Tara: A Mahratta Tale

by Meadows Taylor

  CHAPTER LXXXIII.

  Meanwhile, the Shastree, Anunda, and Radha, were pressing on as fastas the nature of their travelling would allow. The Shastree had apalankeen, for he was still weak, and the women rode; but as he gainedstrength, he was able to ride in turn.

  At first their stages were necessarily short, with frequent halts; butas they proceeded, they had increased the daily distance; and the newsof the action at Pertabgurh, which had spread over the country withincredible rapidity, made them more and more anxious to reach Wye,and ascertain Tara's fate. All attempts to trace her on the road werefruitless. The army had passed, but in the confusion attendant upon itsprogress, individuals could not be traced or distinguished.

  At the last stage before Wye they found the village where they restedin much excitement. It was understood that a Sutee would take place inthe town the next day; and though it was not known who the person was,the certainty that such a ceremony would occur was beyond question; andit was evident that people from all the country round would attend it.

  Anunda had not been at Wye since her youth. Her parents, who hadresided there, were long since dead, and she knew, vaguely only, ofsome distant relatives. The Shastree, however, in his professionalexpeditions, had frequently visited the town which, from the number ofBrahmun families residing there, was then, as it still is, the seat ofmuch learning, and, from its many temples on the bank of the Krishnariver, esteemed sacred.

  The chief priest of one of those temples, Vishnu Pundit, was an oldfriend and antagonist in scientific and literary discussions, and VyasShastree knew he was sure of a hearty welcome, even if his coming werenot formally announced. But considering that his wives might be aninconvenience, he had sent a note on by a messenger, who had engaged todeliver it by daylight at furthest; and as they set out for their lastmarch, it was in hopeful, perhaps joyful anticipation of news of Tara,by which their long suspense would be ended.

  Mingling with the parties, therefore, which thronged the roads to thetown, and hearing many speculations as to the nature of the Sutee, butnothing definite, the travellers passed on as rapidly as possible; anda fairer scene than the bed of the sacred stream, with its hundredsof bathers in the sparkling waters, the temples on its banks, and thebroad flights of steps leading to the river, could hardly be imagined;but there was one object in particular upon which all their interestcentred. In the middle of a broad bed of sand near the stream, some menwere already piling logs of wood into a square mass, and pouring oil onthem; fixing tall poles at the sides, and hanging garlands of flowersand wreaths of leaves to them. The pile was large, and would soon becompleted for the sacrifice.

  Vyas Shastree rode to the spot, and inquired of the men--they wereBrahmun priests--for whom the preparations were being made. They didnot know, they said,--it was a state matter. When the Sutee came thereto die, she would be seen. Meanwhile she was at Vishnu Pundit's house,and he might go and see her, and worship her, as others were doing.

  At Vishnu Pundit's house! The place to which he was going! Certainly,then, he should see the woman, whoever she might be, that was to beburned. "Had her husband died, then, last night?" he asked. If he had,the Pundit's house must be impure, and he must look elsewhere forlodgings.

  "No; the Sutee was in pursuance of a vow," they said,--"not an ordinaryone, and an effigy would be burned with her."

  The Shastree was puzzled, and rode on, musing much at the strangenessof the act, and unable to account for it satisfactorily. Suchsacrifices, from such motives, were no doubt meritorious, but they wereuncommon.

  He was not far distant now from their destination, and, joining Anunda,who, riding a stout ambling pony, was forcing her way through thecrowd, followed by the litter in which sat Radha, he bade her comeon leisurely, and himself urged his horse forward as quickly as thecrowded streets would allow, to his friend's house. Vishnu Pundithimself was standing at the door of the outer court opening into thestreet, across which some men were tying garlands of green leaves andflowers. Seeing the Shastree advancing, he came to him, and, assistinghim to dismount, embraced him warmly.

  "I received your note," he said; "but I have had no time to reply toit. I have no room for you, old friend, owing to the Sutee whom theMaharaja has sent to me--that is, not till to-morrow; but meanwhilemy neighbour the Josee gives you one of the courts of his house. Takethe ladies there," he added to an attendant, "as they arrive. But doyou, Vyas Shastree, come with me. I must speak with you alone. Ah, wehad mourned you dead--yet how wonderful it is that you are here, andto-day, too! Come, I have much to say to you that is strange--moststrange."

  The Shastree followed him curiously into an inner court--one like thatin his own house at Tooljapoor, where he taught his pupils. Numbers ofpeople were pressing through the outer court, bearing offerings forworship; but in the place they went to, they were alone, and the Punditclosed the door.

  "Vyas Shastree," he said, looking at him intently as they sat down, andspeaking with irrepressible concern and grief in his voice, "O friend!O dear old friend! I have dark news for thee to-day. Alas! and woe tome that I have to tell it! Hast thou a daughter named Tara?"

  "I have come to seek her--followed her thus far--what of her?" repliedthe Shastree, sickening with apprehension--"what of her?"

  "She was a priestess of Toolja Mata at Tooljapoor, was she not?" askedthe Pundit.

  "She was so, friend, and the Mussulmans carried her off. But theyspared her honour! O, say they spared her honour!" he exclaimedpiteously, and stretching forth his hands.

  "She was an honoured guest with them, friend, and would that----O, howshall I say the rest?" he thought,--"how explain this misery? Alas,what evil fate hath sent him to-day!"

  "Thou art keeping something from me," said the Shastree, striving tobe calm. "If--if Tara--my daughter----What is it, O friend? we havesuffered much suspense, much anxiety:--for her sake have taken thisweary journey; and we hoped to have found her here among friends,perhaps with thee. What hast thou to say of her? Did they not give herup, as we heard they would? Have--they----"

  "Yes, she is here," returned the Pundit hesitatingly, and turning awayhis head in a vain attempt to repress his tears. "She--she--is a widow,is she not?" he asked.

  Then the truth flashed upon the wretched father with fearful rapidity.That crowd of people; that hideous pile of logs: the preparations andrejoicing were for her death--for Tara's, and after all he was too lateto save her! O, if he had only hurried on,--if he had only left homesooner! But thought now had no definite form. It was a confused andconflicting chaos, utterly uncontrollable. "Where have ye put her?"he asked, in a low husky voice, as, with a sickening pressure at hisheart, his features assumed the haggard expression of weary age.

  "Friend," said the Pundit, passing his arm around him and trying toraise him up, "come and see. Such poor honour as we can do to her onearth while she is with us, we have already done and will continue.Come and see. Arise! If thou art a true Brahmun, hear this, like a godon earth as thou art, and believe it for her eternal glory. How few arechosen for this sacrifice! true jewels only are they--pure gold, to bepurified in the fire!"

  "In the fire," he echoed dreamily--rising, and supporting himselfagainst a pillar in the room with a hopeless gesture of despair--"inthe fire!--I tell thee, Vishnu Pundit," he added presently, "it cannotbe: who has wrought this cruelty upon her? Who has done it? Of her ownact and will it could not have been; but if the council have daredto--to----"

  "She thought you dead--you, her mother, and your new wife," replied thePundit, interrupting him. "She was suffering hopeless persecution andinsult, and in the temple at Pertabgurh she stood before the Mother'simage, and declared herself sutee before the Brahmuns. Could we recallthe words? I was present. Had it been my own daughter I had beenthankful. O Shastree! it was her glory!"

  Vyas Shastree could not reply. "Let me see her and hear it from her ownlips," was all he could utter at all intelligibly.

  "Certainly, if thou wilt," replied the Pundit; "she is ready to go
evennow, but the hour is not come. And yet, Vyas Shastree, beware; would itnot be better she believed you all dead, and so died happily lookingfor you, than, seeing you alive, be shaken in her determination?Will not the love of life come out of this, and rise defiant to allconvictions? Alas! alas! my friend, it is not for me to come betweenyour love and her mother's and that poor child; but beware! she cannotretract now and live, otherwise than in dishonour and infamy; andhereafter you will cry in agony to the goddess Mother, she had betterhave died--and will be guilty of sin in having shaken her faith if shelive. Did you refuse when she was called before?----"

  The Shastree groaned, and his breath came as it were in broken gasps.He was trembling violently. "I--I--must see her," he said. "Let herdecide;" and, unable to stand, he again sat down.

  "Drink some water, Vyas Shastree; it will refresh you," said thePundit, bringing a vessel full from the end of the apartment.

  "No, no, friend," he replied, putting it away, "I will not eat or drinktill this is past, if it is to be. Let us go. I am no less a Brahmunthan thyself. If the Mother whom she serves has spoken to her, it iswell--she will go to her. My child! O my child!" cried the miserableman in his agony. "O Mother, what hath she done for this to come toher--she, so pure, to need the sacrifice of fire! O Toolja Mata, was itneeded? Come, Shastree, I am ready now," he continued, after a pause."Do not delay."

  The Pundit said nothing. He again passed his arm round his friend tosupport him, and, leading him to a door in the further end of the room,opened it. A small court intervened between the place where they stoodand a larger one beyond, the door of which was open, and showed a crowdof people, mostly women, struggling to approach some object beyond. Allhad garlands of flowers in their hands, and vessels wherewith to pourlibations. Suddenly there was a shrill piercing scream; and the crowdswayed to and fro, retreating backwards before some priests who wereputting the people out.

  "What can have happened?" cried the Pundit, hastening on. "Comequickly."

  Vyas Shastree felt instinctively that Anunda had seen Tara, and herapidly followed his friend. As he entered the next court, he saw at aglance all he yearned for--all that he most dreaded to see.

  A bower, as it were, of trelliswork, had been fitted up in the largeapartment of the Pundit's house which was raised slightly from theground, and it was covered with heavy garlands of green leaves andflowers, as though for a bridal. In the narrow doorway of this bowerstood a slight female figure, richly dressed in a bright crimson silkdress, striving to put away the arm of a Brahmun priest,--who waspreventing her from stepping forth,--and struggling with him. The facewas full of horror and misery, and the eyes flashing with excitementand despair. Before her, without, lay an elderly woman senseless on theground, supported by a girl and several other women who were weepingbitterly. Tara, Anunda, Radha!--how had they met? Alone, he could havemet Tara firmly, but with them? Not now, however, did the Shastree'sheart fail: no matter what followed, honour or dishonour, he would notleave his child. Darting forward past the Pundit, pushing aside somewomen, who, screaming senselessly, would not be put out,--Vyas Shastreeleaped upon the basement of the room, and, dragging away the Brahmunpriest, stood by his child. "Tara, O my life! O my child!" he criedpassionately, "come forth, come to us!"

  It was the effort of an instant only, for the attendant priests hadseized him and drawn him back forcibly, while they held him up. "Thoucanst not touch her now without defilement," one said, who knew him."She is sutee, O Vyas Shastree, and pure from thy touch, even; she isbathed and dressed for the sacrifice."

  "Tara, Tara!" gasped the unhappy man, not heeding the words. "Tara,come forth--come; I, thy father, call thee! O my child, do not delay;come, we will go away--far away, to the Mother----"

  To the Mother! Perhaps if he had not said this, Tara would havebeen unable to repress those last fearful yearnings to life whichnow tore her heart; but the echo fell on her own spirit heavily andirrepressively. To the Mother! Yes, in her great misery, all she couldsee in her mental agony--what she saw in the temple at Pertabgurh,--allthat she had dwelt upon since,--were the glowing ruby eyes of theMother far away at Tooljapoor, glittering, as she thought, in gladanticipation of her coming. The same Brahmun priest who was preventingher egress when her mother appeared, had again crossed his armsbefore the door. As she saw her father advance, Tara staggered backaffrighted; it was as though he had risen from the dead; and at hisdespairing cry the girl could not have restrained herself, had not theecho of his last words fallen on a heart which, though wellnigh dead tolife, had rallied for a while to its purest affections;--but only for awhile.

  "Thou canst not move hence," said the Brahmun priest. "Cry 'Jey Toolja!Jey Kalee!' O Tara! thou wilt not now deny the Mother!--all else isdead to thee."

  No, she could not deny her now--she would not. With that strange lightin her eyes--that seemingly supernatural force in her actions, whichthe people thought the emanation of divinity, Tara's spirit was ralliedby the priest's words. "Jey Toolja Mata!" she cried, stretching herarms into the air; "I am true, O Mother! I am true; and even theseshall not keep me from thee now!"

  Strange enthusiasm! stranger fortitude, which, having no terror of ahorrible death, has carried on its votaries even to the flames with aconstancy and devotion worthy of a nobler fate! In other cases earthlylove--the desire to free a beloved object from the pains of sufferingfor life's errors, and insure final and perfect rest to its immortalspirit--or a gratification of the all-absorbing grief which looks onpresent death as the only remedy for despairing sorrow--might exist;but here was no such incentive. The spiritual portion of the girl'snature was alone concerned in the question; and that, once excited byposition and circumstance, had insured a more perfect observance of hervow than earthly passion.

  A strange enthusiasm indeed! Ah yes,--from the period to which wecan trace it in a dim legendary superstition of the past, throughthe two thousand years since the Greek philosopher stood on thebanks of Indus and Ganges and recorded it, to the time when it wasmade to cease under the stern power of a purer creed--how many havedied, alike self-devoted, alike calm, alike fearless! Women withordinary affections, ordinary habits of life, suddenly lifted up intoa sublimity of position,--even to death,--by an influence they wereunable to repress or control--barbarous and superstitious if you will,but sublime.

  Tara had conquered. Her father hung upon her words with an absorbingreverential fear, as the last sound of them died away and was drownedin the shouts of "Jey Toolja Mata!" which burst from the Brahmunsaround, and were taken up by the people without, whose frantic effortsto gain entrance were redoubled. He had heard her doom from her ownlips, and, believing in the inspiration which prompted them, his headfell on his bosom; then the men, feeling his frame relax, let him go,and he fell prostrate before his child and worshipped her.

  They had removed Anunda into an inner room, and her senses had ralliedunder the care paid to her. As he rose with a despairing gesture, andturned away from his child, the Shastree sought Anunda. "There is nohope," he said, "wife--none. It is her own act, and the Mother takesher. She is doomed, and I saw it in her eyes. It is enough that we havecome to see it; she is already gone far beyond us, and we dare notrecall her."

  He closed the door, and within were Radha, Anunda, and himself. Whathe said to them--how he consoled them, no one ever knew; but after awhile they came forth, bathed and purified themselves, and went and satsilently near their daughter.

  Now, they looked at her calm, glorious beauty as she sat within thebower, decked for the sacrifice, with heavy wreaths of jessamineflowers about her head, and rich golden ornaments about herperson,--their faith, cruel as it was, bid them rejoice. No morecontumely now, no more reproach, no more sin, no more persecution. Herlittle history was told them by Vishnu Pundit, and believed. Tara waspure, and if the Mother had called her--even through the fire--she mustgo.

  So they sat listening to her, as she recited those passages from theHoly Books which her father loved, relative to humble and yet glorious
martyrs like herself,--men and women who had undergone the trial, andwere at last free. Sometimes she spoke to them calmly--told them howshe wished her ornaments to be disposed of--what charitable donationswere to be given in her name--what messages were to be delivered to herfriends, and the servants who had tended her; but she never spoke ofthe past, nor alluded to her parents, as though she had believed themdead. She never mentioned Afzool Khan or his family; she shed no tear,nor did any human weakness appear to mingle with the rapt devotionwhich it was evident filled her mind, and absorbed every other faculty.

  So they sat--the girl within, the father and mother and Radha without,the bower--their eyes blinded by tears, their voices choked with sobs.Tara bid them not to weep; but that emotion could not be denied.No one dared to intrude upon that last terrible severing of earthlyties. And so the priests chanted, and the shadows fell eastwards, andlengthened.