The Slave Girl of Agra/Book 1/Chapter 8
VIII. THE TOKEN
A month passed by, and Noren was still in custody. He was lodged in a secluded and well-fortified house, and was allowed every comfort due to his rank; but all communication with him was strictly interdicted. The guard was strong and well armed, for there might be a rising among the people of Birnagar to rescue their young Chief. Some attempts were made, some tumult arose round the prison-house, some blood was shed in the streets, but in vain. The young Chief ate his heart out in solitude and inaction. Pale and gaunt and careworn, he would look out from the barred windows to the spacious gardens of the Palace, until memories of happy days passed in those lovely woods surged into his mind, and his tearless eyes became dim. And he would sit up late at night to watch a dim light behind a latticed window, until that light was extinguished, and left him in a darkness deeper than the gloom of the night.
News came at last that Raja Man Singh had returned to Rajmahal and that he would honour Birnagar by an early visit. Great preparations were made in the little town to give him a fitting reception. Streets were swept and watered, arches were made and decorated with festoons, plantain trees were set up in rows along the pathways, and jars of water covered with leaf were placed under the trees, according to Eastern custom. Thousands of villagers poured into the town to see the Governor of Bengal, and loud music and gorgeous processions welcomed him as he entered Birnagar on his stately elephant, surrounded by a small Rajput and Mogul guard. Children sang their welcome in the streets, and women showered fried rice from their balconies. The victor of a hundred fights, the ablest ruler under the Imperial Akbar, Raja Man Singh entered the Palace fitted up for his residence amidst the peal of bombs and the acclamations of a grateful people. And many were the fair faces and curious eyes which peered through latticed windows to see the brave and handsome warriors who surrounded him.
Little business was done for some days, which were spent in festivities. Rajput officers sauntered through the bazaar and streets, and bearded Mogul warriors decked themselves with Bengal scarfs and silks, or purchased the matchless muslins of Dacca for loved ones they had left in their far-off homes.
The day dawned at last when the Imperial Order would be proclaimed, and it was a fine cloudless winter morning. The air was crisp, the sky was blue, and the sun poured its golden radiance on town and bazaar, and on thousands of people who had gathered before the Palace. Raja Man Singh sat on a throne in an open terrace, Imperial officers of high rank and dignity stood around him, and Nobo Kumar and Gokul Das stood behind in humble posture.
The troops marched past. Rajputs and Moguls, whom Man Singh had led from victory to victory in all parts of India, proudly acquitted themselves before their great commander. And some wrestling and racing and feats of strength amused the multitude.
"Let the soldiers retire now to their camp," said Man Singh. "Time presses, and the business of the morning claims our attention."
"Your orders, mighty Raja, shall be obeyed," said Nobo Kumar. "Yet fain would this humble servant amuse these Imperial officers who have graced our town by their presence with some humble entertainment which poor Bengal can provide. Our land is rich in poetry and song, and fain would a humble singer recite his verses, if it pleases the Ruler of Bengal."
"I can refuse you nothing, Nobo Kumar. You have been a loyal subject of the great Emperor, and have faithfully discharged the duty which Raja Todar Mull imposed upon you. Little do we Western men know of your softer tongue; and yet methinks we can follow your simple songs and beautiful poetry. Let the poet appear. We will give him a hearing."
"Little claim has he to the name of poet," rejoined Nobo Kumar. "He is an exile from his home at Burdwan, and lives in the jungles of Bankura. But the Goddess Chandi has touched his heart, and of Chandi, our Gracious Mother, he sings."
The poet sang of Chandi and her favours to men by sea and by land. He sang of the merchant who had sailed from Bengal with his goods and spices, who was shipwrecked in the ocean and was kept a prisoner in Ceylon. His little boy grew up to be a man, and heard from his poor mother of a father he had never known. His young heart was strong with love, and he sailed over the ocean to rescue him. The Goddess Chandi helped the brave young man, and father and son met in Ceylon and came back to their happy home. The song was simple, but Raja Man Singh appreciated the faith which inspired it and handsomely rewarded the singer. Imperial officers of high rank and dignity condescended also to bestow on the poor poet their smile of favour. The names of these great dignitaries of the Court are now forgotten; Mukunda Ram's name and poetry live to the present day among the most cherished treasures of a nation's literature.
The place was cleared, and Noren was at last brought before the Ruler of Bengal. There was silence all around, and Man Singh looked with pitying eyes on the young and handsome boy, the unfortunate and misguided descendant of a noble and historic House.
"Norendra Nath Roy," at last spoke Man Singh addressing the prisoner by his full name, "it grieves me to see you thus on the very spot where your grandfather was honoured, and the sword of your House was placed in your cradle by the great Raja Todar Mull. You have been rash and misguided, you have imperilled the life of your guardian, and your followers have risen against those who were appointed to keep order and peace. Blood has been shed. Yet I would judge you leniently, and your grandfather's memory pleads in your favour. Your guardian, Nobo Kumar, does not bring any charge against you of a deliberate attempt on his life; and the generous youth, Sirish, who saved him, has assured us on his oath and word of honour that you are incapable of any design against the life of your guardian. I am willing to accept their assurance, I will believe that your insane act in running your boat against Nobo Kumar's—which a child of ten would not have done—was due to the excitement of the moment. Norendra Nath Roy! I hold you guiltless of the gravest charge against you, and you are free."
The young prisoner, pale and bloodless and gaunt, had expected the worst from the machinations of his enemies, and the generous verdict of the Ruler of Bengal came upon him as a surprise and touched his heart. His lips trembled but shaped no words, only two big drops trickled down from his eyes and spoke his gratitude.
"The affairs of your estate require more serious consideration. There have been disturbances, and the Imperial revenue, due twelve months ago, remains unpaid. You are not yet of age, and Nobo Kumar's services are required in his own estate. It is, therefore, the will of His Majesty the Emperor that the arrangements made by Raja Todar Mull should now be altered. Nobo Kumar shall forthwith be restored to his ancestral estate of Debipur, and an Imperial Agent, whom I have appointed to-day, shall manage your estate until you come of age and until all the arrear revenues are paid."
This too was satisfactory to Noren. His estate would be released from the iron grasp of Nobo Kumar. An Imperial Agent would keep his estate in order until he was of age to step into his grandfather's place. In the meantime he would be free to prepare himself for the grave duties of his life.
"For you, rash young man," continued the Raja, "I think it unwise to stay longer at Birnagar. Your partisans have filled your head with wild ideas and may give trouble to our Agent if you are among them. I would not like to assign a place of residence for you, but if you wish to follow us to Rajmahal I have Rajput officers under me who knew your brave grandfather, and who would willingly train you in the profession of arms befitting his descendant. When restored to your estate you will be a worthy and gallant servant of the great Emperor whose dominion is based on the affection of his subjects."
Noren's face, still haggard and lean, glowed with animation and gratitude when the Raja spoke these kind words, and his eyes shone with tears.
"Mighty Raja!" exclaimed the liberated prisoner, "your mercy overwhelms me. I have been rash and undutiful and deserved punishment, you have pardoned me and rewarded me. Generous Ruler! I will try henceforth to deserve your kindness and be worthy of my House, and the great Emperor shall find a faithful servant in me wherever it be my fortune to serve."
Raja Man Singh's eyes sparkled with joy at these words. Nothing pleased him more than to secure the zealous loyalty of old territorial houses in the cause of Akbar's great Empire.
That night Birnager resounded with the beat of drum and the sound of conch shell, and the whole town was illuminated. Loyalty to a Ruler is a trait of the Indian character as it is a part of the Indian religion, and the generosity of Raja Man Singh towards the young Lord of Birnagar had touched the hearts of the people. Streets and houses flamed with rows of light, and the poorest widow contributed her mite in the shape of earthen oil lamps lit on her doorsteps. Musicians poured forth a vigorous stream of noise from high balconies, and groups of men and women loitered in the bazaars and street corners, speaking of the great Badshah of Agra, the generous Ruler of Bengal, and the liberated Lord of Birnagar. It was past midnight before the little town subsided into peace and rest.
Early in the morning, as Hemlata went to the Palace gardens to cull flowers, she saw the erect figure and pale face of Noren in the dim light. She was startled for a moment, but she had heard of the orders passed the previous day, and she knew that Noren had come to bid farewell to her. The occasion was not one for false bashfulness, and Hemlata was calm and brave. She came to the friend of her childhood and gently and sadly laid her hand in his. For a while they were both silent and understood each other's thoughts.
"Is it true, Noren, that thou art leaving Birnagar to be a soldier and that we shall not meet for a long time? But we have ever been friends, and shall remain so through life."
"The great God bless thee, Hemlata, for those kindly words. Yes, we have ever been friends, and I shall never cease to think of thee, Hemlata, as long as I live."
"I know that, Noren, I know thy great kindness and tenderness for me. I know too thy noble heart. When all the world blamed thee, Noren, I knew that no evil design could find place in thy generous bosom. But why, oh, why art thou so impulsive, so hasty, sometimes?"
"Thou judgest me too leniently, dear Hemlata, by calling me hasty. I have been rash and thoughtless and insane. I endangered the life of thy father in my childish pride. The great God has saved me from the result of my rashness. Forgive me, Hemlata, for the alarm which I caused thee and thy mother."
"My mother has already forgiven thee, Noren, and has pleaded for thee to my father, and I have nothing to forgive for I knew thee guiltless. But be sober and patient, as thou art noble and manly. There is not a greater House in all Bengal than the House of Birnagar; live long to be its proud ruler, Noren, like thy grandfather of old."
"Thy forgiveness relieves me, Hemlata, and thy kind wishes will help me. Much have I suffered in the past, much may I suffer yet, but I will try henceforth to face my misfortunes as a man. This trial has taught me a lesson which I shall not forget."
"But wilt thou not obtain thy estate, Noren, after a short while? My father discharged his trust faithfully, and my mother has tended thee, Noren, as she has tended me."
"Thy mother, Hemlata, is a saint on earth, my own mother could not have loved me more if she had lived. Nor shall one word escape my lips against thy father; indeed, I have been undutiful to him, and he has forgiven me. And—and thou, Hemlata—may I say this at the moment of our parting?—thou hast been the star of my happiness—my hope, my love!"
Hemlata turned her face and was silent. She was but a girl, but her girl's heart throbbed at the utterance of a word whose import she could scarcely yet comprehend!
"I have never spoken of what I felt for thee, Hemlata, but the moment is come when I must speak—if for the first and last time. There are moments in our life when we dare confess the truth, and let the truth be confessed, Hemlata, before we part. I had hopes that thy fond mother and thy forgiving father would bestow thy hand on me—that we should be happy together in life, as we had been happy in childhood. Turn not thy bashful face, Hemlata; our moments are brief and I must speak before they are gone. Watching those silent stars night after night, I had hoped that they would smile over our happy union, spent once more in these scenes endeared by the memories of our childhood. And wandering alone by the banks of the river, or in solitary fields, I had dreamt that thou, Hemlata, wouldst be the queen of my father's realms and the queen of my heart."
If the blood mounted to Hemlata's face and a tear escaped her eyes she had the tact to conceal them from Noren. If a feeling stirred her which she had not known before she was silent.
"Listen, Hemlata," said Noren, after a pause, and with more composure, "I will speak no more of what I should not say and what thou mayst not hear. My fond dreams have been dispelled, and I am a banished man. I will leave Birnagar to-day and will proceed to Rajmahal. Raja Man Singh takes a kindly interest in me, and there are friends of my grandfather's who will teach me the duties of a soldier. I will follow the Raja's camp from place to place, and from province to province, but my heart will be still at Birnagar, fixed on one whom I can never, never forget. Wilt thou, Hemlata, think kindly of me when I am far away?"
"Can I ever forget thee, Noren?" asked Hemlata, unable to restrain her tears any longer.
"Nay, weep not, sweet Hemlata, I should not cause thee a pang at this our parting. Part we must for the sun is about to rise, and yet one token I would fain leave with thee before I leave. In our childhood we planted this jasmine bush and it has grown and blossomed. Of this I will make a suitable token."
Noren broke off a twig of the jasmine bush and made something like a bracelet of it. He held Hemlata's hand gently and slipped the creeper bracelet tenderly over it.
"The flowers will wither in a day or two, but the twig will last longer. As long as thou hast a kindly remembrance of me, Hemlata, keep this jasmine bracelet in memory of me. When thou hast ceased to think of me, cast it away as a withered and useless twig."
The red glow of an Indian winter sunrise streaked the sky with its bright radiance. It witnessed a solitary wanderer crossing the broad Ganges in a little skiff on his way to Rajmahal. It also saw a young girl sitting alone on the steps of a temple in the Palace gardens of Birnagar, shedding the first bitter tears of womanhood.