The Chieftain's Daughter

by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay

  ‘Then sing me a song,’ commanded Bimala.

  ‘E…Hmm…e…hmm’…Diggaj began…

  ‘What a moment that was, when I saw Shyam on the Kadam tree…’

  A cow resting on the grass, contentedly chewing the cud, bolted at top speed on hearing this miraculous music.

  The poet continued singing.

  ‘That day spelt my doom, I sullied my family honour.

  With his crown and flute and smiles he spoke, shall I tip your pitcher over, milkmaid?’

  Diggaj could sing no more, his senses were suddenly captivated. Strains of music ambrosial, transporting, as sweet as the melody of celestial nymphs, drifted into his ears. Bimala was singing, full-throated and clear.

  The octaves rose and fell all the way up to the night sky and back over the silent expanse of land. The notes were borne along on the cool summer breeze.

  Diggaj listened breathlessly. When Bimala had ended, he said, ‘Again.’

  B: Again?

  D: Sing another song.

  B: What should I sing?

  D: A Bangla song now.

  ‘Alright,’ said Bimala, and resumed singing.

  As she sang, Bimala felt a violent tug on her garment. Looking behind her, she discovered Gajapati was almost upon her, clutching her clothes as tight as he could. ‘Now what?’ asked Bimala in surprise. ‘Another ghost?’

  The good Brahmin could barely speak. Pointing, he said, ‘There.’

  In silence, Bimala followed his finger with her eyes. As she noticed an object by the side of the road, she could hear heavy and rapid breathing.

  Summoning all the courage at her disposal, she went up to it to discover a well-built, beautifully adorned stallion caught in the throes of death.

  Bimala continued on her way, rapt in thought at the sight of the dying beast. She was silent for a long time. When they had walked a mile, Gajapati tugged at her clothes again.

  ‘What is it?’ said Bimala.

  Gajapati showed her what he was holding. ‘It is a soldier’s turban,’Bimala said. Deep in thought again, she said to herself, ‘Do the turban and the horse belong to the same person? But no, this turban was worn by someone on foot.’

  The moon rose after some time. Bimala was even more distracted. After a long interval, Gajapati took courage in his hands. ‘Nothing to say, my beauteous lady?’

  ‘Have you noticed any signs on this road?’ asked Bimala.

  Examining the surface of the road with great care, Gajapati said, ‘I can see many hoofprints.’

  B: Has the clever gentleman learnt anything from them?’

  D:No.

  B: A dead horse, a soldier’s turban, so many hoofprints, and still you understand nothing? Ah, but who am I talking to!

  D: Understand what?

  B: Several soldiers have been on this road recently.

  ‘Then let us walk slowly, let them get further away from us,’ said Gajapati fearfully.

  ‘Fool,’ laughed Bimala. ‘How can they be in front of us? Can you not see which way the hoofprints are pointing? These soldiers were travelling towards Fort Mandaran.’ She looked apprehensive.

  Suddenly the white outline of the Shiva temple appeared before them. Bimala decided there was no need for the good Brahmin to meet the prince—on the contrary, it might lead to trouble. Just as she was wondering how to rid herself of him, Gajapati himself gave her an opportunity.

  The good Brahmin was once again clutching at the end of Bimala’s scarf. ‘What is it now?’ she asked.

  ‘How far is it?’ the good Brahmin muttered.

  B: How far is what?

  D: The banyan tree.

  B: What banyan tree?

  D: Where you had seen it the other night?

  B: Where I had seen what the other night?

  D: You are not supposed to utter its name after sunset.

  Bimala saw her chance.

  ‘Oooh,’ she shrieked.

  ‘What is it?’ asked the good Brahmin, his fear doubling.

  ‘There it is, that banyan tree.’ Bimala indicated the tree near the temple.

  The scholar froze, rooted to the spot, and then began to tremble like a leaf.

  ‘Come along,’ said Bimala.

  ‘I cannot move another step,’ the good Brahmin said, shaking with fear.

  ‘I am afraid, too,’ declared Bimala.

  At this the good Brahmin readied to run back the way he had come.

  Glancing at the tree, Bimala spotted something white beneath it. She was aware that the temple bull often rested there, but to Gajapati, she said, ‘Pray to the Lord, Gajapati, what is that beneath the tree?’

  Diggaj screamed and disappeared. His long legs transported him a mile in virtually an instant.

  Bimala knew Gajapati’s nature very well; she was sure he would not stop till he had reached the gate to the fort.

  Relieved, she proceeded towards the shrine.

  But although she had thought of as many eventualities as possible, there was one she had missed. Was the prince even in the temple? Bimala was mortified. She realized that the prince had not promised to be present; all he had said was, ‘You can meet me here at this same temple. If you do not see me here, it means we shall not be meeting.’ There was thus a possibility of his not being there at all.

  And if he was not, all this effort had been in vain. ‘Why did I not consider this possibility earlier?’ Bimala told herself glumly. ‘Why did I have to get rid of Diggaj? How will I return at this hour all by myself? Oh Lord, it is all your will.’

  The road to the temple ran past the banyan tree. As she passed the tree, Bimala realized there was nothing beneath it—the white object she had observed earlier was no longer visible. She was a trifle surprised; surely the bull would have been visible in the fields around had it risen and wandered off.

  Bimala looked closely at the area under the tree. She thought she spotted someone in a white garment behind the trunk. Quickening her steps, she sped towards the temple, rapping on the door with all her force.

  The door was closed. ‘Who is it?’ a deep voice enquired from within.

  ‘Who is it?’ the cry echoed through the empty temple.

  ‘A journey-weary woman,’ Bimala answered, summoning all the courage at her disposal.

  The door was opened.

  Bimala saw a lamp burning within, before it a tall man, his hand on his scabbard. She recognized Prince Jagatsingh.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In the Lord’s Presence

  ON ENTERING THE temple, Bimala composed herself and took a seat. She bent head her head in supplication—first to the idol of Shiva, then to the prince. For a few moments, they remained silent, unsure of how to express their minds; both wondered how to begin.

  But Bimala was a master of the verbal duel. With a smile, she said, ‘The Lord has been kind enough to ensure I have met you, prince. I was frightened while traversing this lonely stretch without a soul for company, but now that I have met you here in this temple, my fear has been dispelled.’

  ‘I trust all goes well with all of you,’ responded the prince.

  Bimala’s intention was to determine, first and foremost, whether the prince was indeed enamoured of Tilottama—all else would come later. With this thought, she declared, ‘I am here to offer prayers to Shiva to ensure that all goes well. But now I realize that the Lord is fully satisfied with your prayers and will reject mine, so by your leave, I shall now return.’

  Prince: Very well. But you should not travel alone. Allow me to escort you back.

  Bimala realized that warfare was not the only art that the prince had acquired mastery over. ‘Why would it not be appropriate for me to travel alone?’ she asked.

  Prince: Many threats lie in wait on the way.

  B: Then I shall proceed to King Mansingh at once.

  ‘Why?’ asked the prince.

  B: Why? I shall complain. The general he has appointed has been unable to keep the land safe for us citizens. He is imp
otent when it comes to driving the enemy out.

  ‘The general shall respond that exterminating the enemy is impossible even for the gods, never mind humans,’ the prince countered with a smile. ‘For instance, Shiva himself had reduced his enemy, the god of love, to ashes in the woods; barely a fortnight has passed since then, but that same god is on the rampage again in Shiva’s very own temple.’

  ‘Who—is he rampaging against?’ Bimala enquired with a laugh.

  ‘Against that very general,’ said the prince.

  ‘And why should the king believe such an absurd claim?’ asked Bimala.

  Prince: I have a witness.

  B: Who is this witness, sir?’

  Prince: Virtuous lady…

  Bimala broke in before he could finish. ‘Your servant is most sinful. Please address me as Bimala.’

  ‘Bimala herself is the witness,’ declared the prince.

  B: Bimala shall not testify thus.

  Prince: That is possible, for can a person who can forget her own promise in a fortnight possibly testify truly?

  B: What had I promised, sir? Remind me.

  Prince: To reveal your companion’s identity.

  Bimala suddenly abandoned her playful tone, saying gravely, ‘I hesitate to reveal her identity, prince. What if it does not please you?’

  The prince shed his jocular demeanour too. After a few moments of thought, he said, ‘Is there reason for me to be peturbed at by her identity, Bimala?’

  ‘There is,’ she answered.

  Sinking into a moment’s reverie again, the prince said, ‘No matter, you must satisfy my curiosity. Nothing can cause greater pain than the unbearable anxiety I have been suffering. Even if your apprehensions are proved correct, that shall be preferable to this agony; I will at least have something to comfort myself with. It is not mere curiosity that has brought me here to meet you, Bimala; at the moment, I do not have the luxury to be curious. For half a month now, I have not slept on a bed other than the back of my horse. I am here only because of my desperation.’

  Bimala’s efforts had all been in the hope of hearing just such a confession. To hear more, she said, ‘You are an expert at politics, prince, do consider, is it right for you in this hour of war to harbour thoughts about a lady out of your reach? I say this for both your sakes, do my companion the favour of forgetting her; I am sure you will triumph in all your battles.’

  A rueful smile appeared on the prince’s lips. ‘Whom do you want me to forget?’ he asked. ‘Your companion’s image has been engraved so deeply in my heart at but a single glance that nothing but the complete destruction of this heart shall erase it. I am known to have a heart of stone; once an image is inscribed in stone, it can only be removed when the stone itself is destroyed. You talk of battle, Bimala? I have been engaged in nothing but battle since I set eyes on your companion—whether on the battlefield or in camp, I have been unable to forget that face for even a moment. When the Pathan raised his sword to cut my head off, all I could think of was that I would never see that face again, that I had seen it but once. Where can I see her again, Bimala?’

  Bimala had heard enough. ‘You will find her at Fort Mandaran. Tilottama is the daughter of Virendrasingh.’

  Jagatsingh felt as though a poisonous snake had sunk its fangs into him. Leaning on his sword, he looked at the floor. After a long while, he sighed deeply, saying, ‘You were right. Tilottama can never be mine. I am off to the battlefield; I shall sacrifice my desire for happiness to the enemy’s blood.’

  Touched by his misery, Bimala said, ‘If love were to get its just reward, prince, you deserve Tilottama. But why give up hope altogether? Your fortune may be against you today, but who is to say it will not favour you tomorrow?’

  Hope speaks in a sweet tongue. Even in a man’s darkest hour, it whispers in his ear, ‘No storm lasts forever, why give up? Believe me.’ Hope spoke through Bimala, ‘Why give up? Listen to me.’

  Who can tell what the Almighty desires, Jagatsingh heard hope asking him. Who can read in advance what God has willed? Is there anything in the world that is not possible? Is there anything impossible that has not taken place in this world?

  The prince heard words of hope.

  ‘Be that as it may,’he said, ‘my agitation knows no bounds; I do not know where my duty lies. Whatever fate holds for me shall come to pass, who can rewrite the will of God? All I can do is to speak my mind. With Shiva as my witness, I swear that I shall never love anyone but Tilottama. My plea to you is to disclose to your companion all that I have told you; and inform her that I only seek her audience one more time, I pledge not to beg for a second meeting.’

  Bimala was delighted. ‘And how will sir receive my friend’s response?’

  ‘I cannot trouble you repeatedly,’ answered the prince, ‘but if you meet me once more here in this temple, I shall remain grateful to you all my life. One day Jagatsingh shall be of service to you too.’

  ‘Your wish is my command, prince,’ said Bimala, ‘but I am so afraid to travel by myself all this way at night. I came because I had no choice but to keep my vow. By now this area has been overrun by the enemy, I will be scared to come again.’

  After a little thought the prince said, ‘If you do not consider that any harm will come of it, I can accompany you to Fort Mandaran. I shall wait somewhere close by, and you can bring me information.’

  ‘Let us go then,’ said Bimala happily.

  As they were about to leave the temple, soft footsteps were heard outside. ‘Has anyone accompanied you here?’ the prince asked Bimala in surprise.

  ‘No,’ she answered.

  ‘Then whose footsteps were those? I fear someone has been eavesdropping on us.’

  But when the prince went out and circled the temple, there was nobody to be seen.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Night of Valour

  AFTER BOWING BEFORE the deity of Shiva, they left apprehensively for Fort Mandaran. Silence reigned for some time. When they had travelled some distance, the prince was the first to break it. ‘I am curious about something, Bimala. I do not know what you will think when you hear what I have to say.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Bimala.

  Prince: I am convinced that you are not a maid.

  ‘Why the suspicion?’ enquired Bimala with a smile.

  Prince: There is a reason why Virendrasingh’s daughter may not be the daughter-in-law of the king of Amer. It is a deep secret, how would a mere maid know of it?’

  Bimala sighed. ‘You have surmised correctly,’ she responded a little sadly. ‘I am not a maid. Fate has forced me to live the life of one. But why should I blame fate—it has not been unkind to me!’

  The prince did not pursue the matter, realizing that the subject had caused Bimala deep regret, The prince did not pursue the matter. ‘I shall reveal my true identity to you,’ Bimala said, unprompted; ‘but not now. What is that sound? Is someone behind us?’

  Distinct footsteps could now be heard behind them. Two individuals appeared to be whispering to each other. They were a mile from the temple at this time. ‘I am sure there is someone behind us,’ said the prince. ‘Let me check.’

  The prince went back along the path they had come, but could see nothing on the road or on either side of it. ‘I suspect we are being followed,’ he told Bimala on returning. ‘It will be wise to keep our voices down.’

  They conversed softly as they travelled, eventually arriving at Mandaran village and making their way to the entrance to the fort. ‘How will you enter the fort at this hour?’ asked the prince. ‘The gates must have been closed for the night.’

  ‘Do not worry,’ answered Bimala, ‘I made sure of that before I left.’

  ‘A secret entrance?’ asked the prince, laughing.

  ‘Every thief has one.’Bimala said returning his laugh.

  ‘There is no need for me to go any further,’ the prince continued a few moments later. ‘I shall wait for you at this mango grove by the fo
rt, please convey my plea frankly to your companion. I shall sleep only after I have seen her one more time, be it a fortnight later or a month.’

  ‘This grove is not secluded, however,’ said Bimala. ‘You had better come with me.’

  Prince: How far should I go?

  B: Inside the fort.

  ‘That would not be right, Bimala,’ responded the prince after some thought. ‘I shall not enter the fort without the permission of its lord.’

  ‘There is nothing to fear,’ Bimala assured him.

  ‘We Rajputs do not fear to set foot anywhere,’ declared the prince proudly, ‘but consider, is it befitting for the son of the king of Amer to enter the fort like a thief without its lord’s permission?’

  ‘You shall enter at my behest,’ said Bimala.

  ‘Please do not imagine I am slighting you because I think you are nothing but a maid. But tell me, what right do you have to invite me into the fort?’

  ‘You will not enter unless you know my right?’ asked Bimala after a pause.

  ‘Never,’ came the answer.

  Bimala whispered a single word animatedly into the prince’s ear.

  ‘Lead on, my lady,’ the prince said.

  ‘I am a maid, prince, do not address me as anything but one,’ Bimala responded.

  ‘So be it,’ said the prince.

  The avenue along which Bimala led the prince ended at the entrance to the fort. The mango orchard lay beside the fort, invisible from the main gate. To follow the direction in which the river Amodar flowed behind the women’s quarters, one had to pass through the orchard. Bimala now abandoned the high road to enter the orchard with the prince.

  Almost instantly they heard the crunch of footsteps on dry leaves.

  ‘Again!’ exclaimed Bimala.

  ‘Wait here, while I investigate,’ the prince told her.

  Drawing his sword from his scabbard, he walked off in the direction of the sound; but he could see nothing. The foliage and wild vines beneath the mango trees was so dense—and the darkness of the shadows cast by the trees so absolute—that he could not see too far ahead. He even wondered whether the sound had in fact been made by grazing cattle rather than human beings. The prince decided not to leave without dispelling his suspicion and climbed a mango tree, his sword in hand. Ascending to the top of the tree, he looked around carefully. After some surveillance, he discovered two figures perched on the branches of a mango tree nearby, all but hidden in the darkness. The moonlight illuminated their turbans, the only part of their bodies which were visible—their faces were concealed by shadows. Observing carefully, the prince concluded that there was no doubt that there were human beings beneath the turbans. He noted the location of the tree with great care, so as to be able to identify it afterwards. Then, dismounting the tree warily, he returned to Bimala, describing all he had seen, and said, ‘If only I had had a spear or two.’