_VICTORY_
From remote ages Gwalior had been one of the chief cities of India,
owing to the immense natural strength of its position. Many races,
succeeding one another, had reared their dwellings about the foot of
the huge pile of rock, rising in grim, deep shadowed precipices on all
sides, two to three hundred feet from a broken plain, to a plateau
crowned by the massive fortress, a mile and a half in length by three
hundred yards wide. By a single narrow path alone could the summit be
gained.
Numerous had been the splendid palaces, temples, and mausoleums
erected in the vicinity by dynasties swept away, and ruins only of the
Baradari, once the most superb hall of audience in the world, marks the
site of the colossal residence of the Moguls.
In part skirting the suburbs of the city, the Morar river winds
northward to its junction with the Chambal, thence its waters reach
the Jumna, to mingle finally with those of the holy Granges. Beyond
the Morar, at a considerable distance rocky hills bordering the plain,
afford a first line of defense, the few defiles being easily rendered
impassable by fortified works.
Such was the place the Rani of Jhansi's daring spirit had determined
to seize. It was rich in long accumulated treasure to refill an empty
purse, rich in the heirlooms of one of the greatest Native families,
and in war material to arm new levies of troops, and thus prolong the
strife to an indefinite period. As a prize to fall into her hands,
there was scarcely its equal at the moment in India. The moral effect
of the successful accomplishment of the act, upon both parties to
the struggle, would almost equal that of the capture of Delhi at the
commencement of hostilities.
On the morning of the Thirtieth of May, Maharaja Jaiaji Rao Sindhia,
the ruling prince of the great Maratha house of Gwalior, had finished
his devotions and was about to partake of his usual frugal early meal
of milk, bread, and fruit, when a servant delivered a surprising, and,
on the whole, an unwelcome piece of news.
An emissary of the Rani of Jhansi had arrived at the palace, and
requested an immediate audience with his Highness.
During the year past, Sindhia had heard much of the redoutable Princess
of Jhansi. He had been told of her beauty, her wisdom, and her valor.
He had followed with sympathetic interest the capable administration of
the government of her state, her defense of Jhansi, and latterly, with
secret regret, the misfortunes which had descended on her head. So much
for his private feeling toward the Rani.
But in public he had followed the advice of his astute minister, Dinkar
Rao, who persuaded him to remain an ally of the Foreigners, against his
natural impulse to cast in his lot with the Native cause. This, for a
sufficient, if not a patriotic reason. While Sindhia bore no love for
the Foreigners, he experienced less for the Peshwa as the supreme head
of the Marathas, and less still, if not actual hatred, for the ruling
Mohammedan family of Delhi.
"If," argued Dinkar Rao, "the Foreigners are driven out of India,
who will grasp the great scepter? Surely either the Peshwa or the
Emperor of Delhi. What then will become of Maharaja Sindhia? He will
be, as of old, a feudatory of an avaricious Native monarch. Better is
it to submit to the lesser evil, the comparatively light yoke of the
Foreigners."
Maharaja Sindhia perceived the wisdom of his minister's argument, and
in spite of the execrations of his troops and people, remained the
Foreigners' faithful ally, when his influence cast into the scale on
the other side, might have ended their rule in India.
His first thought on hearing of the arrival of the Rani's messenger,
was that she was about to look to him for an asylum of refuge. Under
the circumstances he devoutly wished she would seek the protection of
some other prince. Her presence in Gwalior would surely again stir up
his people, many of whom, without his permission, had joined the ranks
of the Native army. Then if he were compelled to hand her over to the
Foreigners, the act would be so unpopular, that it might be unsafe for
him to remain in his own state. He reasoned thus, while he sent in
haste for his minister to take advice before consenting to receive the
Rani's envoy.
Dinkar Rao was as much perturbed as his master over the intelligence.
He hastened to Sindhia, resolved to urge a refusal of the Rani's
petition whatever might be its import. He, too, arrived at the hasty
conclusion that she was desirous of seeking a refuge in Gwalior. It
would, he reasoned with the unscrupulous nature of a born diplomat,
have laid the Foreigners under a lasting debt of gratitude, if she
could be tricked by fair promises to place herself in Sindhia's power,
and then handed over to the mercy of her enemies. But he feared
the vengeance of the people, who regarded her as the champion of a
righteous cause. At all costs the Rani of Jhansi must be kept away from
Gwalior.
These sentiments he strenuously urged upon Sindhia, before it was
decided to accord the interview.
Prasad Singh entered Sindhia's presence as became the emissary of a
great princess. He saluted the Maharaja with dignified respect, and
then proceeded to unfold his mission.
The Rani of Jhansi, he announced, with other illustrious princes and
generals, and an army of eight thousand men, were now encamped at
Bahadurpur nine miles distant.
Both Sindhia and Dinkar Rao started. This was not the usual way a
fugitive sought protection. They at once perceived a greater peril in
the situation than they had imagined. Not that they feared for Gwalior
itself as a fortress, but concerning the people. Could they depend upon
the fidelity of their troops in such an emergency? Against any other
leader, probably; but the name of the Rani of Jhansi made it more than
doubtful. In the temples prayers were constantly rising for her safety.
Sindhia replied to the envoy, by asking the purpose of the Rani of
Jhansi at the head of so large a force within his territory.
"Her Highness," Prasad returned evasively, "is but marching from
Gopalpur to the north, and has halted to pay her respects to the great
Maharaja of Gwalior. She is desirous of a personal interview with a
prince of whom she has heard so many words of praise."
Sindhia's feelings were stirred conflictingly. He would have sacrificed
much personally to behold the woman, of whom all men spoke in such
enthusiastic terms. He would have been glad to receive her with the
highest honors; but the shadows of the Peshwa, the Emperor, and the
Foreigners haunted his mind.
"Doth the Rani then desire to enter Gwalior"? he asked anxiously.
"Such, my Lord Sindhia," Prasad replied, "is far from her Highness's
present intention. She trusts to meet the great ruler of Gwalior merely
in friendly intercourse at some point without the city. To this end
only do my instructions extend."
Sindhia found himself in a dilemma. To refuse this apparently simple
request might seem an ungracious act. Besides, he was anxious to judge
of the beauty and charm of which others raved continually. Surely there
could be little harm in extending to her this outward mark of his
respect. If the Foreigners blamed him subsequently, he could plead the
danger of the situation. He might even assert that his object was to
urge upon her to surrender.
But Dinkar Rao was of a different mind. His master's _zanana_, tenanted
by more than one beauty, was a conspicuous proof of the youthful
Maharaja's susceptibility to the charms of fair women. Whatever covert
object the Rani might have in view, and from her character he suspected
an ulterior design cloaked by the harmless nature of her request,
he feared that Sindhia would be carried away by her smile if not by
her force of argument. So he took upon himself to reply by a pointed
question.
"Thus far, well, my Lord Prasad Singh, but the Maharaja Sindhia should
be informed first, how it comes about that the Rani of Jhansi prefers
her request with an armed force so near to Gwalior, instead of sending
forth her envoy from the boundary of the state, asking permission to
approach the capital. To my mind it does not display great respect on
her part for the authority of Maharaja Sindhia."
The concluding statement was directed as much to the sensibility of
his master as it was by way of reply to the Rani's envoy. It had the
designed effect. Sindhia's pride was nettled.
"Aye," he acquiesced. "My minister speaks wisely. Doth the Rani of
Jhansi suppose my territory is to be invaded at the will of any
neighboring ruler? That question must be answered to our satisfaction."
"My Lord Maharaja," Prasad replied. "I have no doubt the Rani will,
herself, make her action excusable to your Highness. We live in times
of strife when the customs of peace are swept aside out of necessity.
Your Highness, as a great Indian prince, will surely not view with
disfavor the Rani's conduct in defending her rights against the
Foreigners."
The appeal touched Sindhia's heart. Before his mind rose the image of
the valiant Princess, fighting for her throne, their united country and
religion. He hesitated to return an answer. It was a critical moment
for the fortunes of his house.
Dinkar Rao quickly perceived the effect of the sympathetic chord
touched by the envoy. He seized the opportunity to impress upon his
master's ears a discordant note.
"Of the misfortunes of the Rani of Jhansi," he said, "Maharaja Sindhia
cannot be unmindful, but," he added with significance, "among her
allies are representatives of the Peshwa and the Emperor. These are
no friends of Sindhia. Rather are they more his enemies than the
Foreigners. It is my advice that the Maharaja does not meet the Rani
with these people. It is my advice that he doth require the Rani to
immediately withdraw from his dominions."
"Aye, thou speakest well, Dinkar Rao," remarked Sindhia. "The Rao
Sahib has no right to come with armed men into my territory."
Prasad was not prepared for this trend of argument. He again besought
Sindhia to grant the Rani her request; but Dinkar Rao's policy
prevailed. Sindhia would not receive her in such company as that of
the Rao Sahib and Ahmad Khan. She must retreat beyond his borders
forthwith, or abide the consequences. Such was his ultimate decision.
He was probably glad to be afforded so plausible an excuse for refusing
hospitality to the Foreigners' enemy.
Thus Prasad was reluctantly obliged to return to the Rani's camp with
the information that his mission had failed.
"So Dinkar Rao," the Rani cried, "is fearful that I might win his
master to our cause. We will then take his capital."
On the First of June the sun rose to discover the armies of the Rani
of Jhansi and Maharaja Sindhia confronting each other on the plain of
Gwalior. In the distance the great rock with its fortifications stood
out defiantly against the sky.
Overnight, Sindhia had been informed that the Rani's forces, so far
from obeying his injunction to retire from his state, were advancing
upon the city. It left him no alternative but to give battle.
Sindhia had occupied a strategic position on rising ground, his flanks
protected by squadrons of cavalry, his center formed by artillery. A
splendid body of six hundred nobles and retainers guarded the person of
the Maharaja.
[Illustration: Her horse leaped forward, straight for Sindhia's
guns.--Page 255.]
Across the plain, the Rani had thrown out a light screening force of
skirmishers. Behind these she had placed herself at the head of her
Valaitis, with Prasad bearing her standard once more proudly aloft.
Again in rear was her artillery and infantry, with the remainder of her
cavalry under Ahmad Khan in reserve, either to support her in case of
need, or to dash for Gwalior the moment the day was won.
The Rani wore on her head a Persian cap of steel, richly ornamented
with figures of beaten gold, a spike of the same precious metal, and
feathery aigrettes. Her hands and wrists were protected by gauntlets
of metal scale work. It was evident she did not intend to direct the
battle from a spot secure from the danger of shot or blows. Every inch
did she appear as one of those intrepid Maratha warriors, who had
defied the power of the great Mogul, in order to carve kingdoms and
principalities for themselves out of his empire.
Presently Sindhia's guns opened on the advancing foe. They swept the
open space between the two armies with devastating force, driving the
Rani's skirmishers back upon the main body. For a few minutes the smoke
hid the two forces from each other. It was the moment the Rani looked
for to deliver a telling blow.
She turned in her saddle and raised her sword. A bugle rang out the
clear notes of the charge. Her horse leaped forward straight for
Sindhia's guns, with her troopers thundering in her wake. Onward she
dashed heedless, and unharmed by the shot and shell, up to the wall of
smoke, and through it to the belches of cannon flame. With a terrific
yell her troopers came upon the gunners, driving them from their posts.
Sindhia's first line broke and fled. The Rani had captured his guns.
Sindhia's glance swept over the field in alarm. He had ordered his
infantry to support the artillery and they had refused to obey. If his
ears did not deceive him, they were shouting the Rani of Jhansi's name.
A decisive moment had come. Something must be done or the battle was
lost. He ordered his bodyguard to charge before the Rani's troopers
could reform or she could receive support.
The Rani accepted the challenge, rallied her troopers as best she
could, and boldly fronted the oncoming force. The shock was terrific,
the ensuing _mêlée_ of cursing, shouting, fighting horsemen, desperate.
In the heart of it all the Rani's sword flashed above her head,
delivering sweeping blows. Wherever her standard, slashed and pierced
with sabre cuts and bullets, waved, there the fight seemed hottest. Her
life appeared to be shielded by a charm. At one time she had cut her
way near to Sindhia's person.
"Sindhia! Sindhia"! she cried. "Art thou as much afraid of the Rani's
sword as thou art of her eyes. Stay but a moment, as I would exchange a
few strokes with thee."
But Sindhia had seen enough of the day. The ferocious Valaitis were
routing his bodyguard, his infantry had gone over to the enemy, the
Rani's main force was advancing to cut off his retreat. In the distance
he beheld the enemy's reserve cavalry sweeping across the plain to
seize his capital. With a few horsemen, he turned and galloped from the
field to his Foreign allies at Agra.
A great victory had at last crowned the Rani's arms, the battle of
Bahadurpur was won; she had kept her promise, Gwalior lay at her feet.