Chapter Thirty Seven

That same night, within the pleasure-chamber of Katlu Khan, a dance was in progress. There was no other dancing-woman present — nor any other audience. The Mughal emperors were wont to take their delight amidst a great company of courtiers upon such occasions; Katlu Khan was not of that disposition. His was a nature wholly given over to self-gratification and the pleasures of the senses. On this night he had secluded himself in his pleasure-apartments, surrounded by the women of his household, and was abandoned to their dancing and singing.

No man save eunuchs was permitted to enter. Some of the women danced, some sang, some played upon instruments; the rest stood gathered about Katlu Khan and listened. Every delight capable of enslaving the senses was present there in abundance. One who entered the chamber was straightway cooled from head to foot by the soft fragrance of rose-water that was continually sprinkled about. The light of countless silver and crystal candelabra blazed with such fierce brilliance that the eyes were dazzled; everywhere flowers were disposed — now wreathed in garlands, now heaped in mounds, now bound in clusters, now twined in the tresses of the women, now hung about their throats — diffusing a yet softer radiance. Some bore fans of blossoms, some wore flowers as ornament, and some flung them playfully at one another. The fragrance of flowers; the fragrance of perfumed waters; the fragrance of scented lamps; the fragrance rising from the bodies of those pleasure-women anointed with sweet unguents — everywhere within that palace the air was saturate with perfume. The radiance of lamps, the radiance of flowers, the radiance of the jewelled ornaments upon the women, and above all the bright glancing of the eyes of those assembled beauties, who scattered their glances thick as rain — all these together made up a blaze of light. The sweet music of the vīṇā and other instruments, blending all seven notes, rose and filled the air; above it soared the still sweeter, clearer melody of the women's voices; and, keeping time with these, the ringing of the dancers' ornaments with every measured step completed the enchantment of all the senses.

Look, reader! It was as though a swan sported upon the rippling waves stirred by the wind upon a lotus-lake, while the blooming lotus-faces hemmed her round on every side. See — that beautiful one clad in blue raiment, whose blue garment is embroidered all over with threads of gold! Look — how she wears a diamond star upon her parted hair; and what a lovely brow is hers — calm, broad, and clear. Did Providence inscribe upon that brow a life within pleasure-houses? And that dark beauty decked with flowers — mark how those floral ornaments become her! Flowers were made by nature for the adornment of woman's form. And look at her whose lips are full and gently reddened, parted in a faint and languid curve — see how the rich colour glows through her close-fitting blue garment, as though the light of a full moon shone through clear blue water. And this fair one who turns her neck with the grace of a swan, and speaks ever with a smile upon her lips — hast thou not seen how her earrings swing and sway? And thou — who art thou, beautiful woman with such tresses? Why dost thou let those curling locks fall loose to thy very breast? Art thou showing us how the black serpent winds itself about the stem of a lotus?

And thou — who art thou, fair one who sittest beside Katlu Khan and pourest wine? Who art thou, upon whose form, so full of beauty, Katlu Khan doth cast again and again those eager, thirsting glances? Who art thou that piercest the heart of Katlu Khan with thine unerring sidelong glance? I know that sweet glance — thou art Bimala. Why dost thou pour out so much wine? Pour, pour, pour yet more — thou hast a dagger hidden within thy garment, hast thou not? Aye, that thou hast. Then how dost thou smile so? Katlu Khan gazes upon thy face. What is this? A glance! What again, and again? See — thou hast set that wine-maddened Mussulman beside himself. Is it by this art that thou hast dismissed all others and made thyself Katlu Khan's beloved? And why not — with that smile, that grace of bearing, that witty play of words, that sidelong glance! Wine again! Katlu Khan, have a care! What can Katlu Khan do — when Bimala gives the wine-cup into his hand with such a look! What sound is that? Who sings? Is this a mortal's song, or do the celestial women of paradise sing? Bimala is singing together with the musicians. What melody! What a voice! What cadence! Katlu Khan — what ails thee? Where are thy senses? She smiles, she glances at the beat — driving deeper into thy heart than any blade — and thou art lost in gazing? Such a glance steals the very breath away; and now the glance comes with the cadence of the music! And hast thou marked how, with the glance, there is that slight swaying of the head? And hast thou seen how the earrings tremble and dance with it? Aye. Pour more wine, give wine, give wine — what now! What now! Bimala hath risen and is dancing. How beautiful! What grace of movement! Give wine! What a form! What perfection of shape! Katlu Khan! Your Highness! Be still! Be still! Ah — a fire began to burn within the body of Katlu Khan. The cup! Ah! Give me the cup! Meri piyāri! Again? Upon all this, a smile — upon all this, that glance? Wine! Give wine!

Katlu Khan was now beside himself. He called out to Bimala and said, "Where art thou, my beloved?"

Bimala laid one arm about Katlu Khan's shoulder and said, "Thy handmaid is at thy blessed feet." — and in her other hand was the dagger —

That instant, with a dreadful cry, Katlu Khan hurled Bimala away from him; and even as he hurled her, he himself fell prone upon the floor. Bimala had driven the keen blade into his breast up to the hilt.

"Witch — she-devil!" cried Katlu Khan. "No witch — no she-devil — but the widow of Birendrasingh." So saying, Bimala fled swiftly from the chamber.

The power of speech began rapidly to desert Katlu Khan. Yet he cried out as best he might. The women of the household raised cries with all their strength. Bimala also ran, crying out as she went. Passing into another room she heard the sound of voices. She ran on breathlessly. One room further on she saw sentries and eunuchs stationed there. Hearing the cries and seeing Bimala's frightened haste, they demanded, "What hath happened?"

The ready-witted Bimala replied, "All is lost. Go quickly — a Mughal hath entered the inner apartments, and I believe hath slain the Nawab."

The sentries and eunuchs ran headlong toward the chamber. Bimala likewise ran headlong in the opposite direction, toward the gateway of the women's quarters. At the gate a sentry lay sleeping, wearied out with revelry; Bimala passed the gate without hindrance. She found it much the same everywhere, and ran on freely. At the outer gate she saw that the guard was awake. One of them challenged her: "Who goes there? Whither dost thou go?"

By this time a great tumult had arisen within the women's quarters; all within were awake and running toward that side. Bimala said, "What do you sit idle for? Do you not hear the uproar?"

The sentry asked, "What uproar?"

Bimala said, "Ruin is upon us in the inner chambers — an assault hath been made upon the Nawab."

The guards abandoned their post and ran; Bimala passed out unmolested.

Having gone some little distance from the gate, Bimala saw a man standing beneath a tree. At first glance she recognised him as Abhiram Swami. As soon as she came up to him, Abhiram Swami said, "I had been growing very anxious; what is the clamour within the fort?"

Bimala answered, "I have taken my revenge for the agony of widowhood. There is no need for further words here; let us go to the hermitage quickly, and I will relate everything. Tilottama hath already gone to the hermitage, hath she not?"

Abhiram Swami said, "Tilottama set out ahead with Ashmani; we shall meet with them shortly."

So saying, the two set off at a rapid pace. Before long they arrived at the cottage, and found that Tilottama, thanks to the good offices of Ayesha, had come thither but a moment before, with Ashmani. Tilottama fell prostrate at the feet of Abhiram Swami and wept. Abhiram Swami calmed her and began to say, "By the will of Providence ye are delivered from the hands of a wicked man; now do not tarry in this country even for a moment. Should the Mussulmans discover your whereabouts, they will kill you to console themselves in their grief for their master's death. Let us quit this place this very night — come."

All assented to this counsel.