The Chieftain's Daughter

by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay

  ‘Your humble maid is at your service,’ answered Bimala, placing an arm on his shoulder. Her other hand held her dagger—in an instant Katlu Khan pushed her away with a horrible scream and sank to the floor. Bimala had plunged her dagger into his chest, up to the hilt.

  ‘Witch—she-devil,’ screamed Katlu Khan.

  ‘I am neither a witch, nor a she-devil, I am Virendrasingh’s widow,’ said Bimala before fleeing from the chamber.

  Katlu Khan was fast losing his power of speech. Still, he screamed as loudly as he could. His wives screamed as loudly as they could. Bimala shrieked too as she ran; at a distance from the chamber, she heard conversation. She fled as quickly as possible. In an adjoining chamber, she discovered guards and eunuchs. ‘What has happened?’ they asked, hearing the screams and observing her frightened condition.

  ‘Calamity has struck!’ said the quick-witted Bimala. ‘Go quickly, Mughals have infiltrated the chamber, they have probably assassinated the Nawab by now.’

  The guards and eunuchs raced towards the chamber. Bimala, too, escaped as quickly as she could through the door of the inner chambers. Exhausted by the carousing, the sentry at the door was asleep, Bimala emerged without being challenged. It was the same everywhere, she kept running unimpeded. At the outer gate, however, the sentries were awake. ‘Halt, who goes there?’ asked one of them on seeing her.

  By then there was a tumult in the chambers within, everyone running in that direction. ‘What are you doing here?’ said Bimala. ‘Can you not hear the uproar?’

  ‘Why is there an uproar?’ asked the sentry.

  ‘Calamity has struck within; there has been an assault on the Nawab.’

  The sentries deserted the gate to run inside, Bimala went out unscathed.

  When she had travelled a short distance, she observed a man standing beneath a tree. At first sight she recognized him as Swami Abhiram. As she approached him, he said, ‘I was exceedingly anxious, what is all the uproar inside the fort?’

  ‘I have avenged the agony of being widowed,’ answered Bimala. ‘Instead of talking here, let us go to your residence. I will tell you all afterwards. I hope Tilottama is there already.’

  ‘Tilottama is walking on ahead with Aasmani, we shall meet them shortly,’ said Swami Abhiram.

  With these words, they proceeded apace, arriving presently at Swami Abhiram’s hut to discover that, by Ayesha’s grace, Tilottama had arrived with Aasmani a little while earlier. Tilottama threw herself at Swami Abhiram’s feet, weeping. ‘God has willed your escape from the clutches of an evil man,’ he told her, calming her down. ‘Let us not tarry in this kingdom a moment longer. If the Yavanas discover us they will assuage their mourning for their ruler by slaying us. Let us leave this place this very night.’

  Everyone accepted this advice.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Final Moments

  MOMENTS AFTER BIMALA’S escape, a palace official ran to Jagatsingh’s prison cell. ‘The Nawab is on his deathbed, prince, he wishes to see you,’ he announced.

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Jagatsingh.

  ‘The enemy penetrated the inner chambers of the palace and escaped after attempting to assassinate the Nawab. He is not dead yet, but the end is near, please come with me at once, or else it will be too late,’ elaborated the official.

  ‘Why does he seek to meet me at this hour?’ asked the prince.

  ‘I cannot tell, I am no more than a messenger,’ came the response.

  The prince accompanied the messenger to the inner chambers. He discovered that the light of Katlu Khan’s life was indeed about to be extinguished, darkness was not far away. He was surrounded by Osman, Ayesha, his young children, his wife, mistresses, maids, courtiers, and others. Loud sobbing could be heard, most of those present were in tears; the children were weeping uncomprehendingly. Ayesha sobbed in silence, tears streaming down her face, as she cradled her father’s head in her lap. To Jagatsingh, she was a picture of stillness, of gravity, of immobility.

  As soon as he entered, a courtier named Khwaja Issa led him by the hand to Katlu Khan. Raising his voice, as one does to speak to the deaf, he announced, ‘Prince Jagatsingh is here.’

  ‘I am your enemy, dying…withdraw…anger hatred…’ murmured Katlu Khan faintly.

  ‘I do so withdraw them,’ said Jagatsingh, understanding what Katlu Khan was seeking.

  ‘Beg you to…accept,’ Katlu Khan continued as faintly.

  ‘Accept what?’ asked Jagatsingh.

  ‘Children all…war…thirsty,’ still Katlu Khan continued.

  Ayesha poured a little fruit juice into his mouth.

  ‘No need…war…peace…’

  Katlu Khan fell silent. Jagatsingh did not offer a response. Katlu Khan looked at him expectantly. When he realized no reply was forthcoming, he spoke with great effort. ‘Unwilling?’

  ‘I agree to make a request for peace provided the Pathans accept the supremacy of the Emperor of Delhi,’ said the prince.

  ‘Utkal?’ gasped Katlu Khan.

  ‘If I am successful,’ answered the prince, discerning the import of Katlu Khan’s question, ‘your descendants shall not be displaced from Utkal.’

  The dying Katlu’s expression brightened momentarily.

  ‘You are…free…the Almighty…bless…’ murmured the dying man. As Jagatsingh was about to leave, Ayesha lowered her face to say something to her father. Katlu Khan looked at Khwaja Issa, and then again at the retreating prince. ‘He seems to have something more to tell you,’ Khwaja Issa told the prince.

  When the prince returned, Katlu Khan said, ‘Ear.’

  The prince came closer to the dying man, lowering his face to bring his ear close to Katlu’s lips. ‘Vir…’ said Katlu Khan, even more indistinctly than earlier.

  He continued after a pause, ‘Virendrasingh…thirsty.’

  Ayesha held the fruit juice to his lips once more.

  ‘Virendrasingh’s daughter.’

  The prince seemed to have been stung by a scorpion. He recoiled stiffly as though struck by lightning. ‘Fatherless…I am a sinner…oh so thirsty…’ Katlu Khan went on.

  Ayesha gave him repeated sips of fruit juice. But it was almost impossible now for him to speak. ‘Agony…chaste…you must…’ he gasped somehow.

  ‘I must…what?’ asked the prince. His voice sounded like a clap of thunder in Katlu Khan’s ears. ‘She is…pure…like my d…daughter. You must…oh!…so thirsty…I go now…Ayesha…’

  He could speak no more. The effort to speak as much as he had, proved to be his undoing; exhausted, his head slumped to one side. His daughter’s name on his lips, Nawab Katlu Khan died.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Duel

  AFTER RETURNING TO his father’s camp, Jagatsingh kept his promise, concluding a peace treaty between the Mughals and the Pathans. Despite acknowledging supremacy of the Emperor of Delhi, the Pathans retained control over Utkal. Detailed accounts of the treaty have been provided by history—elaboration is unnecessary. After the treaty was signed, both sides occupied their positions for some time. In order to seal their new-found cordiality for one another, Prime Minister Khwaja Issa and General Osman left for King Mansingh’s camp, accompanied by Katlu Khan’s sons; their gifts of one hundred and fifty elephants and other rare and valuable objects gave Mansingh pleasure; the king, too, gave them a warm welcome and bade them farewell with gifts of royal garments.

  Some time elapsed thus in completing the peace treaty and preparing to break camps.

  Eventually, when it was time for the Rajput soldiers to depart for Patna, Jagatsingh went to the Pathans’ fort one afternoon, accompanied by his entourage, to bid goodbye to Osman and the others. Since their meeting in his prison cell, Osman had not displayed any amicability towards the prince. That day, too, he took his leave after a cursory exchange of pleasantries.

  Bidding Osman farewell with disappointment in his heart, Jagatsingh proceeded to say goodbye to Khwaja Issa. After that, he decided t
o bid farewell to Ayesha, and sent word through a guard, telling him, ‘Tell her, we have not met since the Nawab’s passing away. I am leaving for Patna now, another meeting is extremely unlikely—therefore I wish to greet her before I go.’

  Returning presently, the guard said, ‘The Nawab’s daughter has said she will not meet the prince, she begs his forgiveness.’

  His disappointment mounting further, the prince left for his camp. At the entrance to the fort, he discovered Osman waiting for him.

  The prince was about to leave after offering his greetings once more to Osman, but he followed Jagatsingh. ‘Command me, general, and allow me to be gratified by obeying you,’ the prince said.

  ‘I have something I wish to discuss with you, but not in the presence of your entourage. Send them on their way, and accompany me alone,’ said Osman.

  Without hesitation, the prince ordered his retinue to proceed, and accompanied Osman alone on horseback. They travelled some distance and entered a dense wood. In its middle was situated the ruins of a palace—there were signs that an insurgent may have concealed himself here in the past. Tying their horses to a tree, Osman led the prince inside the ruined palace. It was desolate. There was a wide courtyard within; to one side was a grave of the kind used by Yavanas, though it held no corpse. On the other side was a funeral pyre, without a body on it.

  ‘What is all this?’ asked the prince on entering the courtyard.

  ‘All this has been prepared at my behest,’ answered Osman. ‘If I die today, you, sir, shall inter me in this grave, no one will know; if you are the one who passes away, I will have your last rites performed on this pyre by a Brahmin, without a third person’s knowledge.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked the prince in surprise.

  ‘We are Pathans,’ responded Osman. ‘When we are aroused by passion, we do not stop to consider right or wrong; there cannot be two suitors for Ayesha in this world, one of us must die here in this place.’

  The prince finally understood. ‘What is your intention?’ he asked distressed.

  ‘You are armed, I challenge you to a duel,’ said Osman. ‘If you can, slay me and clear your path, else die at my hands and leave the way clear for me.’

  Without giving Jagatsingh the chance to respond, Osman launched himself upon him with his sword. In self-defence, the prince drew his own blade from his scabbard and parried Osman’s thrusts. Osman made repeated attempts, with all his might, to slay the prince; but Jagatsingh only defended himself, without launching a counter-attack. Since both of them were well versed in swordplay, the duel continued for a long time, with neither able to defeat the other. The prince was lacerated with wounds by the Yavana’s sword; his body was bathed in blood. But since he had not delivered a single blow on Osman, the latter was unharmed. With the loss of blood making him weak, and realizing that this battle could only lead to his death, Jagatsingh said in distress, ‘Stop, Osman, I accept defeat.’

  ‘I did not know that Rajput generals are afraid to die,’ said Osman with a laugh. ‘Fight on. I shall slay you, but I shall not forgive you. I will never get Ayesha while you live.’

  ‘I do not desire Ayesha,’ said the prince.

  ‘You do not desire Ayesha, but Ayesha desires you,’ said Osman, his sword whirling. ‘Fight on, you shall not be pardoned.’

  Flinging his sword away, the prince said, ‘I shall not fight. You came to my aid in my hour of need, I shall not fight you.’

  Kicking the prince in anger, Osman said, ‘This is how I make soldiers fight when they are afraid to.’

  The prince could hold his patience no longer. Reclaiming in a swift move the sword that he had deposited on the ground, he leapt on the Yavana like a lion who has been bitten by a jackal. The Yavana was unable to resist this fearsome assault. The force of the prince’s enormous frame flung Osman to the ground. Planting a foot on his chest, the prince flourished his sword, then placed its tip against Osman’s throat. ‘Had enough of battle?’he asked.

  ‘Not while I live,’ said Osman.

  ‘I could claim your life this instant,’ said the prince.

  ‘Do—otherwise, an enemy who desires to kill you will remain alive.’

  ‘Let him, a Rajput does not fear such enemies; I would have taken your life, but because you saved mine, I shall save yours.’

  Pinning Osman’s arms to the ground with his feet, he disarmed the Pathan of all his weapons. Freeing him, he said, ‘Now go home safely. You kicked a Rajput, hence I was compelled to do this to you, or else Rajputs are not so ungrateful as to lay their hands on their benefactors.’

  When he was freed, Osman set off for the fort on horseback without a single word.

  Drawing water from the well in the courtyard, the prince used his garments to wipe himself clean. Then he untied his horse from the tree and mounted it. Whereupon he discovered a letter tied to the reins with vines. Extracting the letter, he saw it was sealed with human hair, with the visible part bearing these words: ‘Do not open this letter before two days. If you do, its purpose will be defeated.’

  After some thought, the prince decided to comply with the writer’s instructions. Tucking the letter into his armour, he spurred his horse and rode towards his camp.

  The next day he received another letter delivered by a messenger. It had been sent by Ayesha. Its contents will be revealed in the following chapter.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A Letter from Ayesha

  AYESHA HAD SAT down with a quill to compose a letter. Her expression was grave, composed; she was writing to Jagatsingh. She drew a sheet of paper to herself to begin. ‘My heart,’ she began, but scratched it out at once to write ‘Prince’ instead; replacing ‘My heart’ with ‘Prince’ forced a teardrop on to the paper. Tearing up the sheet, Ayesha began again. But no sooner had she written one or two lines than it was stained again by her tears. She tore up this letter too. Finally she succeeded in composing a letter untouched by her tears, but as she began to read it, tears welled up in her eyes again, clouding her vision. Somehow she succeeded in sealing the letter and handing it over to a messenger. The messenger left for the prince’s camp with the letter. Ayesha lay down on her bed, sobbing.

  Receiving the letter, Jagatsingh proceeded to read it.

  ‘Prince,

  ‘That I did not seek an audience with you was not because I lack faith in my own self-restraint. Do not mistake Ayesha for an impatient woman. There is a fire burning in Osman’s heart, so I did not meet you, lest—who knows?—he be tormented by such a meeting. Nor did I have any hope that you would suffer were I not to meet you. As for my own distress—I have left it to the Almighty to decide on all my joys and sorrows. Had I been able to bid you farewell in person, I would have borne all the agony with ease. But now I must endure, stone-hearted, the anguish of not meeting you before you departed.

  ‘Why, then, do I write this letter? It is only because of an appeal I have to make of you. If you have been told that I love you, force yourself to forget it. I was determined not to reveal it as long as I live, but it was God’s will that it should be expressed; forget it now, I beseech you.

  ‘I do not seek your affections. I have offered what I had to, I expect nothing in return. My love is so deeply entrenched that I shall be happy even if you do not offer your heart to me; but what use is it to speak of all that!

  ‘You were unhappy when I saw you. If you ever find happiness, remember Ayesha and let her know. If you do not wish to, however, do not trouble yourself. But if you are ever tormented in your soul, will you remember her?

  ‘That I am writing this letter to you, or if I write in the future, will displease many. I have done no wrong—do not, therefore, be troubled by their censure. Write whenever you wish to.

  ‘You are going; you are leaving this land for now. These Pathans are not peaceful by nature. There is, therefore, considerable possibility of your return. But you shall not see me again. I have made this decision after a great deal of thought. A woman’s heart is
so hard to subdue that it is not wise to be too brave.

  ‘I do envisage, however, meeting you one more time. If your wedding takes place in this region, inform me; I shall be present to preside over your marriage. I have gathered a few ornaments for your queen, if I get the opportunity, I shall adorn her in them with my own hands.

  ‘I have one more appeal to make. When you receive news of Ayesha’s death, visit this land, honour my request and accept what I have kept for you in the safe.

  ‘What else can I say? There is so much I wish to, but it is unnecessary. May the Almighty ensure your happiness. Feel no regret when you think of Ayesha.’

  When he had finished reading, Jagatsingh paced up and down in his tent for a long time, holding the letter. Then he suddenly composed a reply with quick strokes of his quill, and haned it to the messenger:

  ‘You are a jewel among women, Ayesha. The Lord seems to desire nothing but pain for people’s hearts. I am unable to reply to your letter, which has made me exceedingly unhappy. I cannot at this hour send the reply that I wish to. Forget me not. If I am still alive, I shall reply a year from now.’

  The messenger bore the reply back to Ayesha.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Dying Lamp

  SINCE TILOTTAMA HAD bade Ayesha farewell and left with Aasmani, no one had heard anything about her. Nothing, too, was known of the whereabouts of Bimala, Aasmani or Swami Abhirama. After the peace treaty had been signed, the Mughals and the Pathans apprised themselves of the unheard-of misfortunes that had befallen Virendrasingh and his followers.Both sides agreed to find Virendrasingh’s wife and daughter and reinstate them in Fort Mandaran. Accordingly, Osman, Khwaja Issa, Mansingh, and others instituted a thorough search for them; but none of them succeeded in obtaining any other information beyond Tilottama’s departure. Eventually, a disheartened Mansingh installed a faithful retainer in Fort Mandaran with the instruction: ‘Stay here and continue the search for the dead chieftain’s wife and daughter; if you find them, reinstate them here in the fort and come to me, I shall reward you and give you another fief of your own.’