Chapter Twenty One

Seeing Bimala, Jagatsingh asked: "What is all this uproar?"

Bimala answered: "The Pathans' cry of victory. Make haste and find some remedy — the enemy will be in this room in a moment."

Jagatsingh thought for an instant, then said: "What of Birendrasingh?"

Bimala replied: "He has been taken prisoner by the enemy."

A stifled cry escaped Tilottama's lips; she fell back upon the bed in a swoon.

Jagatsingh turned to Bimala with a face gone dry and said: "Look — look to Tilottama."

Bimala instantly took rose-water from the rose-water vessel and sprinkled it upon Tilottama's face, throat, and cheeks, and began to fan her with anxious hands.

The enemy's uproar drew closer. Bimala, half in tears, cried: "They are coming! — O Prince! What shall become of us?"

Fire seemed to flash from Jagatsingh's eyes. He said: "What can one man do alone? Nevertheless I will lay down my life in defence of thy mistress."

The terrible clamour of the enemy drew nearer still. The clash of weapons could now be heard. Bimala cried aloud: "Tilottama! Why dost thou lie insensible at such a moment? How am I to save thee?"

Tilottama opened her eyes. Bimala called out: "She revives — O Prince! Prince! Save Tilottama even now!"

The Prince said: "Remaining in this room, who can save anyone! If you could yet get out of the room, I might contrive to bring you both beyond the walls of the fort; but Tilottama has no power to walk. Bimala — the Pathans are even now upon the stairs. I will surely give my life, but my grief is that even by dying I cannot save you."

In one movement Bimala lifted Tilottama into her arms and said: "Then let us go; I shall carry Tilottama."

Bimala and Jagatsingh covered the distance to the door in three great bounds. At that very moment four Pathan soldiers came rushing headlong at the same door. Jagatsingh said: "Bimala, it is too late — come behind me."

The Pathans, finding their quarry before them, roared out "Allahu Akbar!" and sprang forward like demons, the weapons at their belts clanging. Before the shout had died away, Jagatsingh's sword was buried to the hilt in the breast of one of them. With a terrible cry the Pathan gave up his life. Before Jagatsingh could draw the sword from that breast, the spear-point of a second Pathan came down at his throat; but the instant it fell, with the swiftness of lightning the Prince caught the shaft in his left hand and with the same spear drove its wielder to the ground. The remaining two Pathans struck at Jagatsingh's head simultaneously; without taking time to draw breath, Jagatsingh with his right-hand sword cut clean through the sword-arm of one of them and dashed sword and limb together to the floor; the second blow he could not parry — the sword did not reach his head, but dealt him a fearful cut on the shoulder. The wound, like an arrow in a tiger, only made the Prince twice as terrible; before the Pathan could raise his sword for a second stroke, Jagatsingh gripped his own sword in both fists with iron firmness, leaped, and brought the blade crashing down upon the Pathan's head — turban and skull split in two. But in that same moment the soldier whose sword-arm had been severed drew a keen dagger from his waist with his left hand and aimed it at the Prince; just as the Prince's body, springing down from the height of his leap, was descending to the ground, the dagger sank deep into his great arm. The Prince reckoned the wound scarce worth a pin-prick, and drove his foot with the force of a falling mountain into the Pathan's midriff; the man was hurled far away and fell. The Prince was rushing forward to cut off his head when, with a thunderous cry of "Allahu Akbar!" a flood of Pathan soldiers poured into the room. The Prince saw that to fight on now was merely to die.

The Prince's body was drenched in blood; the outpouring of blood had little by little sapped the strength of his limbs.

Tilottama still lay insensible in Bimala's arms.

Bimala, clasping Tilottama to her breast, was weeping; her own garments were wet with the Prince's blood.

The room filled with Pathan soldiers.

The Prince now leaned upon his sword and drew breath. One of the Pathans cried out: "Hark thee, slave! Drop thy weapon — we will not kill thee." It was as though someone had flung butter into a dying fire. Like a tongue of flame the Prince leaped up, struck the arrogant Pathan's head from his shoulders, and laid it at his own feet. Whirling his sword, he called aloud: "Mussulmans — see how Rajputs die!"

Thereafter the Prince's sword flashed like lightning. He saw that alone he could fight no longer; his purpose now was only to fell as many enemies as he could before he died. With that resolve he threw himself into the very midst of the tide of enemies and, grasping his sword in both hands with a grip of iron, began to swing it unceasingly. He gave no thought whatever to his own defence — he only struck, again and again without pause. One, two, three — with each stroke some Pathan went down, or some limb was shorn away. From every quarter blows rained upon the Prince's body like a downpour. His arm could move no more; stroke upon stroke drained the blood from his body till the arm grew feeble; his head began to swim; his eyes saw only smoke; into his ears came no more than a confused din.

"Let no man kill the Prince — we must cage this living tiger."

After those words the Prince heard nothing more; it was Osman who had spoken them.

The Prince's two arms went limp and hung down; from his powerless fist the sword fell to the ground with a clang; and the Prince himself fell unconscious in a swoon across the dead body of one of the Pathans he had slain. Twenty Pathans rushed forward to seize the jewel from the Prince's turban. Osman said in a voice of thunder: "Let no man touch the Prince."

All stopped. Osman and another soldier raised Jagatsingh between them and laid him upon the bed. Scarcely an hour ago Jagatsingh had cherished for one brief moment the hope that he would one day wed Tilottama and lie by her side upon that very bed — and now that same bed had become his deathbed.

When Jagatsingh had been laid down, Osman asked the soldiers: "Where are the women?"

Osman could not see Bimala or Tilottama anywhere. When the second wave of soldiers had flooded into the room, Bimala had read what was coming; having no other recourse, she had crept with Tilottama under the bed and hidden there, and no one had seen her do it. Not finding them, Osman said: "Search the whole fort for those women — every corner of it! The maidservant is fearfully clever; if she escapes, my mind will know no peace. But mark this — let no violence be done to Birendrasingh's daughter."

Some of the soldiers went off to search other parts of the fort. One or two began to look about the room. One, holding his light toward a different corner, turned it upon the space beneath the bed. He saw what he had been looking for, and called out: "They are here!"

Osman's face brightened with satisfaction. He said: "Come out now, come out — you have nothing to fear."

Bimala came out first, and helped Tilottama out after her and seated her. By now Tilottama was recovering her senses and was able to sit upright. She asked Bimala faintly: "Where have we come?"

Bimala whispered in her ear: "Have no fear — draw thy veil down and sit quietly."

The man who had searched them out said to Osman: "My lord, thy servant hath found them."

Osman said: "Thou art looking for a reward? What is thy name?"

He replied: "Thy servant's name is Karimbaksh — but no one knows me by that name. I was formerly a Mughal soldier, and so everyone calls me mockingly 'the Mughal commander.'"

At those words Bimala started and trembled. The astrological calculation of her husband Abhiram came back to her mind.

Osman said: "Very well — it shall be remembered."