Chapter Twenty Eight

"I have already stated that a certain poor woman of the village of Garh Mandaran had conceived by my father. Her lot fell out even as my mother's had done. She too brought forth a daughter; and when the child's mother was early widowed, she, like my mother before her, maintained herself and reared her daughter by the labour of her own hands. It is not the ordinance of Providence that the worth of a thing should answer always to the worth of its source. Upon the hard rock of the mountain there springeth the tender flowering creeper; within the dark mine there is born the lustrous gem. So too in that poor household there was born a daughter of wondrous beauty. The widow's child came to be accounted the most beauteous maiden in all Garh Mandaran. Time consumeth all things; and in time the widow's disgrace was consumed also. Many forgot that the fair daughter of the widow was baseborn; many never knew it at all. Within the fort, scarce any knew it. What need to say more? That beauteous woman became the mother of Tilottama.

"Tilottama was yet in her mother's womb when the chief event of my life came to pass on account of that marriage. At that time my father came one day to the hermitage, bringing his son-in-law with him. To me he was introduced as a disciple in sacred learning; but from my blessed lord himself I learnt who he truly was.

"From the moment I beheld him, my heart was no longer mine own. But wherefore should I tell thee all this? Birendrasingh understood that he could not possess me save by wedlock. My father too perceived the whole of the matter by intuition; and one day, when the two were in converse together, I heard them from behind a screen.

"My father said: 'I cannot dwell anywhere apart from Bimala. But if Bimala become thy wedded wife, I will abide with thee. And if it be not thy purpose—'

"Before my father had finished speaking, my blessed lord said with some displeasure: 'Reverend sir, how am I to wed a Shudra's daughter?'

"My father replied with a taunting smile: 'And how didst thou wed a baseborn daughter?'

"My beloved said, somewhat wounded: 'When I married her, I did not know that she was baseborn. How can I knowingly and willingly take a Shudra woman to wife? Moreover, thy elder daughter, baseborn though she be, is no Shudra.'

"My father said: 'If thou refusest to marry, very well. Thy coming and going hath done Bimala hurt enough; there is no necessity for thee to visit this hermitage further. Thou shalt meet with me at thine own house.'

"From that time he ceased his visits for some days. I, like a bird that thirsts for rain, waited for him each day; but for a while my hope was in vain. I believe he could not maintain his resolution. He began to come again as before. And so, when I beheld him once more, I was no longer so diffident as I had been. My father observed this, and one day calling me to him, he said: 'I have embraced the wandering life of an anchorite; I cannot always dwell together with my daughter. I must go and journey from place to place. Where wilt thou then abide?'

"Sorely distressed at the dread of parting from my father, I fell to weeping and said: 'I will go with thee wheresoever thou goest. Or else I will remain here alone, even as I remained alone aforetime in the holy city of Kashi.'

"My father said: 'No, Bimale. I have devised a better plan. Against the time of my absence I will make provision for thy protection. Thou shalt enter the service of the newly wedded consort of Maharaja Mansingh.'

"I wept and said: 'Do not abandon me.' My father answered: 'Nay, I am not going anywhere just yet. Go thou now to Mansingh's household. I shall remain here; I will come to see thee every day. I will observe how thou farest there, and then determine what is to be done.'

"Young Prince! I entered thy father's household as a lady of the inner apartments. By this device my father removed me from the sight of his own son-in-law.

"Young Prince! I dwelt many years as an inmate of thy father's house; yet thou dost not know me. Thou wert then but a child of ten years, dwelling beside thy mother in the royal palace at Amber, while I was in service at Delhi, attendant upon thy father's newly wedded queen. Maharaja Mansingh had about his neck a garland of women innumerable, even as a string of flowers; couldst thou have known all thy stepmothers? Dost thou remember Urmila Devi, who was of Jodhpur? What need to enumerate her virtues to thee? She did not regard me as a mere attendant and handmaid; she held me as a sister dearer than life itself. It was she who placed me in the way of learning many accomplishments with careful solicitude. Under her gracious patronage I learned painting and the needle-arts. This very letter—poor and ill-formed as it is—which I am able to send thee, is owing solely to the gracious favour of Urmila Devi, thy stepmother.

"By the kindness of my friend Urmila I gained yet a greater benefit. Even as she herself looked upon me with affection, so she presented me to Maharaja Mansingh in that same light. I had acquired some little skill in music and song; hearing and seeing this, the Maharaja too was pleased. Whatever the reason, Maharaja Mansingh came to regard me as one of his own household. He held my father in reverence; my father was ever free to visit me.

"In the presence of Urmila Devi I was happy in every way. My one grief only was that I could not see him for whose sake I was prepared to surrender all, save honour. Had he forgotten me? That was not so. Young Prince, dost thou remember a waiting-woman by the name of Ashmani? It may be thou dost. A particular friendship grew up between Ashmani and myself; I sent her to bring tidings of my lord. She sought him out, and brought him news of me. In reply he sent me many messages—what need to speak of them? I wrote him a letter by the hand of Ashmani, and he sent back his answer. This befell again and again. Thus, though we were apart and never met, we continued in a manner to converse with each other.

"In this fashion three years passed away. When even three years of separation could not make us forget one another, we both knew that this love was not like the flower of the water-moss that floateth upon the surface only, but like the lotus that is rooted fast in the deep. For what reason I cannot say, but about this time his patience too became exhausted. One day he brought about what should not have been brought about. It was the dead of night; I lay alone in my sleeping chamber; when suddenly I awoke, and by the dim light of the lamp I beheld, close by my pillow, the form of a man.

"In sweet accents these words entered mine ears: 'Prāṇeśvarī! Be not afraid. I am thine own most devoted servant.'

"What answer could I give? Three years, and now a meeting face to face. I forgot all things—I clung to his neck and wept. I shall soon die, and so I have no shame left—I can tell all.

"When my voice returned to me, I asked him: 'How didst thou enter this inner palace?'

"He said: 'Ask Ashmani; I entered disguised as a water-carrier's servant in her company, and have been in hiding ever since.'

"I asked: 'And now?'

"He said: 'Why, as thou pleasest.'

"I began to think what I should do. Which way to turn? My heart inclined one way, and my mind followed. As I sat thus in thought, the door of my sleeping chamber suddenly flew open. I looked up—and there before me stood Maharaja Mansingh!

"Why dwell on the details? Birendrasingh was cast into prison. The Maharaja gave it out that he would inflict the royal punishment upon him. What passed within my heart—I think thou canst understand. I went weeping and cast myself at the feet of Urmila Devi; I disclosed all my own fault; I took upon my own shoulders the entire burden of blame. When I was able to meet my father, I prostrated myself at his feet also. The Maharaja held him in reverence; he regarded him as a spiritual superior; surely he would honour his petition. I said to my father: 'Bethink thee of thy elder daughter.' But I believe my father had already concerted measures with the Maharaja. He paid no heed to my weeping; instead he said in wrath: 'Thou sinful wretch! Thou hast cast off all shame!'

"Urmila Devi pleaded with the Maharaja in many ways for the preservation of my beloved's life. The Maharaja said: 'Then I will release the trespasser, on the condition that he weds Bimala.'

"When I understood the Maharaja's design I fell silent. My lord, in fierce anger at the Maharaja's words, said: 'I will remain in prison all my life—so be it; I will accept death itself—so be it; but a Shudra woman I will never wed. How canst thou, being a Hindu, make such a demand?'

"The Maharaja said: 'When I was able to give my own sister in marriage to Prince Salim, is it so strange that I should ask thee to wed a Brahmin's daughter?'

"Even so he would not consent. He said rather: 'Maharaja, what has befallen has befallen. Grant me my liberty; I will never again speak the name of Bimala.'

"The Maharaja replied: 'Then where is the atonement for the wrong thou hast done? Thou wilt abandon Bimala, and others will look upon her as a dishonoured woman and refuse to touch her.'

"Yet he would not, at first, give his mind to the marriage. At last, when the torment of captivity became no longer endurable, he yielded in part, and said unwillingly: 'If Bimala will consent to remain in my household as a servant, if the matter of marriage be never raised during my lifetime, if she never present herself as my wedded wife—then I will wed the Shudra woman. Otherwise, I will not.'

"I consented to all this with great and trembling joy. It was not for wealth, or honour, or recognition that I was eager. Both my father and the Maharaja gave their assent. Arrayed as a serving-woman, I passed from the royal palace into the house of my husband.

"He had married me against his will, compelled by the force of another. When a man marries in such a manner, how can he show tenderness to his wife? After the wedding my lord looked upon me as though I were poison itself. The love of earlier days vanished utterly at that time. He was ever calling to mind the humiliation inflicted upon him by Maharaja Mansingh, and would reproach me for it; and even those reproaches seemed like affection to me. Thus some time passed; but what need to rehearse all this? I have given account of myself; nothing further is required. In time I did come once more to be a sharer in my husband's love; yet his former bitter feeling towards the lord of Amber remained unchanged. Such is the writing of Fate! Why else should all this have come to pass?

"My account of myself is now ended. It is not merely to fulfil a vow made to mine own conscience that I have written. Many have supposed that I, casting aside the duty of my birth, resided with the lord of Garh Mandaran. When I am no more in this world, do thou, of thy grace, wipe away that stain from my name—it is in this hope that I have written thee so much.

"In this letter I have set down only the story of myself. The one of whose tidings thou art so anxious of heart—I have not even named her. Consider that name to be blotted out from this world. Let the one who was ever known as Tilottama be forgotten.——"

Osman, having finished reading the letter aloud, said: "Mother! Thou didst preserve my life; I will repay thee that service."

Bimala breathed a deep sigh and said: "What service remains for thee to render me in this world? What canst thou do for me now? Yet there is one thing——"

Osman said: "That very thing I will accomplish."

Bimala's eyes brightened. She said: "Osman! What dost thou say? Why wilt thou again deceive this tormented heart?"

Osman drew a ring from his finger and said: "Take this ring. Nothing can be contrived within a day or two. The birthday of Katlu Khan is close at hand; on that day there is always great festivity. The guards will be engrossed in their revels. On that day I will effect thy deliverance. Come thou to the gate of the inner apartments at midnight on that day; and if any person there show thee a second ring like unto this one, go forth with him. I trust thou shalt come out without impediment. But the will of God be done."

Bimala said: "May God grant thee long life. What more have I to say?"

Bimala's voice broke, and she could speak no further.

Bimala was about to bless Osman and take her leave, when Osman said: "One word of caution I must give thee. Come alone. If any companion be with thee, the plan will not succeed—nay, there will be disaster."

Bimala understood that Osman was warning her not to bring Tilottama with her. She thought within herself: "Very well. If we two cannot go, Tilottama shall come alone."

And Bimala took her leave.