Chapter Twenty Five

Two days after the fall of the fortress, at about the first quarter of the day, Katlu Khan held his durbar within his own stronghold. On either side, his courtiers stood drawn up in ranks. In the open ground before him, many thousands of persons waited in silence. This day was appointed for the punishment of Birendrasingh.

A few armed guards brought Birendrasingh into the durbar, bound in chains. His countenance was crimson, yet it bore not the faintest mark of fear. Sparks seemed to fly from his flashing eyes; his nostrils, dilated wide, quivered with each breath. He was biting his lower lip between his teeth. When he was led before Katlu Khan, the latter demanded of him, "Birendrasingh! I shall deal thee thy punishment. For what cause didst thou set thyself against me?"

Birendrasingh restrained the anger manifest in his flushed face, and said, "Tell me first what deed I have done against thee."

One of the courtiers said, "Speak with due humility."

Katlu Khan said, "Wherefore didst thou refuse to send me money and soldiers at my command?"

Birendrasingh replied without fear, "Thou art a rebel and a brigand. Why should I give thee money? For what reason should I give thee my soldiers?"

The spectators perceived that Birendrasingh was earnestly bent upon severing his own head with his own hand.

Katlu Khan's whole frame shook with rage. Yet he had long schooled himself in the habit of suppressing his wrath at will, and so spoke with some composure: "Thou who dwellest within my domain — wherefore didst thou make common cause with the Mughals?"

Birendrasingh said, "What domain of thine?"

Katlu Khan, yet more enraged, cried, "Hear me, thou wretch! Thou shalt receive the fruit meet for thy deeds. Even now there remained some hope of thy life — but thou fool, in thine own arrogance thou art contriving thine own destruction."

Birendrasingh laughed with proud disdain and said, "Katlu Khan — when I came before thee in chains, I came not with any hope of mercy. To preserve one's life by the mercy of such an enemy as thee — what worth hath such a life? I could have yielded up my breath blessing thee; but thou hast cast dishonour upon my spotless lineage; thou hast taken from me what is more precious than my life——"

Birendrasingh could speak no further; his voice was stopped, his eyes grew dim with tears; the fearless and proud Birendrasingh bowed his head and began to weep.

Katlu Khan was by nature cruel — so cruel that he took delight in the suffering of others. At the spectacle of his haughty adversary thus reduced, a smile of exultation spread over his face. He said, "Birendrasingh! Hast thou nothing to ask of me? Consider well — thy hour is near."

The burning anguish that had consumed Birendrasingh's heart was somewhat eased by his weeping. He answered more steadily than before: "I ask nothing more, save only this one mercy — that thou make a speedy end of my execution."

"So it shall be. Aught else?"

"Nothing more in this life."

"Wilt thou not take leave of thy daughter at the hour of death?"

At this question the assembled throng fell silent in grief, and the fierce light rekindled itself in Birendrasingh's eyes.

"If my daughter lives within thy house, I will not see her. If she be dead — bring her to me; I will die with her upon my breast."

The multitude was utterly still; the countless throng stood in so profound a silence that the fall of a needle might have been heard. At a sign from the Nawab, the guards led Birendrasingh toward the place of execution. A short while before they reached it, a Mussulman leaned close and whispered something in Birendrasingh's ear; Birendrasingh understood nothing of what was said. The man placed a letter in his hand.

As Birendrasingh walked on, lost in thought, he opened the letter absently and saw that it was written in Bimala's hand. He crumpled it with deep revulsion and flung it away. The bearer of the letter picked it up and went his way. One of the spectators nearby, having observed this, said in a low voice to another, "Methinks it is a letter from his daughter."

The words reached Birendrasingh's ear. He turned toward the man and said, "Who says she is my daughter? I have no daughter."

The letter-bearer went on his way. Before departing he told the guards, "Delay the proceedings until I return."

The guards replied, "As thou commandest, master."

It was Osman himself who had borne the letter; hence the guards addressed him as master.

With the letter in hand, Osman passed within the enclosure of the inner apartments, where behind a bakul tree a veiled woman stood waiting. Osman went to her side, looked about on all sides, and then related all that had come to pass. The veiled woman said, "I put thee to great trouble — yet it is thyself who hath brought us to this pass. Thou must accomplish this thing for us."

Osman remained silent.

The veiled woman spoke on, her voice trembling with inward anguish: "Thou wilt not — then do not. We are now without friend or protector; yet the Lord of the world is with us."

Osman said, "Mother! Thou knowest not how stern a task thou wouldst lay upon me. Should Katlu Khan learn of it, he will make an end of me."

The woman said, "Katlu Khan? Why dost thou deceive me? Katlu Khan hath no power to touch so much as a hair of thy head."

"Thou dost not know Katlu Khan. — But come; I will take thee to the place of execution."

The veiled woman followed Osman, and stood in silence at the place of execution. Birendrasingh had not noticed her; he was in conversation with a Brahmin who had come in the guise of a beggar. Peering from behind her veil, the veiled woman recognised the beggar as Abhiram Swami.

Birendrasingh said to Abhiram Swami, "Gurudev! Then I take my leave. What more shall I say to thee? I have no desire left in this world; for whose sake should I pray?"

Abhiram Swami raised his finger and pointed to the veiled woman who stood behind.

Birendrasingh turned in that direction; and at that instant the woman threw back her veil and cast herself prostrate at the feet of Birendrasingh, though he was in chains. In a voice thick with emotion, Birendrasingh called out, "Bimala!"

"Husband! Lord! Master of my life!" — so crying, Bimala spoke on in ever louder tones, as one driven wild: "This day I will declare to all the world — who shall prevent me? Husband! Jewel of my heart! Whither dost thou go! Leave us not thus behind thee!"

Tears streamed down Birendrasingh's face in a torrent. Taking her by the hand he said, "Bimala! My beloved! Why dost thou make me weep at such an hour? Should our enemies see, they will think me afraid to die."

Bimala fell silent. Birendrasingh spoke again: "Bimala! I go hence — follow me."

Bimala said, "I will follow."

Then in a voice so low that none other might hear, she continued: "I will follow — but first I shall exact the full reckoning for this torment."

Like the flaring of a lamp nearing extinction, Birendrasingh's face brightened with joy. He said, "Canst thou do it?"

Bimala raised her right hand, pointing at it, and said, "With this hand! I have cast aside the gold that adorned it; what further use for ornaments!" — and as she spoke, she stripped off her bangles and bracelets and flung them away — "No ornament save a sharpened blade shall this hand wear henceforth."

Birendrasingh said with a gladdened heart, "Thou canst do it. May the Lord of the world fulfil thy heart's desire."

The executioner called out, "I can delay no longer."

Birendrasingh said to Bimala, "Well then — thou must go now."

Bimala said, "Nay; let my widowhood befall me here before mine own eyes. In thy blood will I cast out the smallness from my heart." Bimala's voice had become terrible.

"So be it" — and Birendrasingh made a sign to the executioner. Bimala saw the raised axe blaze in the light of the sun; her eyelids closed of their own accord for one moment; when she opened them again, the severed head of Birendrasingh was rolling in the blood-soaked dust.

Bimala stood still as a figure of stone — not a strand of hair stirring in the wind. Not a single tear fell. No trembling of the eyelid; she gazed fixedly upon the severed head.