The Rani's ambition to ascend the throne of Jhansi was achieved. But immediately she beheld difficulties rise on all sides. Everyone in Jhansi seemed to have a claim to urge upon her gratitude. The larger the pecuniary recompense that was supposed to be attached to a place of honor, the more numerous were the applicants. To that of the greatest responsibility, the command of the troops, the Rani was in a dilemma as to whom she would appoint.
From his well known military skill and tried valor, Ahmad Khan might wisely have been selected for the office; but the Rani hesitated to confide to his hands so much power after his recent exhibition of disloyalty.
In the meantime Ahmad had sullenly retired to his house without the city, there to plead sickness as an excuse for failing to respond to her summons to court.
On the other hand, Prasad remained close to her side, hourly transforming the early esteem which the Rani had conceived for him, into a warmer sentiment. He, too, intimated that his aspiration lay toward the chief military prize in the Rani's gift; but thus far she had let it pass ungratified, if not unrecognized. Apart from his untried ability as a commander, she realized that to appoint Prasad, a newcomer to the state, to such a coveted position, would surely stir up a feeling of bitter jealousy in the breasts of a score of Jhansi officers, who might justly claim a prior right to her consideration. These matters increasingly harassed the Rani's mind.
The morning of a few days after her accession discovered the Rani in the act of formally announcing that event, by letter, to the other princes who had risen in rebellion against the rule of the Foreigners.
Before her, Bipin Dat sat cross-legged upon a mat. He was laboriously endeavoring to indite these missives in what he considered to be correct form.
After a period of effort, he drew the Rani's attention to his latest production.
"This letter, noble Rani," said he, "is to the most illustrious Dhundu Panth, Peshwa of the Marathas."
The Rani signified her willingness to listen, and Bipin proceeded to read in a sonorous voice, emphasizing the repetition of his own name by inflection of tone, and gestures—
By the hand of the Intellectual
Bipin Dat
Secretary to Her Highness, Lachmi Bai,
Rani of Ihansiv To
The most noble, Dhundu Panth,
Peshwa of the Marathas
Greeting
"Be it known to you, O most Illustrious Sir, that by the will of God and the pleasure of the great Rani, the Honorable Bipin Dat ventures to address your Sublimity, for the purpose of disclosing certain information, as follows:
"On the 8th of the month the Foreigners were obliterated from the face of the earth in Jhansi, as if the devil had swept them all off into Hades. Further, on the same day, it pleased the great God to direct His people to seat Her Immortal Highness, Lachmi Bai, upon the throne of the Rajas of Jhansi, which events were witnessed by the observant eye, and recorded by the unerring hand of her faithful and esteemed servant, Bipin Dat.
"Lastly, it hath pleased Her Highness the Rani, to recognize the services of the aforesaid Bipin Dat in these great times, by appointing him her munshi.[2] Whereby he has set his hand to this letter on the 12th day of the month, etc.
(Signed) "BIPIN DAT,
"Secretary to the Rani of Jhansi."
Bipin finished his reading with a flourish of the hand and a look upon his solemnly cherubic countenance, that indicated his perfect satisfaction with the composition.
"That, noble Rani," said he, "will in proper form convey to the Peshwa the news of your Highness's accession."
A smile momentarily relieved the Rani's serious expression.
"He will also," she remarked, "be in little doubt as to the identity of the writer. The Peshwa, the Rani, and the Intellectual Bipin Dat. He may wonder if the third is not the most important of the three."
Bipin stroked his chin musingly.
"Dust under thy feet," he replied at last. "That could scarcely be the case, but it has ever been the opinion of the most learned pundits that in the work of great writers their personality shines forth as a diamond amid false gems."
"Then Bipin, thou must be a veritable stone of the first water," she replied. "But one thing I gather. You, at any rate, out of a multitude of aspirants for office, appear satisfied with your position."
"Noble Rani," he continued. "Satisfied am I of thy graciousness; but of the precise moment when it will be advisable for me formally to take upon myself the burden of my duties, I am not yet determined."
A look of displeasure crossed the Rani's face.
"How mean you"? she asked. "Have you, too, some petition to make that I will exchange it for one that brings a better revenue"?
"Noble Lady," he replied, "mere wealth holds out little inducement for those of intellectual worth. We, who are writers with inspired thoughts, look for a more imperishable reward; but in all events of importance it is ever well to consult those who read the future and who can discern the most auspicious moment to take an important step."
"Oh!" exclaimed the Rani. "Thou wouldst consult thy friend, the astrologer"?
Bipin bowed.
"Such is my desire, noble Lady."
"Go, then," she cried, "and get thy consultation over quickly, for I need the service of thy pen."
Bipin rose from his sitting posture. He salaamed thrice before his mistress and departed with an important air.
In the shadow of the pillar by the main entrance the blind beggar, who appeared to have sat there from the beginning of all time, instinctively recognized Bipin's footsteps. He accosted the secretary with a petition for alms.
"Good clerk," he cried. "Have pity upon the unfortunate."
Bipin halted and faced him with a look of offended dignity.
"Good clerk!" he returned, in scornful accents. "Good clerk! Thou fool. Dost know to whom thou art speaking"?
"Surely to the worthy clerk, Bipin Dat," replied the beggar, innocently. "Many a time hath he cast a crumb to the afflicted."
Bipin scowled magnificently upon the beggar.
"Then seldom in future will the afflicted benefit by his compassion," he returned sternly, "unless they have more discernment than to style him a clerk. Know, thou fool, that he to whom thou criest is no longer a clerk, but hath so gained the ear of the noble Rani, that she hath appointed him to be her secretary."
His breast swelled with pride as he authoritatively announced his new rank.
"Secretary to the Rani," cried the beggar in astonishment. "Secretary to the Rani. Behold how God rewardeth the deserving. Protector of the Humble," he whined, "it was my infirmity that led me to make the mistake."
"Be careful then not to make such a mistake again," replied Bipin, mollified by the beggar's submissive tone.
He tossed a pice into the beggar's outstretched palm. Then, with lordly gait, he strutted on his way through the bazaars.
That Bipin Dat had become a man of authority was quickly impressed upon the friends and acquaintances he encountered. With condescending dignity he returned their effusive salutations, clearly intimating that a wide gulf of distinction lay between Bipin Dat the Rani's present secretary, and Bipin Dat the former ordinary clerk. Upon the children that sedately played in his path he frowned so threateningly that they shrunk back at his approach. He carried his head as if his turban already swept the clouds. In his mind the question uppermost was, to what height might his ascending star of fortune still further exalt the name of Bipin Dat.
At length he turned from the broad, booth-lined thoroughfare into a narrow alley, and directed his steps toward the door of a squalid house. He halted and knocked several times before he received an answer to his summons. The door was cautiously opened, and a woman appeared.
"Is thy learned husband, Mohurran Goshi, within"? he demanded.
"My honored husband is at present deeply engaged in compiling the horoscope of a noble raja," replied the woman, "but if you will enter, I will bear him a message."
"Aye, do thou tell him that the Honorable Bipin Dat, Secretary to the Rani, would engage his ear for a space. Thy husband hath already done me service."
At the woman's invitation he crossed the threshold of a bare and dingy room, the air of which was filled with a savory odor, rising from a pot placed upon a small fire. To this, Bipin directed his attention, that ever in close sympathy with his stomach, was alert to be interested in the progress of cooking.
The woman disappeared from view through an inner door.
After an absence of several minutes she returned with a reply. Her husband, though deep in study, would nevertheless receive so good a client as the Rani's secretary. Would he be pleased to pass into the other room?
Bipin followed the woman's direction and found himself in an apartment divided in the center by a curtain. There, seated upon the floor, the grave astrologer Mohurran Goshi, was surrounded by books and a variety of scientific instruments.
For some moments after Bipin's entrance the astrologer appeared too profoundly absorbed in his work to notice the presence of his visitor. At last he withdrew his gaze from an abtruse calculation, and directed a keen glance toward the face of the Rani's secretary.
"Welcome, worthy Secretary," he exclaimed. "Thou seest I prophesied truly. Yesterday a clerk, to-day a secretary; who knows, to-morrow thou mayest attain thy ambition and become a zemindar."
"A zemindar, forsooth!" cried Bipin, disdainfully. "Thou must know, learned Astrologer, that my ambition now rises beyond the station of a zemindar. A raja! Why not a raja"? he exclaimed, strutting back and forth. "Why should I not aspire to become a raja"?
"There is truly no reason, good Secretary," replied the astrologer, "why you should not become a raja, if the fates are propitious. Is not the great Maharaja Sindhia descended from a slipper-bearer"?
"To be sure," acquiesced Bipin, confidently. "I see no reason why I should not become a raja, and for that matter even a maharaja."
"Thou mayest even become a king," suggested the astrologer, with a note of sarcasm in his voice.
"Perhaps, who can tell, a king," agreed Bipin, reflectively. "But not too great a jump at first, learned sir. One might become a trifle dizzy. At present I will beg of thee to cast thy eye into the future and see if I am in the right way to become a raja. To that end, is the moment propitious for my taking upon myself the duties of the Rani's secretary"?
The astrologer glanced slyly toward his client.
"For such work," he explained, "the fee is necessarily higher than it was in forecasting your path toward the position of a zemindar. The deeper an astrologer is required to penetrate into futurity, the larger is the sum he is compelled to ask for his services."
"Speak not of that," returned Bipin, grandiloquently.
"You may suppose that all the spoil of the Foreigners did not escape my fingers. Name thy fee for disclosing my way to become a raja."
The astrologer trading upon his client's vanity, named an extravagantly high figure. For a moment Bipin winced, but producing the money, he urged the astrologer to lose no time in the matter.
For a space, the astrologer pored over a chart of the heavens, muttering to himself unintelligibly; while Bipin impatiently awaited the result.
At last the astrologer spoke in an abstracted manner.
"Thy way to become a raja, O Secretary, is clearly revealed, but in thy path there stands a powerful enemy, who is even now within the palace of the Rani."
Bipin's countenance lengthened considerably.
"Is it that accursed pundit, Krishna Lal"? he asked.
"His name is not so written upon the heavens," returned the astrologer, "though its exact lettering I cannot as yet discern. But he is himself a raja and detesteth thee with all his soul."
"Blessed Devi"! exclaimed Bipin, with nervous apprehension. "What raja is there in the Rani's palace who beareth me so much ill-will. I know of no such one."
"So far he hath screened his animosity under a mask of kindness," replied the astrologer, returning to a scrutiny of his chart. "But thy path is clearly set in contradiction to his own. When they meet thou wilt be in danger of bodily harm. Thou wilt not lose thy life," he added, reassuringly, "but thou mayest be deprived of some of thy organs—thy nose, and possibly thy ears, good Secretary."
"Holy Kali," cried Bipin, impulsively raising his hand to his terror-stricken face. "At such a price I have no desire to be a raja. Nay, if such a danger encompasses me, the Rani may find another secretary."
"Patience, patience, good sir," continued the astrologer. "I did not say that there was no way of warding off these evils. By following such advice as I can give thee, thou mayest escape them all and yet live to be an unmaimed raja."
"Tell me how, I pray thee, O learned Astrologer," besought Bipin, with little trace of his importance remaining.
The astrologer appeared to reflect deeply before he replied:
"First, thou wouldst do well," he enjoined, "to remain in thy present service, because even if thou wert to fly to the end of the earth, that which is written on the heavens is bound to come to pass. But do thou carefully take note of everything in the palace, reporting each event to me from time to time, so that when thy evil moment approaches I can place before thee a sure defense. Especially do thou regard the actions of a Hindu noble recently arrived to join the Rani's cause. His looks I like not, though they be fair outwardly."
"Thou canst not mean the Raja Prasad Singh"? asked Bipin, in astonished accents.
"His name I cannot read as yet," returned the astrologer, "but if his image rises to thy mind from what I say, be assured he is the one who seeks to do thee so much injury."
Then the astrologer put a question pointedly.
"Of this Raja Prasad, of whom you speak. Does he stand close to the person of the Rani"?
"He is ever at her side," replied Bipin. "He seeks to be appointed to the command of the troops in Jhansi."
The astrologer shook his head gravely.
"Come to me again shortly," he concluded. "Then I will disclose to thee further. Remember to do as I have counseled thee."
As the astrologer appeared to be about to withdraw himself again into a state of profound abstraction. Bipin promised to return at an early date. With misgiving in place of elation in his heart, he left the house dejectedly.
"It seems to me," he reflected, as he made his way thoughtfully along the alley. "It seems to me I have gained little satisfaction by visiting that astrologer. For twenty rupees I have found out that the Raja, Prasad Singh, is an enemy who seeks to possess himself of my nose and ears. Twenty rupees is a large sum to pay for such information. What evil things might not the astrologer have disclosed for fifty rupees? As to Prasad Singh, he is evidently jealous of my influence with the Rani. I must keep a close watch on him, and report to the astrologer frequently."
Bipin had scarcely left the astrologer's presence, when the curtain was thrust aside and Ahmad Khan stood in the aperture.
"Well, noble sir," said the astrologer, "I think I reduced that fool to a pliable state for our purpose."
Ahmad laughed sardonically.
"It is well," he replied. "No doubt his fears will temper him into a useful tool. To-morrow I return to the Rani's court in a new character. Keep my counsel, O Mohurran, and thou shalt receive better pay than thou ever didst before in thy musty calling, well recompensed as I note it is. One thing we have gleaned from his chatter. It was that dog of a Prasad who advised the Rani to play me such a trick. He aspires to become commander of the troops, does he? Well, he will yet be obliged to seek his appointment at the hands of Ahmad Khan, Raja of Jhansi."
The rains had burst over India with terrific force. Even the arid and ever drought threatened State of Jhansi received a deluge. This soon rendered the main lines of communication impassable, and cut Jhansi off from the outside world.
Rumors only of stirring events reached the Rani's ears. In that mysterious way, by which news in India seems to filter through inanimate channels, she heard of the Foreigner's advance upon Delhi; but of the course which they intended to pursue toward her own State, she could obtain no reliable information. It appeared as if their desperate need to strike a blow at the center of the revolt would leave her unmolested for the present.
This was satisfactory as it gave her time to prepare for their return. But her position was still precarious from danger near at hand.
In the city of Jhansi her authority was now unquestioned, even though the rivalries among her retainers made it a delicate matter to enforce. But in the remaining parts of the State, the nobles, uninfluenced by her personality, were not so ready to submit to what they were inclined to regard as the capricious rule of a girl. From similar instances they feared the advent to power of some court favorite. More than one, also, had claims of his own to urge forward to the prize that had fallen into the Rani's grasp. With native caution they had waited for the result of the coup d'état before irrevocably declaring their own hands.
Thus, with the exception of a few minor nobles, the Rani's proclamation of her accession had been received by the Jhansi rajas throughout the State in ominous silence. A disquieting report persistently reasserted that the Maharaja Sadescheo, a cousin of the late Raja of Jhansi was collecting troops near his fortress of Shahpur, for the purpose of joining forces with the Peshwa. This did not deceive the Rani's alert intelligence. A descent upon the city of Jhansi was, in her reckoning, the Maharaja's more probable aim.
Under these circumstances she had prudently secured the gates and ramparts of Jhansi with her own soldiers, leaving the fort and cantonments without the city in the possession of Ahmad Khan, whose sullen attitude she viewed with anxiety. While the Mohammedan noble seemed to possess every evil trait to which mortal flesh is heir, she fully appreciated the control of his ferocious bravery, as an awe inspiring weapon to hold over the heads of those who yet disputed her title.
His plea of sickness, as an excuse for his absence from her court, if a ruse to screen other motives, was not confirmed by any sign of action. She was led to hope, that by the use of subtle influence, his allegiance might be retained without making too great a sacrifice to his ambition.
How to accomplish this was the question of the hour.
The Rani was seated in one of her private apartments discussing the news of the morning with Prasad, when Bipin entered. He paused within the door, and glanced suspiciously at the Hindu noble.
"Well, learned Secretary," greeted Prasad affably, "Thy face seems to reflect the scowl of the elements. Doth the weight of thy exalted office press too heavily upon thy turban"?
"Thanks to the Rani's graciousness," returned Bipin, "my turban rests lightly enough; and its folds well protect my ears," he added significantly.
"He shall not imagine," thought Bipin, "that I am not forewarned of his accursed design."
Prasad laughed good naturedly as he regarded the unusual size of the secretary's head covering.
"It is almost large enough to protect thy nose as well, good Bipin," he suggested.
The solemn expression on the secretary's face deepened as he received what he believed to be sure confirmation of the evil lurking in Prasad's mind.
"As the saying is, noble sir," he rejoined with an assumption of sage gravity. "He who looks well to the roof of his house need trouble little about an approaching storm."
"Truly Bipin, thou art a philosopher," remarked the Rani with a smile.
"Aye, always by thy favor, noble Lady," he answered.
"I keep a good watch not only upon my nose and ears, but upon all my other possessions."
The secretary concluded this passage of words with a wary look directed toward Prasad. He then advanced and delivered a missive to the Rani.
"From the Maharaja Sadescheo of Shahpur," he said, bowing. "A messenger hath just delivered it at the palace."
The Rani took the letter eagerly.
"Ah," she exclaimed. "Now we shall know whether Sadescheo's newly acquired martial spirit leads him to join the Peshwa. If I mistake not, his avarice prompts him to cast longing eyes upon the revenues of Jhansi. It is a treasure chest rather than honor which men like Sadescheo crave."
She hastily opened the letter and gathered its contents.
"Go," she cried with a commanding air, to Bipin. "Go, but remain within call, as I may need thy services."
When Bipin had retired, she handed the letter to Prasad.
"Read that, my Lord," she exclaimed. "We need no longer remain in doubt as to Sadescheo's reason for collecting troops. He reminds me that as the late Raja's cousin he is entitled to some voice in the settlement of affairs, and that until I have been proclaimed in a Darbar of the Jhansi nobles, he cannot recognize my right to inherit the throne. The fool! the fool"! she continued passionately. "How many of them are there to be taught that the power of Lachmi Bai doth not rest upon the will of nobles, but in her own spirit, and in the love of her people."?
Prasad, in turn, read the letter, and then tossed it contemptuously from him.
"Who is this Sadescheo that presumes to question your authority"? he demanded.
"Oh," she returned with a gesture of disdain. "Maharaja Sadescheo possesses a fortress at Shahpur. He hath some followers; but he would never have dared to address me in this fashion had Ahmad Khan remained at my side. I fear he must have received some hint of the Mohammedan's defection."
"Ah! Ahmad Khan! Ahmad Khan"! Prasad ejaculated impatiently. "His name is ever sounding in my ears."
He rose abruptly and passed to one of the windows where he gazed angrily out upon the lowering clouds, that swept across the sky, at intervals drenching the land with cyclonic violence.
Then as if a resolution was suddenly formed in his mind, he returned to the Rani's side and besought her in fervent accents.
"Fair Rani," he cried. "Why speakest thou so much of this Ahmad Khan? Surely thou canst no longer hold him in thy favor. One look upon his surly countenance and thou beholdest treachery marked by every line. Of this, recently thou hast had ample proof. But give me, ah, dear lady, I implore thee, give into my hands the command of thy troops, and thou shalt see how quickly I will subdue this presumptuous Maharaja."
The Rani smiled approvingly upon his eager countenance, but shook her head negatively.
"Prasad, well do I believe in thy devotion and courage, but thou art hasty in judgment. Consider how rash would be thy action. Thou wouldst carry my troops away to Shahpur, and leave me—to whom wouldst thou leave the defense of the city? To Ahmad's soldiers? Nay surely! No," she added thoughtfully. "In my mind all such work without the city must fall to Ahmad's lot. But how to control his savage nature, for the moment, I see not clearly."
Prasad again paced to a little distance. An expression of keen disappointment settled on his face.
"Nay Prasad," she enjoined in a gentle voice. "Be not out of humor with me. Thou dost not rightly see these things. Thou dost not understand what bitter jealousy would be stirred up among my own people, if I gave to thee that which many worthy officers covet most. Ahmad may be a greater villain than even thou wouldst have him, but forget not he goes to battle with greater zest than to a banquet. Bloodshed and rapine are his calling, and few there are who do not shudder at his name. Ah! If I could only send him forth to this impertinent Sadescheo."
"Is it possible thou, too, art afraid of him"? suggested Prasad.
A laugh of derision escaped the Rani's lips.
"Lachmi Bai afraid of Ahmad—of anyone? Nay, you know her not, O Prasad."
The Hindu noble's intense jealousy prompted him to an ungallant retort. He turned quickly toward her and muttered between his clenched teeth:
"Perchance thou art in love with the Mohammedan"?
She rose to her feet and stood confronting him; her form quivering with emotion; her cheeks aflame; her eyes flashing threateningly; her breast throbbing with the insult.
"Dare not thou ever speak to me again such thought," she retorted sternly. "Dost think that I, of noble birth and lofty caste, would descend to gratify the passion of an accursed Moslem, even if he could place upon my head an empire's crown. Dost think—Ah, Prasad," she continued in a softer tone. "Thou art surely out of thy mind to speak thus to me. Thou hast forgotten that although I am the Rani, I am still a woman. I did not think this of thee."
Her voice quavered as the passion roused by the insult to her dignity gave place to a realization of the wound made, by one, for whom she had come to form a tender regard.
Prasad glanced at the eyes from which the fire had been quenched by gathering tears. He was seized with contrition, and cast himself abjectly at her feet.
"Ah! Beast that I am," he cried in accents of self reproach. "How dare I throw a doubt upon thine honor? Forgive me. Forgive my folly, thou dear one. Surely thou knowest it is my love for thee, which maketh me hate the very name of any other uttered by thy matchless lips. I vow it is my only desire to do thee service, aye, if it be the will of God, to give my life for thee."
She rested a hand gently upon his shoulder, and gazed down upon him with affection.
"This time thou art forgiven," she returned. "But distress me not so again, my Prasad. Thou shall yet do me not unrequited service, if thou canst be unresentful of the means I am compelled to use to make my will obeyed. If thou seest me take in hand a two edged sword, be assured it is the best weapon I can find to parry disloyalty in both Hindu and Mohammedan."
"So be it, fair lady," he replied. "Thou art my will, my life."
He rose to his feet and for the moment was tempted by an uncontrollable desire to enfold her in his arms. He took a hurried pace forward, but the act was prevented by the entrance of a woman servant.
"My Lady Rani," the latter announced. "Ahmad Khan hath come to the palace. He urgently craves an audience with your Highness."
The Rani's face expressed welcome surprise.
"So," she cried. "Ahmad returns to caress the hand that sways his destiny. Fierce beast that he is. I—I am his mistress, aye, his master.
"Come," she added, beckoning to Prasad. "Be watchful of thy temper, O good friend."
When the Rani entered the room in which Ahmad was waiting, he saluted her with profound reverence. Thrice he made a courtly salaam at a respectful distance. In his outward manner there was no sign of the arrogance which had marked his last abrupt entrance into her palace.
Whatever conclusion the Rani drew from the glance directed toward him, she extended a friendly greeting. "Thou art welcome, Ahmad," she exclaimed, intimating her pleasure that he should draw nearer. "Thou art ever welcome to the Palace of the Rani. I trust thou art recovered from thy sickness."
"Noble Lady," he replied, as if with an effort. "The physician had enjoined a longer period of confinement to my room; but the news from Shahpur made me hasten to thy side."
The Rani started.
"Hast thou heard from Sadescheo then"? she asked wistfully.
"Of him rather than from him, noble Lady," replied Ahmad. "Sadescheo gathers troops about his fortress, so it is thy humble servant's advice that thou dost, without loss of time, dispatch a strong body to learn his reason."
The Rani turned a searching look upon the Mohammedan.
He met her gaze unflinchingly.
"Noble Rani," he petitioned. "Thou hast good cause to doubt my faith and word. But, gracious Lady, hear my explanation. True is it that Bahadur Shah commanded me to protect the Government of Jhansi, but surely for thy sake. My people were carried away by their zeal and triumph over the Foreigners. They were guilty of an offense against thy authority. In the same enthusiasm of the hour I, too, lost control of my proper reverence for thy person. For this, noble Rani, I do seek thy pardon; and as evidence of my regret, I beg that thou wilt direct me to march instantly with three hundred Afghan troopers, who have arrived this morning without the city, and demand submission of this Sadescheo. Be assured if he does not comply speedily, I will rout his people like sheep before a band of wolves. In chains, at my horse's hoofs, will I drag him and his relatives hither."
While Prasad gazed with wonder at the Mohammedan's altered manner, the Rani assured him that the past had already been forgotten.
"Then will I set forth for Shahpur, noble Rani," he asked, "to bring this dog of a Maharaja to his senses"?
"Not so hastily, my Lord," the Rani answered thoughtfully. "The sword once out of its sheath, the fight is on, and who knows what a turmoil we may stir up in the state. Wiser it would seem to me, to overawe Sadescheo by a display of greater force. How many people, think you, hath he already collected to his support"?
"Noble Lady," replied the Mohammedan, "I know, nor care not. But give to me the order and with a hundred Afghans to every thousand of his people few will remain in Shahpur to tell of Ahmad's visit."
"Ahmad, good friend," replied the Rani authoritatively. "That must not be. Well do I know and appreciate thy courage, but bloodshed among ourselves is what I strive to avoid."
"Better to crush the cobra before it raises its head," he remarked significantly.
"Aye, but I would rather that with thy Afghan horsemen, thou dost take an equal number of my troopers. Then will Sadescheo perceive that both Hindu and Mohammedan are united in my cause, and will submit without resort to force."
Ahmad appeared to coincide with her argument.
"Thou speakest ever wisely, O Rani," he returned. "But in such event might not I ask that the noble Prasad Singh here, doth lead thy troops, if he will deign the comradeship of so rough a man at arms."
Prasad looked up eagerly at the unexpected request, and implied compliment. He began to view Ahmad in a different light.
"With the Rani's permission, gladly will I do so," he acquiesced.
The Rani perceived that Prasad's presence with the expedition might act as a restraining influence, as well as a safeguard upon the Mohammedan.
She gave her consent readily.
"Thou wilt take three hundred of my horsemen," she addressed Prasad, "and accompany Ahmad Khan to Shahpur. Upon thy return a Darbar shall be held in which I will make the chief appointments in the state."
She then turned to Ahmad and asked if it would be possible for him to reach Shahpur in the present state of the weather.
"Fair Lady," replied the Mohammedan. "Have I not fought among the Afghan passes when the winter snows were tinged a bloody red. Have I not chased Kurd horsemen into their bleak fastnesses. Such squalls as these but refresh the mettle of our steeds. Fear not, at daybreak, Ahmad Khan will break his fast with Sadescheo."
"Then farewell, my Lords," the Rani cried. "Go, terrify Sadescheo as much as thou wilt, but, remember, draw not the sword unless thou art compelled as thou regardest my favor."
Ahmad saluted and retired first from her presence. Prasad was about to follow, when he paused a moment.
"What are thy commands"? he asked in a low tone, as if he expected an order yet to be disclosed.
"Be watchful," she replied. "For the present he may be trusted, because"—
A smile of triumph broke upon her face as she concluded—
"If thou dost love the Rani, remember her command."
She passed to a window and watched the two nobles mount their chargers. Her spirit was stirred by the sight of their martial bearing.
"Ah"! she sighed regretfully. "Ah! How I would like to be one of them. To be a man and ride forth sword in hand, to battle; to hear the cannon roar, and mingle with the clash of arms. Perhaps, who can tell, some day the Rani may command her troops in person."
Then her thoughts took another channel.
"Sadescheo," she exclaimed. "Sadescheo! Poor, foolish, coward. I have no fear how he will act when the dawn finds Ahmad demanding admittance, in my name, at the gates of Shahpur."
Faithfully Ahmad kept his word to the Rani. Through the black, tempestuous night, he swept over the road to Shahpur. He recklessly plunged into swollen torrents. He callously hurled himself upon whatever obstacles lay in his path. Whirlwinds and stormbursts seemed in sympathy with his furious nature, bearing him onward rather than impeding his progress. Struggling, swearing, crashing in his wake, the troopers followed as best they could. A horse falling through sheer exhaustion, rider and beast were left to extricate themselves. Another, carried away in the flood of a river, was, without a saving effort, abandoned to his fate. To Ahmad, such incidents were only manifestations of the Will of Allah, by which all men must die when their appointed hour had come.
This exhibition of splendid recklessness was not without effect upon the brave spirit of Prasad. With rigid features he strenuously spurred forward at Ahmad's side. In his mind there gradually formed an understanding of the value which the Rani placed upon the services of the Mohammedan. It was like a bolt of lightning held in reserve, a force to be controlled only with the greatest skill and prudence; yet one that launched forth, burning to destroy, and oblivious of meeting with destruction itself; a terrible and awe-inspiring object.
Seldom were words exchanged. A guttural oath occasionally burst from the Mohammedan's lips as he found his way momentarily blockaded; an exclamation of anger went forth upon the night as he glanced back over his shoulder to discover that his pace had outstripped that of his followers.
The sullen break of day found Ahmad Khan and his companions, shaggy, dirt begrimed, with sodden garments, emerging from a ravine. At the entrance, perched upon the summit of a rock, rose indistinctly in the misty half light, the gray walls of the citadel of Shahpur.
He halted his men for a short space to enable stragglers to rejoin the party, and to perform a religious act. In Ahmad's nature, there was mingled with an absolute lack of human principle, a strange leavening of superstitious reverence. The more villainous the project upon which he was bent, the more scrupulous would he be in conforming to certain outward observances of his religion. If a murder was to be accomplished by the basest treachery, he would as fervently call down the blessing of Allah upon the act, as if another were about to sacrifice himself in some deed of true heroism.
He unrolled a small piece of carpet, and spread it upon the ground. Then he knelt with his face toward the west, and remained a few minutes in prayer.
"There is but one God and Mohammed is the Prophet of God," he solemnly ejaculated at its conclusion.
Several of his troopers added an amen.
He rose and remounted.
He then carefully inspected the company, arranging them in double file. This done to his satisfaction he cautiously led the way toward the mouth of the ravine, taking advantage of such cover as was afforded by the low underbrush and projecting spurs of rock.
Ahmad thus advanced into a narrow sinuous path leading up to the main gate of the citadel, when he pressed forward so rapidly and noiselessly, that he was demanding admittance of the keeper, before the watchers on the walls had discerned his approach.
"Open there," he shouted, "to Ahmad Khan and the noble Prasad Singh, bearing a message from the Rani of Jhansi."
Ahmad Khan! Ahmad Khan! A panic seized those within the gates roused from their slumbers by the stentorian voice of the Mohammedan.
"Open dogs," he thundered, as his summons failed of an immediate response.
"Noble lords," at last came a quavering rejoinder. "Maharaja Sadescheo yet sleepeth. The gates cannot be opened without his order."
"Wake him then," cried the Mohammedan. "By God's holy Prophet, time passes upon an urgent matter."
"Noble lords, that is impossible."
"Accursed jackals. Am I to batter down the gate. Go to thy master, and if thou wilt, lay all the blame on Ahmad Khan. He will awaken quickly, enough, if I mistake not," he added.
A short period elapsed, passed restlessly by Ahmad, when the voice was again raised within the gate.
"Maharaja Sadescheo extends greeting. He would welcome the noble Ahmad Khan and his followers but that the citadel is already over filled. If the noble Ahmad Khan will enter unattended, then will Sadescheo gladly see him."
Ahmad cast himself impulsively from the saddle.
"Thou wilt not accept this challenge, surely"? asked Prasad.
"Surely will I," the other retorted. "Thou wilt keep these fellows here, and if I do not return or send for thee within an hour, thou canst ask the reason by an assault upon the gate. But there is no danger."
He passed through the massive door and found himself in a courtyard filled with Sadescheo's recently collected soldiers. As he strode inward fearlessly, they fell back before his grim and martial bearing. His way made clear through these, he was conducted to a room in the interior of the fortress to await the Maharaja.
With soldierly instinct Ahmad stepped to a window that commanded a partial view of the defenses.
"A good position," he reflected, as his glance swept along the walls, "and worth holding if garrisoned by a handful of Mohammedans instead of this Hindu rabble. Sadescheo"!—
A smile broke upon his face.
"Sadescheo thinks to trick the Rani of Jhansi. By God! he little knows with whom he has to deal. She would make a fit wife even for the illustrious Dost Mohammed, the Lion of Afghanistan. I warrant there is more in that bewitching form than most give credit for. Thus, for the undoing of this accursed Prasad, will Ahmad for a time become her humble slipper bearer. Allah! what is it in the girl that moves a man in spite of himself."
A voice pronouncing his name interrupted the trend of his thoughts. He turned abruptly to confront a man of past middle age, whose weak features bore evidence of a life of sensual debauchery. With outstretched hands Sadescheo greeted the Mohammedan.
"Thou hast come unexpectedly, and apparently without waste of time upon the road, O Ahmad," he exclaimed, eyeing the Mohammedan's travel-stained attire. Then in a lower tone, "Hast determined to assist in ousting that chit of a girl from the Raj of Jhansi"?
Ahmad drew himself up to his full height as he replied haughtily.
"I have come from Her Highness the Rani to know the reason of your collecting troops, and to demand a recognition of her authority."
"Come! come! Good Ahmad," the other rejoined. "It is early in the day for pleasantry. It is a new thing for Ahmad Khan to joke."
"A joke," repeated Ahmad sternly. "By the Prophet's beard it is no joke. On the Koran I have sworn to support the Rani."
The feeble smile on Sadescheo's face gave place to an expression of dismay.
"Thou canst not mean this," he returned, "for but the other day thou didst send a messenger agreeing to our plans."
"And to-day," retorted Ahmad threateningly, "I come in person to denounce that same messenger as a liar. Briefly, good friend, it doth not suit Ahmad Khan to oppose the Rani for the purpose of uplifting Sadescheo."
"Then thou hast surely chosen an ill-fitting place to make the declaration," replied the Maharaja significantly. "Perchance Ahmad Khan may remain in Shahpur until he again finds it expedient to change his mind. He does not seem to be aware that he speaks within the walls of Sadescheo's fortress."
With a rapid movement Ahmad was at Sadescheo's side. Roughly he laid a firm grasp upon the Maharaja's shoulder, while his disengaged hand fell to the hilt of a dagger protruding from his girdle.
"Aye, and thou art in Ahmad's power," he muttered fiercely. "If he sees fit to change his mind, that is his affair. If he orders thee to throw open thy gates to his people, three hundred Afghans and as many of the Rani's troopers, impatient to enter, yea or nay, and summon hither his lieutenant, thou hadst better do it quickly, or he will open thy body and toss forth thy chicken heart to swine. Art willing to follow such advice, valiant Sadescheo"?
Sadescheo glanced timorously toward the open door. Within call were a dozen armed retainers who at the raising of his voice would rush to his assistance. But he knew full well that before they could reach his side, Ahmad's dagger would be buried a foot deep in his breast. If in turn, the Mohammedan were slain after he had made a pile of corpses to fall upon, that would be little satisfaction to him personally. He therefore called an attendant and gave the required order. For a moment the servant hesitated. "Go," cried Sadescheo nervously. "Go do my bidding, swiftly. What would you have now"? he asked of Ahmad.
"That my troops receive food and lodging for the day," replied the other, "and that on my return to Jhansi to-night my lieutenant, Suliman Abhas and a hundred Afghans replace your people on the walls of the citadel. Further, thou wilt proclaim the Rani in Darbar and hoist her banner on the gate."
To this Sadescheo made a gesture indicative of enforced compliance.
Presently, heavy footsteps in the passage announced the approach of Prasad and Ahmad's lieutenant.
Upon entering they glanced from Sadescheo, still held in Ahmad's grasp, to their leader, and waited.
With grim ceremony he presented them to the Maharaja.
Sadescheo bade them a reluctant welcome.
"With your permission, noble sir," suggested Ahmad, "we will proceed to your hall of audience. There the Rani's title will be proclaimed, and we will rest upon our return to Jhansi."
Before an hour had passed the Rani of Jhansi's banner was flying beside that of Sadescheo, and Ahmad's troops had replaced those of the Maharaja on the walls.
That night the two nobles set forth on their return to the capital.
The burst of the monsoon in Jhansi had for the time passed over, so they rode leisurely through the clear atmosphere. First, they discussed the general prospects of the rebellion, then their successful descent upon Sadescheo, and lastly the condition of their personal affairs.
"You carried your life upon the blade of your sword, when you entered Sadescheo's fortress," remarked Prasad admiringly. "It was an intrepid act."
Ahmad laughed carelessly.
"In truth no," he returned. "There are some men, I grant you, with whom it would have been a venturesome thing to do. It would be a dangerous trick to play upon such a one as Dost Mohammed, whose valour and resource rise with the greater odds against him. But with this Sadescheo"—
He uttered an exclamation of contempt as he concluded:
"Upon him you have but to frown, and he shivers from his turban to his slippers."
They rode on in silence for some distance across a wide plain, the troopers following in a long procession, phantom like by the light of the moon.
Ahmad, apparently deep in thought, at last spoke in a reflective manner.
"Thou art a fortunate man, friend Prasad. Providence hath undoubtedly taken thy affairs into her special keeping."
"How so"? the other asked. "If by casting obstacles at every turn of my way she is doing me good service, then only am I the most fortunate of men."
"Why, good comrade," returned Ahmad. "Is it not great fortune to stand so high in the beautiful Rani's favor. What could man desire more"?
Prasad turned a glance quickly upon the Mohammedan, but his companion's head was bent downward toward the pommel of his saddle.
"If I stand high in her favor," he replied, "then she well keepeth it a secret."
"Dost thou not count it a favor"? asked the Mohammedan, "to be appointed to the supreme command of her troops when many crave so honorable a post."
"She hath not appointed me to any office," replied Prasad, "except upon this expedition, which was owing to thy suggestion."
Ahmad raised his face upon which rested a well feigned look of surprise.
"Truly you astonish me," he exclaimed. "But the Rani is a prudent woman, and doubtless waits a favorable moment to give it to thee. At the Darbar she will probably pronounce thy name in honor."
"I doubt it much," returned Prasad, "though I grant you she is a mistress in the art of not making clear her mind."
"Tut, tut," ejaculated Ahmad soothingly. "Woman like, she is but playing with thee awhile. But I know well she holdeth thee in high esteem. How could she do otherwise than appreciate the gallantry of so fine a soldier. For me," he added indifferently, "I possess little influence with the Rani, and at any moment I may be called away to set the Emperor's house in order. But when I make my report of this little business, be assured I will not fail to keep thy name in mind. If a humble word of mine can do thee service, it shall not remain unspoken."
The eyes of the two men met in a steady gaze. Upon the Mohammedan's face stern and cold as it appeared, Prasad could detect no sign of hidden motive. He had yielded homage to the man's reckless valor; might there not, he argued, after all dwell beneath the rough exterior, a generous nature, carried away at times by mad impulse.
"If thou wouldst do this for me," he returned, "thou wilt have placed me under obligation of a life. To command the Rani's troops is now my great ambition."
For an instant a sarcastic smile flickered about the Mohammedan's lips. But it was gone before it could be detected.
"Gladly will I take an oath upon the holy book to do it," he answered. "These officers of the Rani are well enough, but they lack that proper martial spirit which, as a soldier, I have noted plainly in thy conduct. For myself, my aims now lie elsewhere than in Jhansi; but even were that not so, I would willingly yield to thee the office, as it is but right a Hindu noble should command the forces of a Hindu queen."
"Ahmad," Prasad cried enthusiastically. "I have done thee an injustice. More, I have ever done the same as those of thy religion. It is said a Moslem can never be a friend. Henceforth I vow that such is false."
Ahmad bowed his head in acknowledgment of the other's confidence.
"Everyone hath an enemy," he replied, "who will misrepresent a good intention. If influence of mine can do thee service, by the holy Kaaba I swear the Rani will go into Darbar with but thy name upon her lips.
"Come! The day breaks," he concluded, "and we are still some leagues from Jhansi."
Again he halted to dismount and pray with his face toward holy Mecca.
Ahmad's devotions were of short duration. He concluded with a petition to Allah to witness the truth in his heart. Then vaulting into the saddle, he drove his spurs into his horse's flanks. With arms glinting in the sunshine, at a canter, he bravely led the cavalcade.
Ahmad returned alone to the Rani's palace. To avert all suspicion of his conduct, he dismissed his Afghans to the cantonments on approaching the city. With the plea of furthering Prasad's interest, he had advised the Hindu noble to absent himself when the report of their expedition was made. It would be difficult, he explained, to properly advocate the claim of another, if the person chiefly concerned were present.
Prasad clearly perceived the force of the Mohammedan's suggestion. He relied implicitly upon the other's good faith, and readily acquiesced.
"Make my best salaams to the divine Rani," he enjoined Ahmad on parting, "and say that I will come to her side as soon as I have changed my attire for garments more suitable to the presence of a queen."
Ahmad vowed that he would leave no compliment unsaid on Prasad's behalf.
"In truth," he reflected, as he proceeded on his way, "I may be wrong, but this Rani of ours seems rather to prefer the smell of powder to the most delicate perfume of Teheran. I fancy the courtier finds less favor in her eyes than the man-at-arms. Ah what a treasure! What an houri. She must, by the God of Islam, she shall be mine, if I am compelled to play a hundred different parts in turn."
As Ahmad dismounted, the beggar who had petitioned everyone entering the palace that morning, ceased his cry for alms. He crouched further into his corner as instinct told him it was the fierce Mohammedan at hand—one whose boast was that he neither feared nor pitied any human being.
Ahmad remarked the beggar's action.
"Thou poor wretch," said he in a voice into which he threw as much compassion as he could assume. "Art dumb now as well as blind."?
Surprise was depicted on the face of the beggar, who had learned by past experience to expect a curse if he ventured to address Ahmad Khan.
"Noble Lord," he faltered. "Is it truly the voice of the great Ahmad that I hear"?
"Whose voice else"? demanded the Mohammedan in return.
The beggar shrugged his shoulders.
"Lord I know not," he answered.
Ahmad cast a small coin at the beggar's feet, and ascended the palace steps.
On the porch Bipin had been an interested spectator of the scene.
"Blessed Devi," he reflected. "What next will happen? Perchance we shall behold Ahmad Khan robed as a Mollah calling his people to prayer, from the balcony of a minaret. Everyone seems to be what he is not. To think that the well-looking Prasad should possess so villainous a heart, and the black Mohammedan display compassion for the unfortunate."
Bipin was still in a most unhappy frame of mind. That morning another circumstance had occurred fraught with ill-omen. A white cat bereft of one eye had persistently endeavored to sharpen its talons in his legs. To fathom the significance of the beast's actions, Bipin had promptly repaired to his friend the astrologer, who for a monetary consideration, had assured his client that they betokened the swift unfolding of Prasad's design. As a consequence, Bipin had armed himself with an ancient and rusty flint lock pistol, the massive butt of which protruded from his waistband.
The weapon at once attracted Ahmad's notice.
"What," he cried with gruff humor. "What do I behold? The worthy Bipin Dat, the man of peace, armed for mortal combat."
"Illustrious Lord," returned Bipin gravely. "When every man goeth armed, he is a fool who doth not follow the prevailing fashion."
"True, O Secretary," returned Ahmad, laying a familiar though heavy hand upon the other's shoulder. "Come, I like thee all the better for thy display of spirit. Soon thou wilt be wielding a sword with the best Afghan in my troop."
"And why should I not," rejoined Bipin. "One need not be born in a fortress to make a good fighter."
Ahmad threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Bipin," he replied, "I am inclined to think thou hast mistaken thy calling. Thou shouldst have been a soldier. Come! I will beg a commission for thee from Her Highness, so that thou mayest win the title, Singh."
"Not so fast, good sir," replied Bipin. "In dangerous times arms are well enough for protection, but he who makes a profession of exchanging blows receives too many for my liking."
Ahmad laughed again. "Well! well! Bipin," he exclaimed. "I make no doubt when the moment comes thou wilt acquit thyself with the best of us. But in the meantime I would see the Heaven endowed Rani."
Bipin turned, and beckoned Ahmad to follow. He led the way into the palace.
The Rani had feared that in spite of the solemn injunction she had laid upon Ahmad, his uncontrolled nature might have led him into some overt act against Sadescheo. She was relieved, early in the report, to learn, that he had managed to enforce her authority upon the Maharaja without igniting a racial conflagration within her territory.
"Ahmad," she cried with a display of satisfaction. "Thou hast done well indeed. How can I reward thy services sufficiently"?
"Noble Rani," he answered. "Thy approval of my actions is all the recompense I ask."
A momentary expression of added relief crossed the Rani's face.
She was afraid he might demand that which his soldierly qualities entitled him to claim, but which she still hesitated to give.
"If all others were only like thee," she returned, "how much easier would be my lot, how much more secure would be our position."
"Fair Lady," resumed Ahmad. "My position is uncertain, for I know not how soon I may be called away to sharpen the blunted teeth of Bahadur Shah's overfed soldiers. Wrangling among themselves over the plunder that has fallen into their hands at Delhi, they will scatter to the jungle like a band of jackals at the voice of the Foreign hunter. But if Ahmad Khan might presume to offer the great Rani some advice in certain matters, he would consider himself well repaid for any service he has rendered."
"Gladly will I hear thee, friend Ahmad," acquiesced the Rani.
"Principally is it," continued Ahmad, "in reference to the offices thou wilt doubtless make in Darbar to-morrow. Above all things it would be advisable to appoint a commander of the troops, to whom both thy Hindu and Mohammedan subjects will look with respect and confidence. If thou hast determined this already, then will the voice of thy humble servant remain silent."
"No Ahmad," returned the Rani thoughtfully. "I have not done so as yet. That matter troubles me more than all else. There are so many worthy aspirants that it is difficult to select the one who would suit the office best. Willingly will I listen to thy advice."
"Then, noble Rani," Ahmad proceeded, "Taking into account the conflicting aspects of the question, the man to be chosen must possess more than one qualification. Courage and daring must first of all be his birthright, but equally important is a knowledge of military strategy—none the less valuable if intuitive rather than acquired by experience, and in which rapidity of action must be the outward manifestation of an alert mind. To these must be added firmness of character to enforce discipline even to the point of seeming cruelty, holding human life in his own person and in that of others as of no account when necessary, yet not unmindful of the needs of his soldiers whose affection he will thereby gain in return. If, further, he should possess youth and a gallant bearing it will be to his advantage, for the trooper is ever the more eager to follow a captain of distinguished presence. If he possesses these qualities, noble Rani, even though thy selection were to fall upon a comparative stranger to the state, be assured thou wouldst act most wisely. Such a one I dare to have in mind."
Unconsciously Ahmad had faithfully portrayed the character as yet undisplayed of the girl before whom he stood.
In the pause which ensued it was evident the Rani was mentally reviewing the faces of those known to her who would be most likely to coincide with Ahmad's description.
"Ah"! she exclaimed at last. "Dost thou refer to Prasad Singh"?
A look of slight astonishment broke upon Ahmad's face.
"Prasad Singh"! he ejaculated. "Noble Lady," he protested, "for aught I know to the contrary Prasad Singh may possess all these qualities and more. Untried in any important affair, he may prove to be a great captain, though in our little ride to Shahpur, but for the banter of his rough companion, I think he would more than once have turned back. But Prasad surely is a good comrade and a handsome fellow, even if his name doth not hover on my lips."
"Whose name dost thou have in mind, then"? asked the Rani somewhat perplexed.
"It is the young officer Dost Ali, noble Lady," replied Ahmad confidentially. "Thou wilt have heard his father was a Maratha who was driven into exile by the Foreigners, and dying left his young son to the protection of the illustrious Dost Mohammed. Brought up by such a leader, he has well learned the trade of arms. By birth a Hindu and a Mohammedan by adoption, both factions in the state might well unite to serve under him. Moreover, such action on thy part would surely please the great Amir of Afghanistan, some of whose troopers are now a part of thy forces, and whose doubtful attitude toward the Foreigners might thereby be determined in support of India's cause."
The Rani turned from Ahmad and gazed out of a window pensively. There was forming quickly in her mind an ulterior object that might be promoted by following Ahmad's suggestion. Among her older officers there was a marked disposition to regard her opinion in military affairs lightly, as that of a mere girl whose judgment in such matters could be of no value. A younger man, susceptible to her personal charm, would, she thought, be more likely to follow, unhesitatingly, the dictates of her will.
"Thou hast observed the young officer of whom I speak, my Rani"? Ahmad asked with a shade of anxiety in his voice, as he waited on her answer.
"Truly I have," she answered. "I have remarked him well several times. I like his manner and appearance. There is much discernment in what thou sayest. For a space I will think over it, and to-morrow make known my decision."
Ahmad salaamed low and withdrew from her presence.
So far, he was satisfied with the favorable view the Rani seemed to take of his covert plan of installing a protégé of his own in one of the most important offices of the government, and the deeper project of eventually destroying his rival by that means.
The Rani proceeded to an inner court, and called her chief waiting woman to her side.
"Rati," she began. "I am curious to know what other women—the ladies of the zananas—think of me. Tell me, O Rati, thou who learnest such things, what is the opinion in such places of Lachmi Bai"?
The girl looked nonplussed.
"Speak truly," enjoined the Rani. "Flattery enough I can have for the wish."
The girl's uneasiness increased visibly.
"Noble Rani. They say. They say"—she hesitated.
"Yes, what do they say"? the Rani demanded impatiently.
"That thou art well gifted, O noble one," the girl replied evasively.
The Rani turned a look of displeasure upon the girl. "I did not ask for that," she spoke authoritatively. "Tell me what else do they say of me"?
"Some affirm that thou art as beautiful as the opening lotus, but others"—
The girl broke off timidly.
"Others," concluded the Rani with a smile. "Others are afraid for their sweethearts, aye Rati"?
"Perchance, noble Lady," acquiesced the girl.
The Rani's humor displayed itself in a silvery laugh that was echoed by the walls of the court.
"Rati," she commanded, "what more do they say"?
"O great one," petitioned the girl, "urge me not in this manner, lest thou become offended."
"Offended surely will I become unless thou doest as I bid thee."
The girl paused a moment, then proceeded fearfully.
"They say, O Rani, that thou art vain of thy beauty, and forgettest thy modesty as a Hindu woman by so openly consorting with soldiers and gallants."
"Say they so," the Rani cried passionately, stung to the quick by the implication.
The girl fell at the Rani's feet and implored her not to visit punishment upon an unwilling offender's head.
"Pardon, O Queen. Thou didst force me," she besought fervently.
"I am not angry with thee, poor girl," the Rani replied in a softened tone. "But while my actions are seen by all, to what do many of these zanana beauties stoop? The shutters of their windows can best tell. I will show them, these women of such fine sensibilities, how the Rani, for all her pride, observes a custom too much falling into disuse among the rich and great. I have heard that my honored guru[3] cometh to aid me with advice, that he even now approaches Jhansi. Go, therefore, order my bearers, so that I may go forth to receive him with all the respect due his office."
The girl rose, and departed to obey the Rani's behest.
The Rani raised a hand wearily to her forehead.
"So much discussion to appease," she murmured, "so much jealousy and envy among those who should assist, rather than thwart the only one who dared to do what has been accomplished. Love! Ah, only it seems do the poor and afflicted truly love the Rani. Even Prasad, who vows by all things sacred that my image beatifies his sleep, hath ever a favor uppermost in mind."
Presently a state duli[4] with curtains to screen the occupant from view, was carried to the entrance of the palace.