and began to sing in soft, low strains:

"In the waters of the deluge thou didst uphold the Vedas, Bearing the form of a boat through that vast travail, Keshava, thou who didst assume the form of the Fish, Glory to thee, O Lord of the Universe, O Hari!"

When this honeyed hymn of Goswami's making, issuing from Shanti's throat, perfect in raga, in measure, and in cadence, rent the boundless silence of that boundless forest, and grew sweet as the breaking of waves driven by the spring wind upon a full tide, then she sang on:

"Thou dost rebuke, alas, the whole array of Shruti enjoining sacrifice, The slaying of beasts revealed to thy compassionate heart, Keshava, thou who didst assume the form of the Buddha, Glory to thee, O Lord of the Universe, O Hari!"

Then from without, in a voice exceeding deep, in a strain like the rolling of the thunder-cloud, someone sang:

"For the destruction of the host of mlecchas thou dost wield thy sword, Terrible as a comet, beyond all telling, Keshava, thou who hast taken the form of Kalki, Glory to thee, O Lord of the Universe, O Hari!"

In an attitude of reverence Shanti bowed and took the dust of Satyananda's feet, and said, "My lord, what merit have I, that I should behold thy holy lotus-feet in this place? Command me — what is it that I must do?" And striking up the chord upon the sarangi, Shanti sang again:

"Bowed are we at thy feet, look upon us with grace, and grant well-being to those who bow."

Said Satyananda, "Mother, well-being shall surely be thine."

Shanti. How so, my lord? — is it not thy own decree that hath made me a widow?

Satyananda. I did not know thee, mother. Not knowing the strength of the cord, I drew it overmuch. Thou art wiser than I; do thou now find the remedy. Tell not Jibananda that I know all. By the lure of thee he may yet preserve his life — these many days he hath preserved it. Then may my work be accomplished.

In those wide, blue, joyous eyes there came a glance terrible with wrath, like the lightning that flashes from the rain-cloud of summer. Shanti said, "How, my lord! My husband and I are one soul; whatsoever speech hath passed between thee and me, all shall I tell unto him. If he must die, let him die — what loss is that to me? I shall die along with him. If there be a heaven for him, dost thou think there is none for me?"

The Brahmachari said, "I have never been vanquished till this day; this day I am vanquished by thee. Mother, I am thy son; cherish thy child, save Jibananda's life, save thine own life, and my task shall be brought to its end."

The lightning smiled. Shanti said, "My husband's duty is in my husband's hands; who am I to turn him aside from his duty? In this world the husband is the wife's god; but in the world to come, every soul hath duty for its god. Dear to me is my husband, dearer than him my own duty, and dearer than that to me is my husband's duty. Mine own duty I may cast into the waters on whatsoever day I please; shall I cast my husband's duty into the waters? Maharaj! If at thy bidding my husband must die, he shall die — I shall not forbid him."

Then heaving a deep sigh the Brahmachari said, "Mother, in this dire vow there is sacrifice. All of us must fall as victims. I shall die, Jibananda shall die, Bhabananda shall die, all shall die — and methinks, mother, thou too shalt die; yet see, one must die after the work is done. Is it well to die without accomplishing aught? — I have called none Mother save the country alone, for save that motherland of sweet waters and sweet fruits we have no other mother. And thee I have called Mother; do thou then, being a mother, do the work of a child, do that whereby the work may be accomplished, save Jibananda's life, save thine own life."

So saying, Satyananda departed, singing as he went, "Hare Murare, slayer of Madhu and Kaitabha."