_HAIL! PRINCESS of the MARATHAS_
Well might the Native leaders give themselves over to a transport
of exultation. The victory had been so complete, Sindhia's flight
so hasty, that not a rupee of vast treasure, not a gem of the hoard
of a century, had been saved from their hands. Within an hour they
found their condition changed from being little better than that of a
routed mob, to the possessors of an impregnable stronghold, a splendid
armament of modern guns, a new force of ten thousand well drilled
troops, stores and munitions of war in abundance. More than this the
people of Gwalior received them, not as conquerors, but as champions of
their race.
Early in the afternoon the Rani of Jhansi rode into Gwalior on the
right hand of the Rao Sahib. Thousands of people came forth to meet
her, shouting her name in a frenzy of joy. As she approached the gates,
a salute of artillery burst from the fortress, high above their heads.
She gazed upward to behold her banner replacing Sindhia's on the
loftiest pinnacle. It was the result of Prasad's first order, on taking
possession of the fortress in the name of the Rani of Jhansi, as well
as that of the Rao Sahib.
On the steps of the palace they were received by a group of liberated
Maratha nobles, who had been imprisoned by Sindhia to please his
Foreign allies. Their patriotism had so dominated their discretion that
the last few months had been passed within the walls of the Gwalior
fortress. They greeted their deliverers with effusions of welcome.
In Sindhia's palace confusion reigned. The chief ladies of the
_zanana_, his wives and concubines, had heard from time to time of
the exploits of the Rani of Jhansi, certainly with astonishment. But
in the privacy of his family life, Sindhia had not been so fearful
of expressing his admiration for the heroic woman. Consequently she
found little favor in the minds of the voluptuous companions of his
leisure hours. In the atmosphere of gossip and jealousy in which they
existed, they were inclined to regard her as a bold creature of less
than doubtful virtue, otherwise she could not consort so openly with
men. Unlike the poor and humble of their sex, who beheld in her an
incarnation of the glorious Uma, the Goddess of Light and all things
beautiful, they ascribed her power to the influence of the sinister
Durga, under whose protection they charitably asserted she was
preserved from death. Thus she grew in their eyes to be a terrible,
awe-inspiring figure, and they fled from Gwalior faster than their
noble lord, the Maharaja, on the first news that she was about to enter
the city----, white bundles of humanity, riding for life across the
plain, with Ahmad Khan in vain pursuit. He was loath to be deprived of
the fairest spoil of victory.
It was shortly decided that Sindhia's personal treasure was to be
divided equally among the Native leaders, all the jewels, silks, and
robes found in the _zanana_ to become the property of the Rani of
Jhansi as by natural right. From the state treasury a bountiful supply
of largess was to be drawn to recompense both their own troops and
those of Sindhia, who had joined them at the critical moment. A grand
_Darbar_ was summoned by the Rao Sahib to meet that evening in the
great hall of Sindhia's palace, to proclaim the Peshwa supreme Lord of
the Marathas, and to reward the leaders for their loyalty to the cause.
In the enthusiasm of the hour, all signs of past misfortunes, or
of those which might yet descend, were swept from the exultant
countenances of nobles and officers, congratulating each other upon the
prize that had been won.
When darkness had fallen, the _Darbar_ hall presented a scene of
unsurpassed magnificence. From huge crystal chandeliers suspended from
the roof, hundreds of candles illuminated the ornately carved pillars
and capitals, the inlaid pavement, the walls, a blaze of light in the
reflections of silver-framed mirrors. On either side of the throne
gilded chairs of state had been placed, but it was upon the contents of
sundry gold dishes, that the eyes of the gathering throng feasted.
They were piled high with ornaments scintillating sparks of colored
fire from Sindhia's hoard of emeralds, rubies, diamonds, and sapphires.
Upon one tray reposed a single jeweled casket, evidently containing
some priceless trinket. Several argued with each other over the
question for whom it was destined as a reward.
Presently, the Rao Sahib entered the hall from a door near the throne.
Toward the figure of the Rani of Jhansi at his side the attention
of all was immediately drawn. Against her desire to appear in her
uniform, she had been persuaded to attire herself in the state robes
of the senior Rani of Gwalior, silks of many hues, stiff with pearl
embroidery. A splendid crown of rubies and diamonds rose above her
forehead, her girdle was heavy with precious stones.
The Rao Sahib conducted her to a seat immediately on the right of the
throne, when as the Peshwa's representative he took a standing position
directly in front of the vacant chair of royal authority. Behind them,
and on either side, the nobles in their train grouped themselves
effectively.
As they looked from the dais they beheld the great hall filled to its
utmost capacity with eager upturned faces. Curtains screening the
apertures had been withdrawn, disclosing crowded ante-chambers and
passages. Could their gaze have penetrated further they would have
seen a vast concourse surging about the entrance to the palace and in
the courtyard beyond. These did not so much await the proclamation as
another common object in mind.
The Rao Sahib moved to the edge of the dais, and read a brief
declaration of the Peshwa's titles.
It was received with applause, though it was apparent their enthusiasm
was restrained.
He then proceeded to distribute favors. Upon the shoulders of the
nobles recently imprisoned for their sympathy with the Native cause,
he placed robes of honor. To others were given important offices and
commands.
The recipients were each cheered loudly, but soon looks of mute inquiry
broke on many faces.
Was there then to be no reward for her who had won all this glory for
their arms?
Thus, while Sindhia's jewels were being divided, in the background,
several grew impatient. They began to call upon the Rani's name.
"Shame! Shame"! they murmured. "Is it not the Rani of Jhansi who should
receive honor above all others"?
One taller than the rest silenced the complaint for the moment.
"The casket," said he, "yet remains. Hush! Perchance it contains the
greatest treasure for the Queen."
The jewels were at last disposed of to the satisfaction of some and
the disappointment of others. The Rao Sahib turned, and took the Rani
lightly by the hand. He led her before the throne.
Then was it that the enthusiasm of every heart burst forth in a mighty
cheer, that shook Sindhia's palace to its foundations. In the halls,
courts, and corridors, it was tumultuously echoed; the throng without
caught it up, and hurled it above the city to the black walls of the
fortress, where a woman's banner was fluttering in a gentle current of
air.
They knew their valiant Queen was about to receive her reward.
It was long impossible for the Rao Sahib to obtain a hearing. The Rani
seemed to shrink from the storm of affectionate regard her rising had
called forth. She realized that she had won a greater victory than
Gwalior, the laurels of which no enemy could snatch from her brow. She
had captured the hearts of the people.
Again and again the Rao Sahib endeavored to enjoin silence, but it was
temporarily obtained in one part only to be lost afresh in half a dozen
quarters. At last he addressed those nearest to the dais.
"My Lord Rajas," said he, "I need not present to you the great Lady
who stands before the throne. To the noble Rani of Jhansi belongs all
praise for the glory of this day. As imperishable as the fortress rock
of Gwalior, her name will stand forth in the history of our race. By
the will of the most illustrious Peshwa, I give to her the supreme
command of the army of Gwalior, and for her adornment Sindhia's most
cherished jewels. For the rest, is she not yours, to honor as you
please"?
Prasad had left his place in the suite, and taken the casket in his
hands. He raised the lid and approached the Rani. Silence fell upon the
expectant throng.
With care he took from the casket rope after rope of matchless pearls.
It was Sindhia's state necklace, once of the Imperial Regalia of
Portugal.
He handed the casket to another, and then gently hung the treasure
about the Rani's neck.
Swiftly he stepped back a pace or two. His sword flashed in mid-air as
his voice resounded throughout the hall.
"Hail! Lachmi Bai, Rani of Jhansi. Hail! Victor of Gwalior, Princess of
the Marathas."
His voice died away for a moment without response, then the storm of
enthusiasm burst forth anew. It grew into a frenzy almost approaching
madness. They shouted that she should be proclaimed Queen of Gwalior
as well as Jhansi. The Rao Sahib became apprehensive that she might be
swept on the wave of popular favor even to the dignity of the Peshwa's
throne.
Without, the plaudits increased above the tumult in the hall. An
officer with difficulty elbowed his way to the dais. He delivered a
message to the Rao Sahib.
"The people," he cried, "would have the Rani of Jhansi come forth so
that they may behold the light of her countenance."
The Rao Sahib glanced uneasily over the surging mass and protested.
"I fear for her person," he said. Then he asked. "Can they not be
appeased in some other way? If thou wert to scatter money among them."
"Noble Rao Sahib," the officer replied. "A hail of gold _mohrs_ would
not satisfy their humor. They will see the great Rani, the Victor of
Gwalior."
"Aye, my Lord," the Rani interposed. "Surely will I go to the steps
of the palace. These poor people. Do I not love them? If it pleases
them to see but a frail being like themselves, their desire is easily
gratified."
She took the crown from her head and gave it to an attendant, replacing
it with the folds of a shawl. Then she moved down amid the cheering
soldiers thronging the hall and passages to the steps of the portico.
There a vast multitude confronted her eyes. Torches flared upward to
illumine exultant faces. Their plaudits were redoubled as they beheld
her come forth attended by the other leaders of the cause. She moved
a few paces in front of the pillars rising on either side, and stood
gazing wistfully, wonderingly upon the scene. It was to her, and to her
alone, that their admiration, their love went forth in a whirlwind of
vociferous applause; but she failed to grasp its entire significance.
She could have demanded the Peshwa's crown, and they would have set
it on her head. She received the tribute only as a vindication of her
actions in upholding her rights with the sword.
It was her hour of triumph.
The scene was less to the liking of the Rao Sahib even than that within
the palace. The Rani of Jhansi had clearly become the fountain of honor
and authority with the people. Had he understood her nature better he
need not have harbored fear.
Presently those nearest to the portico would have it that they could
gaze upon her face more clearly.
Obediently she threw back the folds of her shawl, disclosing all her
features to their view--strength, determination, heroism, displayed in
their classic outlines.
"Ah, dear Rani," a trooper cried. "Beautiful Queen of Jhansi. Behold
how the people do love thee."
The words smote her heart, causing a spring of emotion to burst forth.
On the instant she became the woman in place of the redoutable warrior.
She turned as if seeking a place of retreat to hide her feelings.
Prasad in waiting near by, noticed her appeal, and strode to her side.
The Defender of Jhansi, the Victor of Gwalior, raised her hands to her
face, laid her head on his shoulder, and wept.
Prasad gently led the Rani from the scene. He conducted her through
a silent corridor to a door that opened into the palace gardens.
Thence to a pavilion set apart for the use of the ladies of Sindhia's
_zanana_. The noise and uproar died away, the stillness of night fell
upon them, for long neither spoke.
At last the Rani broke the trend of a deep reverie.
"Prasad," she asked. "Art thou not going to the banquet? See, there
are lights yonder in the windows of the great hall. Thou wilt miss the
feast in honor of our victory."
"What care I for feasts, dear Lady," he returned, "so that I may stay
with thee."
"Thou art changed then, Prasad"? she replied.
"How dost thou mean"? he questioned. "Changed in some manner I pray
God I am; but never was there a time since I first set eyes upon thy
graceful form, when I hungered for aught else, but thee, fair Rani."
[Illustration: "Never have I hungered for aught else but thee, fair
Rani."--Page 267.]
"Ah! Prasad, surely thy memory is at fault," she retorted. "I no longer
blame thee for it, if truly thou art changed, but there was a time when
thou didst prefer to drink of Foreign spirits, and enjoy the charms of
_natch_ girls, rather than obey the summons of the Rani."
"Never," he cried vehemently. "I vow it is not so. Explain more of this
I do beseech thee, so that I may perceive clearly the source of the
untruth."
"I would not recall the matter, only to satisfy thee," she answered,
"but when thou wert a guest of Ahmad Khan, dost not remember his
enthralling dancer? Ah! fickle one," she rebuked him lightly. "Has
Ganga's face, too, vanished from thy mind"?
"In truth," Prasad affirmed. "Her face never was in my mind to vanish
from it. With thy dear face ever before my eyes, I beheld no other, not
even as a passing fancy."
"Say you so"? she spoke quickly. "Yet Ahmad Khan vowed most reluctantly
that thou wert so drunk with wine, so intoxicated with thy passion for
the girl, that thou couldst not be brought to listen to my voice."
Prasad started, as the late suspicion of his friend's treachery began
to receive confirmation.
"Tell me! Tell me"! he urged. "Did he convey my message to thee, that
I was sick, that I yearned for a glance from thine eyes to heal my
malady"?
"Truly he did not," the Rani answered. "No such message did he ever
bring."
Prasad sprang to his feet impulsively.
"The lying, treacherous Moslem," he ejaculated fiercely. "Farewell
for a little space, great Rani. For this he shall answer even at the
banquet. I will slay him in his seat."
"Nay, stay, good Prasad," she enjoined.
"Aye, but thou dost not know all," he returned vehemently.
"But I would know all," she answered calmly, "before thou dost commit
so rash an act."
"Dear Rani! Ah God, that there could be such vileness coiled like a
serpent round any creature's heart. What wouldst thy order be, if I
were to disclose to thee, that yonder villain, had sworn thy ears were
too full of the love words of another Moslem to hear of my petition,
that his name so hung upon thy lips as to stifle any message in return,
thine eyes so captivated with his form that thou hadst yielded thy
virtue to his passion as readily as a lotus bending its fair head
before a storm? Such was thy case with Dost Ali; he swore upon his
cursed Koran, and so he stirred my nature until I lost my reason. What
now, great Rani, is thy pleasure, thy command"?
He waited, breathing heavily with emotion, for the order he anticipated
would burst forth from the outraged woman's lips to exterminate the
Mohammedan. But it did not come.
For a moment, and for a moment only, she was tempted thus to act. An
angry glance swept to the lighted windows of the banquet hall. But she
perceived the fatal consequences of a blood feud stirred up at that
feast. It might be ruinous to the brightening prospects of the cause
she cherished more than all else.
"Prasad," she replied deliberately. "It is a lie. We have both been
wronged. But as God this day has answered my prayers, I doubt not he
will judge between us and Ahmad."
"What! Shall I not then go hence and slay him"? Prasad demanded.
"Nay," she replied restrainingly. "Hast thou forgotten how we stood
in Jhansi? So do we stand here in Gwalior. All is not yet gained.
Be assured the Foreigners will return. We need Ahmad's sword, more
than his dead body in revenge. Ah! my dear Lord," she exclaimed with
rapture, "Let us forget his wickedness in this hour of joy--in this
hour of our reconciliation," she added in a lower tone.
He knelt at her side, then took her yielding form in his arms. He drew
her closer and closer to his breast.
"Prasad! Prasad! I do love thee," she whispered softly.
"To the end, dear one, to the end," he passionately returned.
From the banquet hall the sounds of high revelry came across the garden
borne upon air laden with the perfume of flowers; but, in time, the
lights were extinguished, and only the watchwords of the sentries on
the citadel fell upon their ears. The veil of darkness hid their long
embrace, until the bugles of the morn rang out the call to arms.
An hour of triumph and an hour of happiness was past; an hour greater
than both was yet to come.