The Chieftain's Daughter

by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay

  Tilottama recovered consciousness gradually. At that moment Jagatsingh observed two women approaching with the guard through the open door, one of them behind a veil. Even from a distance, her proud form, stately walk, and graceful neck told the prince that Ayesha herself had arrived with her maid; and he immediately felt reassured.

  When Ayesha and her maid arrived at the door, the sentry asked the ring-bearing guard, ‘Must they be allowed to enter too?’

  ‘That is your decision, not mine,’ said the bearer of the ring.

  ‘Very well!’ said the sentry, and refused admission to the women.

  At his refusal, Ayesha parted her veil, saying, ‘Let me in, sentry. If it causes you any harm, you may blame me.’

  The sentry did not know Ayesha. The maid told him surreptitiously who she was. The astonished sentry greeted her, saying with his palms joined in supplication, ‘Pardon the poor man’s error, you may go wherever you wish to.’

  Ayesha entered the prison. She was not smiling though she appeared to be, it was only her natural expression. In her presence, the prison suddenly seemed transformed, a prison no longer.

  Greeting the prince, Ayesha said, ‘What is this, prince?’

  What could the prince answer? Instead, he only pointed to Tilottama, lying on the floor.

  ‘Who is she?’ asked Ayesha, examining her.

  ‘Virendrasingh’s daughter,’ answered the prince uncertainly.

  Ayesha sat on the floor, cradling Tilottama in her arms. Others may have hesitated, thought twice; Ayesha simply gathered her up in her lap.

  Whatever Ayesha did presented a delightful sight. She made every act look graceful. ‘How beautiful,’ both the prince and the maid thought, when she held Tilottama.

  Ayesha had asked the maid to bring rosewater; she proceeded to sprinkle it on Tilottama, and gave her a few sips of it. The maid fanned her; Tilottama had already begun to regain consciousness before Ayesha arrived, and now her care brought her to her senses completely.

  As soon as she looked around, she remembered the recent events; she was about to leave the chamber instantly, but the physical and mental toil of the night had exhausted her frail body. She could not leave; as soon as she recollected all that had happened her head started spinning again, forcing her to sit down. Taking her hand, Ayesha said, ‘Why so anxious, my sister? You are very weak now, come to my chamber with me and rest. I shall ensure afterwards that you reach your destination.’

  Tilottama did not reply.

  Ayesha had already learnt from the sentry all he knew; fearing that Tilottama would suspect her, she said, ‘Why do you doubt me? I may be the daughter of the enemy, but do not consider me a traitor. I will not reveal anything. Before the night is out, I will send you wherever you wish to go, the maid will accompany you. No one will divulge anything.’

  Ayesha said this so gently that Tilottama did not retain the slightest suspicion any more. She did not have the strength to walk very far at that moment, nor could she stay by Jagatsingh’s side, therefore she agreed. ‘You cannot walk by yourself, lean on the maid,’ said Ayesha.

  Placing her hand on the maid’s shoulder, Tilottama used this support to start walking slowly. Ayesha took her leave from the prince too; he looked at her, as though he wished to say something. Realizing this, Ayesha told her maid, ‘Take her to my chambers and then return here to fetch me.’

  The maid left with Tilottama.

  ‘Such is our meeting, yours and mine,’ said Jagatsingh to himself. Sighing solemnly, he remained silent, gazing at Tilottama through the open doorway as long as she could be seen.

  ‘Such is my meeting.’ That was Tilottama’s thought too. She did not look back as long as she was in Jagatsingh’s view. When she did turn, he could no longer be seen.

  ‘May I take my leave?’ the bearer of the ring asked Tilottama.

  She did not answer. ‘Yes,’ said the maid.

  ‘Then return the coded ring that you have with you,’ said the guard.

  Tilottama returned the ring to the guard. He left.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Open Declaration

  WHEN TILOTTAMA AND the maid left the chamber, Ayesha sat down on the cot. There was no other place to sit, Jagatsingh stood near her.

  Plucking a rose out of her hair, Ayesha began to pull its petals off. ‘It appears you wish to say something to me, prince,’ she said. ‘If I may be of service in any manner, pray do not hesitate to ask; I shall be delighted to perform your bidding.’

  ‘There is nothing in particular that I wish for at the present moment, my lady,’ answered the prince. ‘That is not the reason for my desire to seek your presence. What I want to say is that, considering my condition, I do not have any assurance of getting an audience with you again; possibly, this is our final meeting. The debt that I owe you can hardly be repaid with words. Nor do I have enough faith in destiny to believe I will get the opportunity to repay it with deeds. But my submission to you is, if ever it is possible, if it is a different day that dawns, do not hesitate to ask me for anything.’

  So distressed and bleak did Jagatsingh sound that Ayesha, too, felt his pain. ‘Why are you abandoning all hope?’ she asked. ‘Today’s misfortunes need not continue tomorrow.’

  ‘I have not abandoned all hope,’ answered Jagatsingh, ‘but I am not inclined to harbour any, either. I do not wish for anything in this life but its end. I do not desire to leave this prison. You do not know of all the sorrows in my heart, nor can I convey them to you.’

  The melancholy in his voice astonished Ayesha, made her even more despondent. Her regal demeanour was forgotten, the distance disappeared; like a tender, affectionate woman, she took the prince’s hand in her own soft hands, then discarded it immediately, and, looking up at his face, said, ‘Why is there such deep sadness in your heart, prince? Do not consider me a stranger. If I may, allow me to ask…has Virendrasingh’s daughter…’

  The prince interrupted her before she could finish. ‘Never mind all that. That dream is shattered.’

  Ayesha was silent, and so was Jagatsingh. Both of them remained that way for a long time; Ayesha lowered her eyes.

  Suddenly the prince was startled; a teardrop had fallen on his palm. Lowering his own eyes to look at Ayesha’s face, he saw that she was weeping; tears were rolling down her glistening cheeks.

  ‘What is this, Ayesha? You are weeping?’ said the prince in astonishment.

  Without answering, Ayesha shredded the rose in her hand. When the flower had been reduced to hundreds of tiny fragments, she said, ‘I had never thought that this is how we would part, prince. I can endure much hardship, but I cannot leave you alone in prison, suffering such agonies. Come out with me, Jagatsingh! There are horses in the stable, return to your camp this very night.’

  The prince could not have been more surprised had the supreme goddess herself arrived in person to grant him a boon. At first, he was unable to summon a response. ‘Jagatsingh! Prince! Come with me,’ Ayesha repeated.

  After a long interval Jagatsingh said, ‘Will you really release me from incarceration, Ayesha?’

  ‘This instant,’ said Ayesha.

  J: Without your father’s knowledge?

  A: Do not worry about that, I shall inform him…after you have gone.

  ‘Why will the sentry allow me out?’

  Tearing off her necklace, Ayesha said, ‘The sentry will be enticed by this reward.’

  ‘If this is revealed you will be chastised by your father,’the prince repeated.

  ‘What harm will that do?’

  ‘I shall not go, Ayesha.’

  Ayesha’s face fell. ‘Why?’ she asked in disappointment.

  J: I owe my life to you, I will never do something that can cause you pain.

  ‘You are determined not to go?’ Ayesha asked, her voice choking.

  ‘No, go by yourself,’ said the prince.

  Ayesha lapsed into silence again. Once more tears began to roll down her face; she controlled t
hem with great effort.

  The prince was bewildered by Ayesha’s silent weeping. ‘Why do you weep, Ayesha?’ he asked.

  Ayesha did not reply. ‘Honour my request, Ayesha,’ the prince continued. ‘If you can reveal the reason for your tears, pray do so to me. If laying down my life will stop these silent tears of yours, I shall do so. That I have accepted my incarceration cannot be the only reason for Ayesha to shed tears. There are many like me who suffer in your father’s dungeons.’

  Without responding to the prince, Ayesha swiftly wiped her tears on the scarf wound around her neck. Motionless for a few minutes, she said, ‘I shall not weep anymore, prince.’

  The prince was a trifle disappointed that his question had not yet been answered. Both of them remained as they were, their faces lowered.

  Neither of them noticed that a shadow had fallen on the wall of the chamber. The person came up to them, standing still for a few moments, but still they did not notice him. The stranger then spoke in a voice trembling with rage, ‘How admirable, princess!’

  Raising their heads, they saw it was Osman.

  Learning of the events of the night from his attendant, the bearer of the ring, Osman had been looking for Ayesha. Seeing him in his cell, the prince began to fear for Ayesha, lest she be admonished or humiliated by Osman or Katlu Khan. The possibility seemed strong, judging from the enraged tone in which Osman had mocked her. Ayesha understood what Osman was insinuating from his sarcastic tone. She blushed but betrayed no other sign of annoyance. ‘What is admirable, Osman?’ she asked calmly.

  ‘It is admirable for the Nawab’s daughter to be alone with the prisoner at night,’ said Osman, in the same tone as he had spoken earlier. ‘It is also admirable to gain unlawful entry into the prisoner’s cell at night.’

  This slur was unacceptable to Ayesha’s pure soul. She responded, her eyes on Osman. He had never heard her speak so imperiously.

  ‘It is my desire to visit the prisoner alone at night and converse with him. And whether it is an admirable or heinous act is not your concern.’

  Osman was astonished, but even more furious. ‘You shall hear directly from the Nawab tomorrow morning whether it is my concern or not.’

  ‘When my father questions me, I shall answer him,’ said Ayesha in the same tone. ‘You need not concern yourself.’

  ‘And what if I were to ask?’ said Osman, continuing in his mocking tone.

  Ayesha stood up. Once more she looked briefly, steadfastly at Osman; her large eyes seemed to become larger still. Her face, as beautiful as a flower, appeared to bloom a little more. She tilted her head with its crown of jet-black hair; her heart felt as though it were convulsing, like the mottled moss on ocean waves. She said slowly and clearly, ‘If you were to ask, Osman, I would answer thus, the prisoner is my beloved!’

  If lightning were to have struck inside the chamber at that instant, neither the Rajput nor the Pathan could have been more astonished. Someone seemed to have illuminated the darkness inside the prince’s mind with a lamp. He now understood the significance of Ayesha’s silent tears. Osman had already suspected this from certain signs, which was why he had confronted Ayesha in this manner, but he had never imagined that she would declare as much openly to him. He could not summon a reply.

  ‘Listen closely, Osman, let me repeat myself,’ Ayesha continued. ‘This prisoner is my beloved—no one else but he shall find a place in my heart all my life. If the execution ground were to be bathed in his blood tomorrow…’ Ayesha was trembling, ‘still you shall find me establishing his image in the shrine of my heart and worshipping it till eternity. Even if I do not meet him ever again in my life after tonight, even if he were to be freed tomorrow and surround himself with a hundred other women, even if he were to denigrate me, I will still remain desirous of his love. Hear this too, do you know what I was saying to him while we were alone all this time? I was telling him that I could win the guards over with words or with wealth and that I could procure him a horse from my father’s stables to escape to his father’s camp. The prisoner refused to escape. Otherwise you would have seen not a sign of him.’

  Ayesha wiped her tears again. After a short silence, she spoke in a different tone. ‘I have caused you pain with all I have said, Osman, forgive me. You hold me in high regard, as I do you; what I have done is not right. But tonight you thought Ayesha a traitor. Whatever other sin Ayesha may commit, she is no liar. Ayesha can declare openly what she has done. I have told you in person—if need be, I shall say it in my father’s presence tomorrow.’

  Turning to Jagatsingh, she said, ‘Forgive me too, prince. Had Osman not goaded me tonight, the agony of this broken heart would never have been revealed to you, no living creature would have learnt of it.’

  The prince stood in silence, his soul burning in anguish. Osman did not speak, either. ‘I shall say it again, Osman,’ Ayesha continued. ‘If I have erred, forgive me. I am your loving sister as I always was; do not let your former love for me ebb because I am your sister. Ill fate has led me into an ocean of agony, do not leave me to drown by denying me the love of a brother.’

  With these words, the beautiful Ayesha left the chamber without waiting for her maid to return. Bewildered and speechless, Osman left for his own quarters.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Your Maid at Your Service

  THAT NIGHT, THERE was a dance performance in Katlu Khan’s palace of pleasures. Only his concubines were present for the occasion. Nor was there any audience except Katlu Khan himself. He was not like the Mughal emperors who spent their birthdays entertaining themselves in the company of courtiers. He preferred private enjoyment, and was desirous of physical gratification. That night he was surrounded by the women who occupied his pleasure chambers, immersed in their singing and dancing and laughter. No one other than the eunuchs who guarded the harem was allowed in. Some of the women were dancing, some singing, some playing on musical instruments; the rest were listening, Katlu Khan in their midst.

  There was a profusion of substances designed to entice the senses. The instant you entered the chamber, a constant sprinkling of fragrant water provided a soothing sensation to your body. The eyes were blinded by the dazzle of silver, ivory, and crystal lampshades; flowers in unlimited quantities—here in the form of a garland, there as a bouquet, elsewhere as a mound, or woven into women’s hair, or adorning their throats—emitted a gentler glow. Some wielded fans made of flowers, others were dressed in floral garments, yet others showered flower petals on the gathering. There was the scent of flowers, of sweet-smelling water, of aromatic lamps, of the bodies of perfumed courtesans—their fragrance pervaded the palace. There was the luminescence of the lamps, the lustre of the flowers, the glitter of the ornaments worn by the women; most of all, there was the brilliance of the frequent, seductive glances bestowed by clusters of enchantresses. Sweet, melodious harmonies rose skywards from musical instruments, mingled with clearer, captivating, female voices in song; the rhythm and cadence of the danseuses’ feet, anklets tinkling, bewitched the gathering.

  Behold, reader! There is the swan dancing amidst a bloom of lotuses, in the gently rippling breeze; she is surrounded by beautiful, happy faces. Look, look at her, that lovely lady in blue, whose attire is studded with gold. There on the other side. Have you observed how splendid is the beauty’s forehead, the parting in her hair adorned with a diamond star? Calm, clean, capacious; had the Almighty indeed condemned the owner of a forehead such as this to a harem? Have you noticed how her floral garments complement that beauty with her complexion like beaten gold? Flowers were created for nothing but adorning the female form. Do you see that woman with her full, rosy lips, curled a little, behold how her complexion shines through her silken blue attire, like the beams of the full moon reflected in the blue ocean. Do you see how the pendants in her ear sway as the woman, her neck curving more beauteously than the swan’s, smiles and speaks? Who are you, you with the luxuriant coils? Why have you allowed your ringlets to hang over
your breasts? Are you demonstrating how the venomous adder winds itself around the lotus stem?

  And who are you, O alluring woman, who is seated by Katlu Khan’s side, pouring wine into his goblet of gold? Who are you for Katlu Khan to ignore everyone else and cast hungry looks at your full-bloomed body continuously? Who are you, whose unerring glances have penetrated Katlu Khan’s heart? We are familiar with that devastating glance—you are Bimala. Why do you pour so much wine? Pour, then, pour even more, you have your dagger concealed inside your garments, have you not? But of course you do. How then can you smile so much? Katlu Khan is gazing upon you! What was that? One of your glances! And again! There, you have aroused the Yavana already drunk on the taste of wine. Is this the ruse with which you have eliminated the others and become the object of Katlu Khan’s affections? And why not—for how bewitching is the smile, how provocative the posture, how suggestive the conversation, how inviting the glances! Again you pour! Beware, Katlu Khan. But what can Katlu Khan do. It is the glance that accompanies the goblet of wine! What is that sound? Who is singing? Is this a human voice, or an angel’s? Bimala has joined her voice to those of the singers. Oh, what mastery of melody, of voice, of rhythm. How now, Katlu Khan? Where is your attention diverted? What do you stare at? With those smiling glances accompanying each beat, she is plunging an instrument sharper than a dagger into your heart—and all you can do is watch? Those glances alone can kill, and now they have been joined by music. Have you observed, too, the subtle movements of the head along with those glances? Have you seen how the jewels sway from her ears? Yes. Give me wine, more wine, oh what is this now. Bimala has risen to dance. How beautiful! Oh, her poses! Give me wine! Her body! Her form! Katlu Khan! Your Majesty! Steady now! Steady! Oh! Katlu Khan is on fire. My cup! Ah! Give me my cup. My love! And what is this? More smiles, more glances? Wine! Give me my wine!

  Katlu Khan was intoxicated. ‘Where are you, dearest?’ he called out to Bimala.