‘I cannot wait any more,’ called the executioner.
‘This is it. Go now,’ Virendra told Bimala.
‘No, let my widowhood occur in my presence,’ said Bimala. ‘Your blood shall overcome my fears.’ Her voice was ominously calm.
‘So be it,’said Virendrasingh, signalling to the executioner. Bimala saw his upraised axe glint in the sunlight; her lashes lowered themselves without her bidding. When she opened them again, she saw Virendrasingh’s severed head, bathed in blood, rolling on the ground.
Bimala stood frozen like a statue, without a single hair on her head moving in the breeze. Not a teardrop escaped her eyes. She could not look away from the severed head.
* It should be actually four days after the conquest. The author most likely made a small error.
Chapter Five
The Widow
WHERE WAS TILOTTAMA? Where was the fatherless, orphaned child? Where, for that matter, was Bimala? How had Bimala appeared at the site of the execution? And where did she vanish afterwards?
Why had Virendrasingh not sought a final meeting with his beloved daughter before his death? Why, indeed, had he become inflamed with anger at the mention of her name? Why had he declared, ‘I have no daughter’?
Why had he flung away Bimala’s missive without perusing it?
Why? Recollect how Virendrasingh had berated Katlu Khan, and you will be seized of the dreadful events that had occurred.
‘The unsullied reputation of our clan has been besmirched,’ the chained tiger had roared.
The question is, O reader, where were Tilottama and Bimala? Look for them in the chambers occupied by Katlu Khan’s concubines—you shall find them there.
Such are the turns that life takes. In such a merciless manner does the wheel of destiny grind. Beauty, youth, innocence, chastity—all of them are crushed under the rim of this giant wheel.
It was Katlu Khan’s habit was to acquire for his personal harem any uncommonly beautiful woman taken prisoner at a village or fort by his army. As was the practice, he had arrived at Fort Mandaran on the day after its fall to inspect the arrangements made for prisoners, and to deploy soldiers for defending the fort. As soon as he had set eyes on Bimala and Tilottama amongst the prisoners, he had issued instructions for them to be taken away to adorn his palace of pleasures. He had subsequently found himself deeply engaged in other matters of importance. Having heard that Rajput soldiers were preparing an assault in retaliation against Jagatingh’s imprisonment, he had diverted his attentions to plotting their defeat—and had not, therefore, had the leisure to enjoy the company of his new handmaidens.
Bimala and Tilotttama had been installed in separate chambers. There on the floor, reader, lay the dust-smeared form of the fatherless young woman. There is no gain to be had in bestowing a look upon her. What use can it be? Who is willing to lavish even a single glance on Tilottama any more? At the advent of spring, when fresh vines sway in a gentle breeze, is there anyone who will not be drawn by their fragrance to stay awhile beside them? And when it falls to the earth, uprooted—along with the tree in whose shelter it had grown—by a summer thunderstorm, is there anyone who spares a look for it concealed amidst the remains of the fallen tree? Woodmen chop up the tree for its timber, while the vines are only crushed underfoot
Let us abandon Tilottama and go elsewhere. Let us go where, instead of the lively, resourceful, witty, Bimala—lover of the joys of life—sits a grave, repentant, melancholy widow, her eyes covered with the end of her saree.
Is this indeed Bimala? Gone are her braids, her hair is matted. Her embroidered scarf has disappeared, as has her jewel-encrusted blouse. Her garments are soiled, tattered, and austere. Where are her splendid ornaments gone? Where are the earrings that once yearned to caress her shoulders? Why are her eyes swollen? Where have those glances gone? Why does her forehead sport a wound? Look, it is bleeding!
Bimala was waiting for Osman.
Osman was the pride of the Pathans. War was his profession, his personal calling, his creed; so he baulked at nothing in order to win. But once Osman had triumphed on the battlefield, he never permitted the vanquished to be tortured needlessly. Had Katlu Khan himself not pronounced his dreadful sentence, Osman would not have allowed Bimala and Tilottama to remain prisoners. It was because of his benevolence that Bimala had been allowed an audience with her husband at his hour of death. When Osman later learnt that Virendrasingh was Bimala’s husband, his compassion deepened further. Because he was Katlu Khan’s nephew, he was free to go anywhere he wished within the palace, as we have observed already. True, the wing of the palace in which Katlu Khan’s concubines lived was out of bounds even for his sons, as it was for Osman. But he was Katlu Khan’s right-hand man, whose prowess had enabled the nawab to conquer Utkal all the way up to the banks of the Amodar river. Thus the denizens of the palace were almost as subservient to Osman as they were to Katlu Khan himself. That was how Bimala’s prayer to meet her husband at his final hour come to be granted.
Two days after she had become a widow, Bimala handed over whatever jewelry she still had in her possession to the maid assigned to her. ‘What are your instructions for me?’ asked the maid.
‘Go to Osman once again, as you did the other day,’Bimala told her. ‘Tell him that I request an audience with him once more; inform him that this is the last time, I shall not seek another one.’
The maid performed her bidding. ‘To visit her quarters would put both of us in jeopardy,’Osman responded. ‘Request her to visit my chamber.’
‘How can I possibly do such a thing?’ asked Bimala.
‘He has said he will make arrangements,’ the maid replied.
When evening fell, a maid of Ayesha appeared. After talking with the sentries at the door, she took Bimala to Osman.
‘In what way may I be of service?’ enquired Osman.
‘A small matter,’ said Bimala. ‘Is Prince Jagatsingh alive?’
O: He is.
B: Is he free or imprisoned?
O: He is indeed a prisoner, but not in prison at present. He is confined to bed, afflicted by wounds. I have kept him here within the palace without Katlu Khan’s knowledge, for that is how he can be tended to with special attention.’
‘It is we accursed women who have brought ill-luck upon the prince. It is all the will of God. If the prince recovers, pray give him this letter after his recovery. Until then, keep it with yourself. This is my only plea.’
Returning the missive, Osman said, ‘It would not be right of me; no matter what condition the prince is in, he is considered a prisoner. It is against the law to give a letter to a prisoner without having read it first, and would mean flouting my lord’s orders.’
‘This letter contains nothing that can cause you or your people any harm; you shall not be flouting the law, therefore. And as for your lord’s orders, are you not your own lord?’
‘In some matters I may choose to defy my elders, but the present instance is not among them. Since you state that there is nothing against us in this letter, I am convinced it is so. But I cannot break the law in such a matter. I regret that I am unable to comply with your bidding.’
‘Then you may read it before you hand it over to the prince,’ said Bimala, disappointed.
Accepting the missive, Osman began to read it.
Chapter Six
Bimala’s Letter
‘O PRINCE! I had vowed to reveal my true identity to you one day. That day is here.
‘I had trusted that my Tilottama would be crowned the queen of the state of Amer before I made my identity known. All those hopes have been extinguished. I believe you shall shortly be informed that there is neither a Tilottama nor a Bimala in this world any more. Our days are drawing to a close.
‘That is why I write this letter to you now. I am a despicable sinner, I have transgressed repeatedly, people will condemn me after my death, and many execrable things shall be said about me. Who then will attempt to wipe the stain off my
reviled name? Do I have such a well-wisher in this world?
‘There is one, however. He will shortly leave civilization to retreat into meditation. Swami Abhiram will not, therefore, serve the purpose for this forsaken woman. I had imagined, even if for a day, prince, that one day I would be counted among your family. Today, then, do for me what you would do for someone in your family. But whom am I making this entreaty to? Such is the fortune of this ill-fated woman that it has, like a flame, seared even the ally who had stood by her side. Be that as it may, forget not my petition. When people say Bimala brought disgrace to her clan, that Bimala was a harlot in the guise of a maid, please tell them that Bimala was born into a low caste, that Bimala’s fate was wretched, that she was guilty of a hundred sins wrought by a poorly controlled tongue; but Bimala was not a harlot. He who has now ascended to heaven had, by Bimala’s good fortune, accepted her hand with all due rituals. Not for a day was Bimala unfaithful to her lord.
‘When none of this was known all this time, who will believe it now? Listen now to why I lived the life of a maid although I was a wife.
‘A man named Shashishekhar Bhattacharya once resided in a village near Fort Mandaran. The son of an affluent Brahmin, he was given an education just like everyone else in his clan. But education cannot eradicate blemishes in character. Although God had bestowed every quality on Shashishekhar, he had also given him one terrible flaw, the flaw that all young men suffer from.
‘In the family of one of the followers of Jaidharsingh in Fort Mandaran lived a woman whose husband was far away. She was exceptionally beautiful. Her husband, who was a soldier in the king’s army, had for long been away in a distant land. This beautiful woman became the object of Shashishekhar’s wanton desires—soon his seed had impregnated the woman.
‘Neither fire nor sin can be concealed very long. Shashishekhar’s misdeed soon came to his father’s notice. To mitigate the calumny that his son had heaped upon another’s family, Shashishekhar’s father had the woman’s husband brought back home at once, and admonished his errant son roundly. His reputation ruined, Shashishekhar left home.
‘Leaving his family residence, he travelled to Kashi, where he began to study with a renowned ascetic whose learning he had heard about. Being well endowed with intelligence, he became extremely proficient in philosophy and unmatched in astrology. His tutor was extremely pleased with his pupil.
‘Shashishekhar used to reside near the house of a Shudra woman, who had a daughter recently come of age. Out of respect for the Brahmin, the daughter performed all his domestic tasks, which included serving his meals. It is one’s duty to shed the burden of one’s parents’ misdeeds. It is unnecessary to say more, Shashishekhar’s seed led to the birth of this unfortunate creature from the Shudra girl’s womb.
‘As soon as he heard of this, the scholar said, ‘Sinners are not permitted to study with me, my son. Do not show yourself in Kashi ever again.’
‘Shamed, Shashishekhar left Kashi.
‘My grandmother evicted my mother from her home on grounds of promiscuity.
‘My luckless mother took up her abode with me in a hut, sustaining herself through physical labour. No one spared her a second glance. There was no news of my father, either. Some years later, in winter, a wealthy Pathan was passing through Kashi on his way to Delhi from Bengal, accompanied by his wife and newborn son. He had nowhere to spend the night, having arrived in the city late in the evening. Finding themselves by my mother’s dilapidated cottage, they sought to spend the night there, saying, “No one in the Hindu neighbourhood will let us in at this hour. Where can we go with this little boy? He will not survive the cold outdoors. There are only a few of us, and your cottage will accommodate us comfortably. I will reward you handsomely.” In truth the Pathan was in a hurry to get to Delhi for a particular reason, and the family was accompanied by only one manservant. My mother was poor, but also compassionate. Whether out of greed or out of kindness for the child, she allowed the Pathans to occupy the hut that night. Along with his wife and son, the Pathan slept in one part of the cottage, a lamp lit by their side, while we slept in the other part.
‘There was a fear of kidnappers in Kashi at the time. I was only a girl of six, I cannot recollect all of it and am now recounting what I heard from my mother.
‘The lamp was lit, a thief had stolen into the hut and was about to abduct the Pathan’s son, when I woke up suddenly. I saw what the intruder was doing, and seeing him drag the child away, cried out loudly, waking everyone.
‘The Pathan’s wife realized her son was not in his bed. She screamed. The kidnapper had concealed himself beneath the cot with the child. Dragging him out by his hair, the Pathan snatched his son back from the intruder’s grasp. Indulging his tearful appeals for mercy, the Pathan only sliced off his ears with his sword and released him.’
Having read the letter thus far, Osman asked Bimala, his mind distracted, ‘Did you not have a different name once?’
‘I did. My father changed it because it was a Yavana name.’
‘What was the name? Was it Mehroo?’
‘How did you know?’ asked Bimala in surprise.
‘I am that boy who was almost kidnapped,’ answered Osman.
Bimala was astonished. Osman continued reading.
‘As they were leaving the next morning, the Pathan said, “I do not have the means to repay your daughter for what she has done for us. But if you wish for some particular object, tell me. I am going to Delhi, I shall send you the object of your desire from there. If it is money you need, I shall send that too.”
‘“I do not desire wealth,” said my mother. “I support my daughter and myself comfortably with my labour, but if you do have some influence with the emperor…”
‘“I have a great deal of it,” the Pathan interjected. “I can do something for you at the royal court if you wish me to.”
‘“Then pray enquire after the whereabouts of the father of this girl and inform me,” said my mother.
‘The Pathan promised to do so and left. To my mother he offered gold coins, which she did not accept. As he had vowed to, the Pathan engaged individuals at the royal court to look for my father; but he could not be found.
‘Fourteen years later, however, they finally found my father and sent a letter to my mother. He was in Delhi, living under the name of Swami Abhirama, having forsaken his original identity of Shashishekhar Bhattacharya. But by the time the news arrived, my mother had passed away. If one who has been married without religious rites can be admitted to heaven, there is no doubt that my mother ascended nowhere else.
‘Once I had received news of my father, I found myself unable to remain in Kashi. With my father being the only living member of my family, why live in Kashi when he was in Delhi? With this thought, I travelled alone to meet him. At first my father was angry at my arrival, but when I pleaded tearfully with him, he eventually relented, permitting me to live with him and serve him. He changed my name from Mehroo to Bimala. In my father’s home I devoted myself to taking care of him, putting all my heart into satisfying him. I did it not to serve some purpose of my own or to win his affection—serving my father did in fact give me immense joy. I had no one but him. I used to consider the privilege of serving one’s father the greatest happiness of all. As for my father, whether it was because of my devotion to him or because of the natural instinct of the heart, he too began to lavish his affection on me. Love is like a river that flows to the sea—the further it progresses, the more it widens. When my period of happiness finally ended, I discovered how much my father had loved me.’
Chapter Seven
The End of Bimala’s Letter
‘I HAVE ALREADY mentioned that an impoverished woman in Fort Mandaran had also been impregnated by my father’s seed. Her destiny proved to be the same as her mother’s. The fruit of her womb, too, was a daughter, and when the young girl’s mother was widowed unexpectedly, like my mother, she too resorted to physical labour to earn a living and
support her daughter. The Lord has ruled that gold can emerge from dross. Even an unyielding mountain can bring forth tender, soft flowers; the brightest gems glow in the depths of the darkest mines. A wondrously beautiful daughter was born in that impoverished home. The widow’s daughter acquired a reputation as a woman of rare beauty in Fort Mandaran. Time obliterates everything, time obliterated the widow’s stigma, too. Many people forgot that her beautiful daughter had been born out of wedlock; some did not know it at all. Within the fort, almost no one was aware of it. Why go further? This beautiful woman was married and gave birth to Tilottama.
‘It was this marriage that brought about the most important event in my life, which took place while Tilottama was in her mother’s womb. One day my father arrived home accompanied by his son-in-law. He introduced the stranger to me as his disciple, but my departed lord revealed his real identity to me.
‘From the moment I set eyes on him, my heart belonged to him. But how can I possibly reveal all that? Virendrasingh realized I would never be his except through marriage. My father’s intuition told him everything. One day, I overheard their conversation on the subject.
‘“I cannot live without Bimala,” declared my father. “But if she were to become your wedded wife, I shall live with both of you. If, however, that is not your intention…”
‘Before he could finish, my departed husband said angrily, ‘“How can I marry the daughter of a Shudra woman, my lord?”
‘“How did you bring yourself to marry a woman born out of wedlock?” my father asked sarcastically.
‘“When I married her I did not know she was born out of wedlock,” said my dearest one in disappointment. “But how can I knowingly marry a Shudra woman? And your elder daughter may have been born out of wedlock, but she is not a Shudra.”
‘“You have refused to marry her. So be it. Your visits here will cause harm to Bimala. There is no need for you to come to me any more, I shall meet you at your residence.”
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