_THE DARBAR_
The great hall of the palace presented a splendid, an imposing
spectacle. Its pillars were decorated with banners and trophies,
its walls hung with rich draperies from the looms of Kashmir and
Sind. At the further end a throne of ivory inlaid with silver and
mother-of-pearl, was placed under a gorgeous canopy. It stood upon a
platform approached by a short flight of steps, covered with a Benares
carpet of black velvet embroidered with gold thread. The subdued light,
the atmosphere of antiquity, that pervaded the audience chamber of the
Rani of Jhansi, enforced that reverential feeling, by which the human
voice naturally sinks into a whisper.
As yet the throne was unoccupied.
In the body of the hall were groups of magnificently attired maharajas,
rajas, and military officers, awaiting the entrance of the Rani.
Diamonds blazed in turbans of many colors, ropes of pearls hung about
their necks, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, scintillated in barbaric
profusion amid the gold embroidery of their robes of state.
Amid these dazzling personages, Ahmad Khan, the humble servant of God,
was a conspicuous figure by the simplicity of his martial uniform. In
his new character he had evidently curbed his passion for outward
display. In place of jewels he had mounted a green badge in his turban,
as a sign that he was one among the Faithful who had obeyed the
commandment of the Prophet and made the pilgrimage to the Holy City.
Slung from his shoulder was a plain leather band suspending a sword
encased, also in a plain leather sheath. But the sword was as sharp as
the arm was strong to wield it. He gazed proudly round upon the throng.
Was there any man who cherished evil in his heart? If so, his enemy was
careful to display no outward sign of animosity.
Indeed, it was the knowledge that this awe inspiring warrior had openly
espoused the Rani's cause, the report of his descent upon Sadescheo,
carried swiftly to the boundaries of the state, that had brought many
wavering nobles in haste to tender their allegiance at the first
_Darbar_ of the Rani.
Among the last to enter the hall before the hour set for the council
was Prasad Singh. He had undoubtedly spent much time and thought in
arraying his handsome form to striking advantage. A diamond aigrette
rose from the folds of his turban directly above his forehead. A collar
of emeralds encircled his neck, his long outer garment was stiff with
embroidery, the velvet scabbard of his sword was encrusted with gems.
Ahmad who seemed to have been watching for Prasad, at once strode to
the Hindu noble's side and greeted him with every outward mark of
friendship.
He drew Prasad apart and spoke in an undertone to avoid being overheard.
"This is thy day, O Prasad," he said congratulatingly. "Thou wilt
be reckoned as among the most fortunate of men. Thou mayest prepare
thyself to receive the felicitations of both those who wish thee well
and those who envy thee."
Prasad returned the Mohammedan's salutation responsively.
"What did the Rani say," he asked, "when thou spoke to her of me"?
"What could she say," replied Ahmad, in a tone as if he had advocated
the other's cause so well that there could be but one conclusion drawn.
"What could she say! I swear never did eloquence so flow from my tongue
in any man's behalf, as it did for thee, my Prasad. I vowed to the Fair
One that the appointment thou seekest should by every right be thine.
Upon the Holy Book I swore that but for thy dash and bravery, even the
war scarred veteran, Ahmad Khan, might have been compelled to turn
his back before the fury of that night of storm, and the strength of
Sadescheo's frowning walls."
Prasad's gratitude manifested itself in a warm tribute to the other's
friendship.
"But," he protested with a slight accent of concern, "I fear thou
mayest have performed thy task too well, O Ahmad."
"Not I," returned the other. "Fear not that one who has trod the
pavement of the Afghan court has not learned to pick his way most
warily. Be assured thy desire is already granted."
A sound of distant music broke upon their ears.
"Hark"! enjoined the Mohammedan in a whisper. "Hark! The Rani cometh to
_Darbar_."
As the music drew nearer the nobles ranged themselves on either side
of the hall leaving a passage in the center for the Rani and her
attendants to approach the throne. A profound silence fell upon the
brilliant assembly.
Nearer rolled the sound of an inspiriting martial air. Presently amid
a loud clash of cymbals and the beat of drums, the foremost of the
procession swept into the hall. Fans of peacock feathers waved aloft,
emblems of state were borne before her to whom all eyes were directed.
"The Rani, the Rani," passed in an impressive whisper from mouth to
mouth. In turn, each of the nobles made a low obeisance.
She walked with a stately, measured pace, a little apart from the
rest of her suite. As she moved along the human aisle, the earnest
expression on her beautiful features gathered an abstracted look,
as if the thunder of the music crashing upward to the roof, carried
her vision beyond the brilliant spectacle of the moment, to some
perspective scene yet to be unfolded.
For the occasion she had robed herself with great magnificence after
the Mohammedan rather than the Hindu fashion of ladies of high rank.
Her reason was, perhaps, that it afforded her a better means of
impressing those to whom a sumptuous display of jewels and fine raiment
formed a considerable part of their existence.
In place of the simple, graceful _sari_, she wore an outer garment of
scarlet cloth of gold, disclosing beneath, silken skirts of delicate
hues and of such filmy texture that one might have supposed it was by a
miracle the intricate embroidery of pearls had been stitched upon the
material. Upon her head there rested lightly a cap of scarlet velvet
set with pearls, that contrasted with the dark color of her gathered
tresses. Pearls, lustrous, priceless pearls, adorned her neck, her
ears, even her slippers. Upon her fingers, diamonds of Golconda served
to draw attention to the symmetry of her hands.
"In the Paradise of the Prophet," murmured Ahmad as she passed, "could
there be found such a one"?
Following in the Rani's train, the worthy secretary, Bipin Dat, marched
with a lofty air, as if he trod upon the necks of the nobles present.
His glance chanced to rest upon Prasad Singh. An inward tremor caused
his spirit swiftly to descend to earth.
He hastily grasped a talisman that he had purchased from his friend the
astrologer at great cost, and muttered a prayer.
"May holy Devi protect her servant from the accursed designs of the
evil one."
The Rani approached the throne and seated herself with quiet dignity.
On her right, the aged man, to whom she had accorded so great honor on
the previous day, took up his station. Behind her, grouped themselves
the personal retinue of her court.
The music ceased. Amid the silence which ensued, Ahmad Khan strode
forward to the lowest step of the throne. He _salaamed_ thrice before
the Rani, then turned, and in a loud voice proclaimed her title.
"Behold," he cried. "The Pearl of Jhansi, the noblest of our Queens.
Long live the fair Rani, Lachmi Bai."
The nobles gravely echoed the Mohammedan's salutation.
Then, one by one, they came forward, and were in customary form
presented. They returned after the ceremony to chairs of state, or to
seats upon the rugs spread on either side of the throne.
For each she found a suitable expression of greeting, but to Prasad she
spoke in a gentler tone, and bade him take a place of honor at her hand.
"What did I tell thee," whispered Ahmad aside to him.
The Mohammedan had also been similarly favored by the Rani.
"What did I tell thee, friend. But I do not blame thy qualms. Lover
like, thou canst not see a flower open until it is in full blossom."
A smile of gratification lit up Prasad's face, clouded for a moment as
the Rani singled out the young Dost Ali, to stand upon the dais.
The presentations over, the Rani then rose to address the gathering.
She spoke quietly but in her voice there was an unmistakable note of
authority. It penetrated clearly to the furthest recesses of the hall.
First, she graciously thanked the nobles for their response to her
summons to the _Darbar_, and their spontaneous recognition of her
sovereignty. In return she assured them that her one aim was to promote
the welfare of her state and people, that to everyone should be secured
justice in his person and property.
"I who had suffered so much in that respect," she cried, "can never be
unmindful of the misfortunes of others."
She then proceeded to confirm the nobles in all their ancient rights
and privileges, and reviewed the situation as it related to the cause
of India as against that of the Foreigners. The news from Delhi, she
regretted to inform them, was unsatisfactory. Disrupted by internal
dissension, the position of Bahadur Shah was fast becoming desperate,
in the face of the investment of the city by the Foreigners. It was
surely a warning to them in Jhansi, she declared emphatically, to
submerge all personal animosities in the common object of defending
to the death, the freedom they had regained with so much difficulty.
She had, the Rani further related, dispatched trustworthy messengers
to urge speedy action, on behalf of the cause, upon the powerful
Maharajas, Gækwar of Baroda, Sindhia of Gwalior, and the great
Mohammedan Nizam of Haidarabad. There was little reason to doubt that
if they could only be persuaded to follow the unmistakable sympathy of
their troops and people, Delhi might yet be preserved to the Emperor,
and the Foreigners driven into the sea.
"But, my Lords," she cried, "we, at any rate, must prepare ourselves
to defend the State of Jhansi against enemies from whatever direction
they may come. The fortresses that have fallen into decay under the
dominion of the Foreigners must be repaired speedily. New cannon must
be cast forthwith and mounted on the walls. Ammunition and stores of
grain above all our likely needs accumulated, and more troops raised to
guard the passes. With your loyal co-operation, I have no doubt this
necessary condition of affairs may be brought about with little waste
of time."
The Rani paused for a short space; an interval that was utilized by her
hearers in expressing their approval of her words.
At the commencement of her address they were impressed by her beauty
and dignity; but as she proceeded amazement at her clear perception
of the danger and needs of their position, gave place to all other
feelings. More than one exclaimed:
"Truly the voice of Lachmi Bai is that of a great Rani."
With a motion of her hand she regained their attention, and continued:
"My Lords," she said. "To direct our best efforts for the end I have
explained, there must above all things be established a firm central
government in Jhansi. Not that I aspire to deprive any noble of his
rule within his own district, but all authority must emanate from the
throne it is mine by right to occupy. For this purpose certain officers
of government must be appointed."
Ahmad's countenance remained impassive, while Prasad's gathered a look
of eager expectancy.
"It is," the Rani continued, "partly to gain your approval of such
appointments that I have called you to this _Darbar_. By such action, I
trust, no jealousies will be aroused, no mistakes made that will stir
up internal discord."
She paused for a moment, but as the countenances of the nobles thus far
indicated approval of her words, she resumed.
"First, it is my desire that my honored _Guru_ present, whose advice
hath ever been of great benefit to me since my childhood, shall occupy
the office of minister of state. In choosing him, you all know I am
but following many ancient precedents, whereby _Gurus_ of kings and
princes have, by their wisdom, added luster to the crowns worn by their
godchildren. Have I your approval of the appointment"?
Perhaps for the reason that no one particularly aspired to the office,
perhaps because they might have thought there was little to be feared
in the person of the venerable form at the Rani's side, the reply came
unanimously, that the Rani's worthy _Guru_ should be appointed her
minister of state.
"It is well, my lords," she cried. "Now to a more difficult matter. It
must be known to you all that an army without a chief commander, whose
orders must be obeyed by everyone without question, is a mere rabble
in the face of the enemy. But the difficulty in Jhansi is, that all
my officers are so brave and competent, that to single one out from
amongst the others for the high honor in my gift, is an impossibility.
I have, therefore, to suggest a remedy in this way."
She moved forward to the edge of the dais and stood before them, a
majestic figure.
"My Lords," she cried, stretching forth an arm. "I, Lachmi Bai, the
Rani, will command the forces of the State. If anyone doth say me, nay,
he hath the right to let his voice be heard in council. I will listen
to him patiently."
At critical moments in the lives of those destined to play heroic parts
in the eyes of their fellow creatures, it not infrequently happens,
that nature appears to cast a vote in their favor, by a striking
manifestation of sympathetic accord. To many, such may be no more than
coincidences, but to some, particularly to the Oriental, they are
fraught with deep significance.
The sun mounting over the Palace discovered a rent in the awning of
one of the windows set in the roof of the _Darbar_ hall. It sent forth
a shaft of dazzling light that, penetrating the darkened chamber,
descended full upon the form of the Rani of Jhansi. In her robes of
state, for the moment, she appeared in a blaze of splendor, that to
her audience betokened a supernatural power guiding her destiny.
Against such, what was man, that he should dare to raise a voice in
protest? Was it not clearly a sign that the blessing and protection
of the great God rested on her head. Even to Ahmad Khan, surprised
and dumbfounded by the Rani's unexpected action, as seeming to again
baffle his carefully laid plans, the incident was not lost upon his
sense of superstition. Prasad's mind merely reflected the feelings of
the others. A profound silence followed the Rani's declaration. No man
ventured a yea or nay.
The Rani waited patiently a few moments for their answer, then again
spoke.
"By your silence, my Lords, am I to gather your consent"? she asked.
A Raja rose from his chair of state and replied:
"Surely thou art the Rani," he exclaimed. "Is it not the will of God
that thy word shall be a law with us. Thou art the commander of us all."
"It is the will of God," came without a dissenting voice from all parts
of the hall. "Aye, it is the will of Mahadiva."
The Rani warmly thanked the nobles for their confidence. She again
eulogized their valor and loyalty, assuring them that when the moment
of danger threatened, she would not be found wanting in courage, if
necessary, to lead her army in person. So gentle yet so stirring was
her appeal, that even the hearts of those before given over to sensual
indulgences, were moved to do brave actions in her behalf.
They sprang to their feet and shouted enthusiastically. "Thou art our
Rani. We will follow thee to the death, O Queen of Jhansi."
An expression of surpassing happiness rested on her face.
"Then, my Lords," she cried, "I bid you all attend me to-morrow when I
will repair in state to the White Turret, and raise upon it my banner
as the emblem of my military authority."
"And let him who dares," she concluded, "lift his hand against it."
The walls trembled with the applause which her concluding sentence and
her defiant air brought forth.
Again she enjoined silence by a gesture.
"Before the _Darbar_ closes," she added, "I have yet to speak a word
to you. With much thought I have decided that the well tried valor of
the noble Ahmad Khan, entitles him to the subordinate command of the
forces quartered in the cantonments, as long as he shall remain in
Jhansi. Further, for certain reasons, I will appoint as my lieutenant
of Jhansi, the noble, Dost Ali, lately come to us from the great Amir
of Afghanistan, Dost Mohammed."
Briefly she recapitulated the reason urged by Ahmad Khan for the
Dost's appointment to the greater office. No voice dissenting she then
declared the _Darbar_ closed.
Kindly she turned to Prasad and invited him to accompany her to her
private apartments.
With intense chagrin, jealousy, and disappointment in his heart, he
bowed haughtily, and pleaded as an excuse a pressing matter requiring
his presence elsewhere.
For a moment a look of pain crossed her face.
But the music again sounded, the fans of state waved on high, the
procession re-formed, and between the ranks of _salaaming_ nobles, the
Rani retired from her first _Darbar_.
Ahmad Khan had scarce time to adjust his plans to the unexpected course
taken by the Rani. But in the appointment of his _protégé_, even to
the lesser position of honor, he beheld a dagger by which to stab his
rival's favor with the Rani, a fatal blow.
Prasad strode toward the door, wrapt in gloomy, bitter feelings,
without exchanging a parting salutation with anyone.
Ahmad followed quickly and caught up with the Hindu noble before the
latter had crossed the threshold.
"Stay, good friend," he cried. "Thou art in a great hurry to shake the
dust of the _Darbar_ hall from thy feet."
"Aye," returned the other, with sullen ill humor. "And it will not be
long before I shake the dust of the accursed city from my feet."
"Why so"? asked Ahmad with assumed astonishment.
"Why so," retorted Prasad angrily. "How canst thou ask, why so, after
thy cajolery"?
Ahmad shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. "Friend, Prasad," he
asserted. "I give thee my word, no man in the _Darbar_ was more
astonished than Ahmad Khan when the Rani grasped the sword of state
herself."
For once he spoke the truth honestly.
"Of that I make no complaint," retorted Prasad. "If the Rani so wished
it, hers was the prerogative; though a strange one for a woman to
assert."
"Then to what hast thou taken so much offense"? asked the Mohammedan
with apparent innocence.
Prasad, in turn, regarded Ahmad with a look of astonishment.
"Art thou so guileless, O Ahmad Khan"? he asked, "after all that has
passed between us, not to imagine that I might be offended with the
Rani's action, in giving to another--a stranger--that which she knew I
besought of her favor."
"Ah! as to that, my Prasad," returned Ahmad, pacifically, "there may
have been many reasons in the Rani's mind, apart from the chief one
given. She may have assumed thou wouldst not have cared for the lesser
honor conferred upon Dost Ali--by the way a handsome fellow too; or,
woman like, mind, I say no word against the beauty, wisdom, and courage
of the Rani, she may have admired the gallant bearing of this fellow.
A new favorite, perchance. Thou must remember, good Prasad, she is a
woman as well as Rani, and turneth her gaze first upon one, then toward
another."
Prasad's brow scowled threateningly.
"By God," he muttered. "She shall not treat me so."
"Nay, nay, Prasad," Ahmad rejoined restrainingly. "Thou canst not
dictate to the Rani. She would care little even if thou didst menace
her with a sword. With her thou must fence with other weapons. I make
no doubt it is but a passing fancy she hath conceived for this Dost
Ali."
"Dost Ali"! Prasad muttered fiercely, "Dost Ali! Dost Ali had better
look to the sharpening of _his_ sword."
"Come! come, good Prasad," continued Ahmad, laying a friendly hand upon
the other's arm. "Dost Ali hath no weight in the Lovely One's esteem.
But display thy spirit and she will quickly turn again to thee, for she
loveth thee in her heart, I could swear to it. Be advised in this way.
Absent thyself from the ceremony of to-morrow. I will tell her I know
not what ails thee, that thou art falling sick, perchance. Then behold
how she will fly to thy side. Then see how speedily she will grant
anything thou askest."
"Ahmad," the other returned gravely. "I know not what to think of thee.
Thy ways here may win for thee the Seventh Heaven of thy Prophet's
Paradise, or the lowest pit of his Inferno. But thou givest shrewd
advice, I make no doubt."
Ahmad laughed. "Come, friend," he rejoined. "Clearly thou dost not
understand a woman's ways. She delighteth in men striving for her
favor, but let the chosen one display indifference, and she is at his
feet. In the meantime let us to my house without the city. There," he
added insinuatingly, "thou wilt discover a little treasure that may
amuse thee--a Kashmir dancing girl of no ordinary charm, my Prasad.
True her eyes, her lips, her form, are not comparable to the endowments
of the superb Rani, but she hath a way with her that pleaseth many.
Some of the _Giours'_ spirits have I, too; and though as one of the
Faithful I may not taste of such, yet thou mayest in their subtle
waters, forget the passing cloud until the sun shall again blaze upon
thy turban. Come! Let us away, and forget our disappointments. All will
yet go well with thee."
To this proposal, after some demur, Prasad reluctantly consented.
With a courtly bow that concealed the sinister smile upon his face,
Ahmad motioned the Hindu noble to take precedence of him, by passing
first out of the _Darbar_ hall.