“I counsel that I die and my head be sent to him, that my blood may
quench his desire.”
And each talked eagerly with the other, but amid the tumult the
Twice-Born said,--
“This is not good talk. In his rage he will slay the King. By my yoga, I
have seen it. Seek another way.”
So they sought, but could determine nothing, and they feared to ride
against the dog, for he held the life of the King; and the tumult was
great, but all were for the King’s safety.
Then once more she spoke.
“Seeing it is determined that the King’s life is more than my honour,
I go this night. In your hand I leave my little son, the Prince Ajeysi.
Prepare my litters, seven hundred of the best, for all my women go with
me. Depart now, for I have a thought from the Gods.”
Then, returning to her bower, she spoke this letter to the saint, and he
wrote it, and it was sent to the camp.
After salutations--“Wisdom and strength have attained their end. Have
ready for release the Rana of Chitor, for this night I come with my
ladies, the prize of the conqueror.”
When the sun sank, a great procession with torches descended the steep
way of Chitor--seven hundred litters, and in the first was borne the
Queen, and all her women followed.
All the streets were thronged with women, weeping and beating their
breasts. Very greatly they wept, and no men were seen, for their livers
were black within them for shame as the Treasure of Chitor departed,
nor would they look upon the sight. And across the plains went that
procession; as if the stars had fallen upon the earth, so glittered the
sorrowful lights of the Queen.
But in the camp was great rejoicing, for the Barbarians knew that many
fair women attended on her.
Now, before the entrance to the camp they had made a great shamiana
[tent] ready, hung with shawls of Kashmir and the plunder of Delhi; and
there was set a silk divan for the Rani, and beside it stood the Loser
and the Gainer, Allah-u-Din and the King, awaiting the Treasure.
Veiled she entered, stepping proudly, and taking no heed of the Moslem,
she stood before her husband, and even through the veil he could feel
the eyes he knew.
And that Accursed spoke, laughing.
“I have won-I have won, O King! Bid farewell to the Chosen of the
Palace--the Beloved of the Viceregent of Kings!”
Then she spoke softly, delicately, in her own tongue, that the outcast
should not guess the matter of her speech.
“Stand by me. Stir not. And when I raise my arm, cry the cry of the
Rajputs. NOW!”
And she flung her arm above her head, and instantly, like a lion
roaring, he shouted, drawing his sword, and from every litter sprang an
armed man, glittering in steel, and the bearers, humble of mien, were
Rajput knights, every one.
And Allah-u-Din thrust at the breast of the Queen; but around them
surged the war, and she was hedged with swords like a rose in the
thickets.
Very full of wine, dull with feasting and lust and surprised, the
Moslems fled across the plains, streaming in a broken rabble, cursing
and shouting like low-caste women; and the Rajputs, wiping their swords,
returned from the pursuit and laughed upon each other.
But what shall be said of the joy of the King and of her who had
imagined this thing, instructed of the Goddess who is the other half of
her Lord?
So the procession returned, singing, to Chitor with those Two in the
midst; but among the dogs that fled was Allah-u-Din, his face blackened
with shame and wrath, the curses choking in his foul throat.
(Aid! that the evil still walk the ways of the world!)
V
So the time went by and the beauty of the Queen grew, and her King could
see none but hers. Like the moon she obscured the stars, and every day
he remembered her wisdom, her valour, and his soul did homage at her
feet, and there was great content in Chitor.
It chanced one day that the Queen, looking from her high window that
like an eagle’s nest overhung the precipice, saw, on the plain beneath,
a train of men, walking like ants, and each carried a basket on his
back, and behind them was a cloud of dust like a great army. Already the
city was astir because of this thing, and the rumours came thick and the
spies were sent out.
In the dark they returned, and the Rana entered the bower of Padmini,
his eyes burning like coal with hate and wrath, and he flung his arm
round his wife like a shield.
“He is returned, and in power. Counsel me again, O wife, for great is
thy wisdom!”