But the arrival of an Envoy from the Mahomedan General was an event
of no small importance to the Rajah Sivaji. In order to further the
plan he had conceived, and partly executed, in the despatch of envoys
to the Mahomedan camp--it was his object to disarm all suspicion;
and while assuming an appearance of insignificance and weakness
which should impress upon the mind of a new-comer his insufficiency
to make any resistance, the Rajah was making arrangements which, as
Maloosray and other friends knew, boded action of no ordinary kind.
When the time came, he would act, he said, as the goddess directed.
His mother had been silent for many days, and almost constantly sat in
the temple before the altar; and it was certain there would be some
special revelation. She had spread the end of her garment[16] before
the Mother, and she had never done so, they said, in vain; but she was
silent, and so they waited.
Afzool Khan's Envoy had been received with the utmost distinction.
When within a few miles of the fort he had been met by a deputation of
Brahmuns and inferior military officers, and delayed only long enough
to have the necessary astrological calculations made as to a propitious
moment for entrance into the town. There, a house was assigned to him:
servants of the Rajah appointed to attend on him: and his escort was
supplied with forage and food in abundance. Nothing was wanting to give
assurance of simple but earnest hospitality.
The day after, an audience of the Rajah was fixed upon. The Envoy
was desired to choose his own time; and the astrologer in his suite,
with that of the Rajah, having ascertained a lucky conjunction of
planets, the Envoy was carried up the mountain-side in a palankeen to
the fort-gate, where sheep were sacrificed before him, cannon fired
from the ramparts, and the fort pipers, drummers, and horn-blowers,
performed a rude and very noisy welcome. Then the men on guard at the
gate, with others of the garrison of the fort, formed a street, which
reached as far as the Rajah's pavilion; and the palankeen being carried
along this, amidst the firing of matchlocks and shouting of the title
of the King of Beejapoor by the royal bard and herald in his suite, the
Envoy was set down before the same rude pavilion which we have before
described, where the Rajah Sivaji awaited him.
To all appearance an insignificant little man, dark, youthful in
appearance, with only one ornament in his turban, dressed in the
plainest clothes, and without even the gold embroidered cushion on
which he had been seated on the day of the Kutha. Punto Gopináth
wondered much when he remembered the exaggerated accounts of the
Prince which were sung in ballads, told by bards and reciters, and
were believed by the people. Was this the saviour who was to come? Was
this the man who was to rescue the Hindu faith from obloquy, if not
from destruction:--protect Brahmuns, foster learning, endow and enrich
temples? Above all, was this the man who was to defy the forces of
Beejapoor, the fierce Abyssinians, the fiery Dekhanies--the noble park
of artillery? There were no troops, no means of offence visible. True,
the fort itself was strong, but the garrison was small, and unworthy of
consideration in comparison with the thousands who were even now nigh
at hand.
These thoughts hurried rapidly through the Envoy's mind as he passed
up the street of men, and the Rajah's authorities and higher order
of servants, who stood on each side of this approach to the hall
itself. Puntojee Gopináth was a big man in every sense of the word.
His body was large and corpulent, and he stooped much. His head was
wrapped in a white cashmere shawl, which increased its naturally
disproportionate size. His features were massive but flaccid, and his
cheeks shook, while his head wagged from side to side as he walked.
His eyes were large, but red and watery; and the protruding under-lip,
full, and set in deep lines at the corners, gave him an air of pompous
self-sufficiency.
With all this, the Brahmun was a shrewd, astute person. He was vain,
and usually confident. Now, however, as he saluted the Rajah, he
felt the eyes which scanned him from head to foot had already taken
a measure of him, which might be favourable or otherwise. Perhaps it
was flattering, perhaps mortifying; he could not say which. They were
in any case different eyes to those of his own rulers and officers,
who were Mahomedans. Their eyes took things for granted, and he was
accustomed to placid acquiescence, or perhaps to occasional fierce
bursts of passion, which never affected him. These eyes, on the
contrary, were restless and inquisitive, leaving an impression that
they had seen and understood hidden thoughts, and would bring them out,
lurk where they might.
Perhaps, for the first time in his public life, the Brahmun was
disconcerted; but it was no time to show this; and recovering himself,
he offered the prescribed salutation, and sinking into the seat pointed
out to him, which was beside, but rather in front of the Rajah, with a
loud exclamation of Rámchunder! which was his habit--he settled himself
on his heels after the most approved courtly fashion, placed his
hands gravely upon his knees, twisted up his moustaches, and felt his
habitual confidence return.
We need not, perhaps, follow the conference. The Envoy, as instructed,
at first took a high tone as to outrages and treason on the part
of the Rajah, and of the clemency and wisdom of the sovereign he
represented. There should have been no attempts at insurrection,
because the cause was hopeless by force, and the royal ear was ever
open to suppliants for justice, if timely submission were made.
The Rajah did not reply personally, but this pitiless scrutiny of the
Envoy continued without interruption, and the address was answered
by Krishnajee Bhaskur, one of his own Brahmun officers, eloquently
and yet respectfully:--What had been done? No redress had been given
for injury, for extortion, and local oppression. In despair, some
retaliation had been made. It was the mountain custom, even by village
against village; and did not affect higher relations, which would only
become the more firmly consolidated when the cause of quarrel was past.
"But," he added, in conclusion, "the details are private matters, and
will be discussed better in privacy, and through Afzool Khan alone,
does the Rajah wish to have them arranged. What have we here to oppose
him? We have no concealments, no means of defence against such a force
as his?"
"Indeed, no," said Sivaji, smiling. "An army of elephants has been sent
to crush ants' nests, as the proverb hath it; and if the noble Khan
will remain, and take charge of the country now under me, I will resign
it to him cheerfully, and become his servant. Wilt thou say this to
him?"
"Indeed, my prince," returned the Brahmun, putting up his joined hands,
"we who were in Beejapoor well know how much Afzool Khan helped your
father, when he was confined, in the old Sultan's time; and how much
the rigour of his imprisonment was softened by the Khan's kindness. Ah!
he is a humane and generous man, and has no personal enmity against
you, my lord."
"We will at least put it to the proof," returned the Rajah
good-humouredly. "You are witness that you have seen no preparations
for defence or resistance, and the sooner he comes the better. We
cannot hurry him and the force, but we will at least make preparations
for a peaceful entertainment; and if the Khan will accept of our rude
mountain hospitality instead of the Jehâd we hear he has been preaching
against us, it will be a happy thing for all."
"A happy thing indeed!" said Bulwunt Rao, who, in the suite of the
Envoy, had as yet sat silently, and had not been recognized; "and when
public affairs are settled, private justice may be done to suppliants
like me, who, only for state quarrels, dare not have entered this fort."
"Who art thou, friend?" asked Sivaji; "a suitor to me, and from
Beejapoor?--a Mahratta among Moslems? Who art thou?"
"I may not mention my name here, my lord," said Bulwunt Rao, rising,
and again saluting the Rajah reverently; "but I can tell it in private.
One whom injustice and evil fate have led where he is, and who, only
for them, would have been serving you."
"How can I serve thee?" asked the Rajah sharply; "I am not usually hard
of access; therefore come to me when thou wilt, and I will hear thee."
"I will come," returned Bulwunt Rao, looking round to all, "and put
thee, Sivaji Bhóslay, to the proof. Men vaunt the Rajah's justice," he
continued--"he will find much to do for me;" and he sat down again.
An awkward pause ensued in the assembly, which no one seemed inclined
to break: and the person who officiated as master of the ceremonies,
having observed a signal from the Rajah, brought in flowers, with pân
leaves, and distributed them in order of precedence to the Envoy and
all his suite. Bulwunt Rao, however, would take nothing.
"If justice is done me," he said, rising again, "my share of flowers
will come with it, and will be hung about my neck in honour; if not,
they will hang here,"--and he touched his sword-hilt--"better."
"This savours of a threat, sir," said Sivaji, with flashing eyes.
"The meanest will turn against oppression," returned Bulwunt; "and
Sivaji Bhóslay has just pleaded this in extenuation of his own acts. I,
too, make the same reply, my prince; and when you know my history, you
will confess I am no traitor to Mahrattas."
"All are dismissed," said the Rajah, rising; "see that these gentlemen
are safely escorted below;" and amidst the confusion which occurred
in many persons rising, and as the Durbar broke up, he whispered
to the Brahmun who had been spokesman, and who was one of his most
confidential servants, "See that the Khan's Envoy be separately
accommodated. I must visit him privately to-night, and thou must be
with me, Krishnajee; I will come to thee at the first watch."
FOOTNOTE:
[16] _Pulloo fusarné_--the most earnest and humble supplication that a
Mahratta woman can make.