Tara: A Mahratta Tale

by Meadows Taylor

  CHAPTER XLVIII.

  Never had the Brahmun's art been so effectively exercised by himbefore. In the recitation of passages from the Ramayun his voice, highand sonorous, pervading every portion of the court, delivered theappeals to war, the description of the demigod's forces, and portionsof the battles, with a power which was listened to with breathlessinterest; while the pleadings of Seeta, the beloved wife, and herpassionate confessions of love, were accompanied by tender actions,and tones as low and sweet as a woman's. Now rolled forth the majesticSanscrit verse in its measured numbers, and again it was changed to thesweet Mahratta vernacular, that all could understand. At every intervalthe applause of the whole assembly arose in hoarse murmurs and loudclapping of hands, while many wept passionately.

  No one would have moved till morning, but there was yet much to do;and, as Moro Trimmul sat down, Vyas Shastree ordered the distributionof wreaths of flowers to the chief guests, which announced the close ofrecitation for the night. Now, therefore, the main body of the peoplegot up and began to separate, and in a short time only those were leftwho had been specially requested to stay. Now, too, the cressets, nolonger fed with oil, went out one by one; and the deep gloom of nightwas fast spreading over the courts and buildings around.

  "Will you not remain, Shastree," said Moro Trimmul, "to speak withthese people?"

  "No," he said; "no; there is no one to go home with the women. Ithought you would accompany them."

  "It will be late," he replied, gloomily; "no, I cannot come to-night."

  "Your declamation was noble, Moro Trimmul," said the Shastree; "I hadnever heard the passages so spoken. Who taught you this style?"

  "That is the way our master likes them said. No one taught me," hereplied; "and if you could hear the whole in one of his assemblies inthe deep forest, you would feel that you were a Mahratta."

  "So I am--so I am," returned the Shastree quickly; "do you doubt it?"

  "Not your faith, Vyas Shastree," replied Moro Trimmul, "only yourenergy. But go; I will come early to-morrow;" and, turning away, heentered the vestibule and joined Maloosray and others who awaited him.Guards of men, he saw, had been placed at each of the porches, so thatno one could enter but those privileged.

  A solitary lamp flickered on the altar where the image still rested,and cast a feeble and uncertain light into that portion of thevestibule which was immediately before it, and where Maloosray, MoroTrimmul, and the rest now seated themselves. Otherwise the spaciousarea was altogether in deep gloom, a portion only of its massive stonepillars catching rays of light, and seeming like giants standing aroundin solemn array.

  We need hardly, perhaps, follow Maloosray in his narrative, which waslistened to with breathless interest by his hearers. He had never asyet come among them, but his name and feats were well known throughmany a rough ballad both of love and war. There he sat, face to facewith them; his large soft eyes flashing with excitement, and addingforce to the few but burning words he spoke. Tannajee was no novice inthe art of reading men's hearts; and among the mountains and valleyswhere he lived, there were already thousands of the best youth of thecountry at his command.

  "Now," he said finally, "ye have heard all. We are before the HolyMother, who comes to our Prince in his dreams, and tells him what todo; she who will scatter these impure cow-slaying Moslems like sheepbefore the wolf. O Holy Mother!" he continued, rising and bowing withjoined hands in adoration to the image, "here are thy children; blessthem, make them bold and true; they will swear not to hang back when'the fire is on the hills,' and when they can strike for thy honour.Hear thou the oath, and accept it."

  As he paused and looked round there was at first a low murmur ofacquiescence. Then they who had been sitting started to their feet, andas many as could reach it rushed to the threshold of the sanctum andtouched it reverently:--those who could not, stretched out their armstowards it over each other's heads, while wild cries of "Jey Kalee!""Jey Toolja Mata!" "Bome, Bome!" (We swear, we swear!) rang through thevestibule, and were taken up by those without.

  "Now, let us write the names," cried Maloosray, when the excitement hadin some degree subsided; "sit down again, friends, and if there be ascribe among ye let him come forward."

  The Putwari, or hereditary clerk of the temple, was there, with hiswriting materials tied up in a bundle, and he sat down and took themout.

  "Light one of the large lamps," said Moro Trimmul to an inferiorpriest, "and set it in the midst; we are not afraid of our faces beforethe Mother."

  As the wicks were lighted, one by one, the assembly seemed to dilate.Light after light flickered, but grew stronger. "A true omen," criedMaloosray, with fervour; "that is as we shall be, my friends. Lightafter light will appear to ye from afar; each may waver for a while,but when 'the fire is on the hills' ye will see all plainly. Be silentnow, and let us write."

  It was, indeed, a strange and impressive scene. In the midst satMaloosray and Moro Trimmul, with the scribe; around, the heads of localfamilies, Nimbalkurs, Bhoslays, Sindias, Ghoreparays, and a host ofothers, each anxious to be named in the record, and leaning forwardto catch the eye of the scribe. Beyond them--some kneeling, othersstanding--was a crowd of eager faces, all bearing the same expressionof excitement--one behind another on every side--while the light fellupon their bronzed features and glistening eyes, till those in thebackground were scarcely distinguishable.

  One by one--chiefs, gentry, yeomen--gave in their names and complementsof men, and page after page was filled by the record till no moreremained.

  "It is done, friends," said Maloosray, rising, as the Putwari had addedup the totals, and signed his name as the scribe; "there are more thanfifteen thousand men recorded. Enough for the time, and more hereafter.By-and-by, when 'the fire is on the hills,' ye will be welcome; tillthen, separate and be quiet, else Afzool Khan will come upon you, andwe can give you no help. We will abide the storm and let it pass overus, and so must you all."

  As he spoke the last words, those who had been sitting rose, and allin turn saluting Maloosray, the meeting broke up. The retainers ofthe respective leaders gathered round their masters, and the severalparties followed each other out of the temple precincts.

  "I shall depart before daylight, Moro Trimmul," said Maloosray, as theyproceeded to the postern which led to the bottom of the ravine, belowwhich their ponies and attendants awaited their coming; "wilt thoufollow?"

  "I have more to do here, Tannajee," he replied; "but after the NowRatree I will come. I must watch Afzool Khan and Pahar Singh."

  "Take care they do not watch thee," returned Maloosray. "Yet I fear notfor thy enemies; of them thou art careful. I fear for thee, because ofthat girl who played the cymbals. She is the devil that I see sittingat thy heart, and looking out of thine eyes. I watched thee as theyfollowed her. It were well for thee to come now, even now; come!"

  "Impossible," returned the Brahmun, turning away. "Go!"

  "As thou wilt, friend," returned Maloosray. "Words were always uselesswith thee; but be wary."

  Moro Trimmul watched the party as they descended the steps to thetamarind trees below. He saw them mount and ride off, the torcheswith them throwing a ruddy glare upon the crags and brushwood abovethe path,--and his heart bade him follow; but as one of the templewatchers was about to close and bar the door, he turned aside. All inthe building was dark and deserted now. The image had been taken fromthe altar, and put into its silken bed for the night, and a faint lampoccupied its place. A few attendants flitted hastily here and thereacross the dark courts and still darker vestibule, anxious to get away,and the watchers only were all that would soon remain.

  "Maharaj!--Moro!" said a female voice in a low whisper, as he passedbetween the pillars of the temple, "stop!"

  Moro Trimmul knew the voice. "Why art thou so late here, Gunga?" hesaid hastily. "Begone!"

  "I feared you were angry with me," said the girl, putting her hand onhis arm. "You would not look at me as I danced, only at her. I couldnot go till I had spoken with you
. Ah, you are not angry with me? Lo!I will do your bidding, though my heart break and I die. Sit here,beloved, and speak to me; come," and she tried to draw him to hergently.

  "Thou art one of the devils that are pulling me into hell!" cried theBrahmun fiercely; and, pushing her violently from him, he rushed wildlyacross the court.

  Gunga fell back heavily against the pillar nearest to her, and asshe recovered herself, the pain of the fall obliged her to sit down,involuntarily leaning against it. She drew her hand with a gesture ofweariness across her face and brow, then looked to see if there wereblood upon it. "Hath it come to this?" she said bitterly; "hath it cometo this--and for her? Ah, me for her!"

  The girl had listened unobserved, in a dark niche near the shrine,to what had transpired at the meeting, and her first thought now wasrevenge, sure and deadly. A word from her, and the Mahomedan officerin charge of the town would seize Moro Trimmul, and imprison himin Nuldroog. As the thought occurred to her she rose, and, hastilytraversing the court, began to mount the steps which led up theravine; but her heart failed, and ere she had ascended a few of themshe wavered, sat down, and wept bitterly.

  "They would kill him," she said, "and he must not die. No; I was wrong,and he will forgive me; and to-morrow I will go to him as he desired."Hers was a callous heart: but it had softened to her lover, and refusedto do him harm.

  Time or country, what matter? How often is the history of woman'slove and man's passion like this! how often does such erring loveframe excuse for bitter wrong, endured from him who,--of all theworld,--should least inflict it!