Chapter XX
_BIPIN TAKES A PRISONER_
When the first messenger from Kunch rode into Kalpi, as if a thousanddemons were in pursuit, shouting wildly that the day was lost; theworthy secretary, Bipin Dat, bitterly reproached himself for nothaving, at all hazards, continued his journey to the abode of hisfamily. "_Ah, hae, hae_"! he groaned, "what God is unappeased by whicha peaceful man is continually involved in these affairs of bloodshed.This all comes of not consulting an astrologer before setting out fromJhansi. He might have so arranged matters with the heavens, that awhirlwind would have scattered the Foreigners. Unfortunate is it, thatthe great Rani sets so little faith in the all powerful astrologers."
He quickly gathered a few trinkets together, carefully secreted them inthe folds of his turban, and was among the earliest to plunge into thejungle.
There, for several days he wandered about in fear of wild beasts, ofrobbers, and of evil spirits. In what direction his footsteps werebent, he had but a faint idea; his sole aim being to place betweenhimself and the scene of hostilities the greatest possible distance. Anoccasional hut afforded him a sleeping place, where, in the universalcharity displayed to travellers, he was provided gratuitously with suchmeagre fare as could be offered.
How far he had wandered, Bipin could make no computation. The people ofthe jungle knew only of their immediate neighborhood. It seemed to himhe must have travelled a great distance. In reality, like many undersimilar circumstances, he had been rambling in circles. At the end oftwo weeks he was still within thirty miles of the place he was eager toview from a distance of two hundred.
The day's tramp had been more than usually a toilsome one for Bipin.He had taken a narrow path that seemed to wander capriciously amidtangled underbrush with no particular destination. The sun had setwithout a village or habitation in sight, and the mysterious silence ofthe jungle, its ominous shadows, its majestic gloom, filled his soulwith dread. He was reluctant to go forward, afraid to remain on thespot, and hesitated to turn back. His terrified fancy beheld the eyesof a panther or a tiger glaring out at him from behind every bush. Thebreaking of a twig, the sound of his own footsteps startled him nearlyout of his senses. Thrice that day had a fox crossed his path, theworst possible omen. He beat his breast in his wretchedness. In turn,his fat cheeks and brow became flushed, and chill as the damp slab of atomb.
"Oh, what a fool have I been," he groaned, "to mix my life up in theintrigues and ambitions of a court. How much better had I only remainedin my humble condition with my good uncles. I would never have come tothis unlucky pass."
Before him the path made a bend. Through the branches he thoughthe discerned a flickering light. It might come from a hut, or, heshivered, from the watch fire of a detachment of the Foreigners. In themorning he had heard that parties of them were beating the jungle forfugitives.
But in his deplorable situation, he reasoned, that it would be betterto fall into their hands with the chance of being able to prove hisinnocence of rebellion, than remain where he was, a prey to somemalign influence that, for all he knew to the contrary, might changehim into a bat. He gathered his tattered garments about him, and movedcautiously toward the light. He had not taken many steps when a handstretched out from the darkness laid a firm grasp upon his shoulder. Atthe same moment a voice in his own language gruffly called on him tohalt.
"Who art thou, and whitherward"?
Bipin cast his arms above his head despairingly. His challenger mightbe a robber, or the Native sentry of a Foreign encampment.
"But a poor traveller--a devotee on his way to the holy river," hecried timorously, "a man of peace seeking a shelter for the night."
It was a fortunate inspiration that prompted him to pose as a pilgrimto the bank of the holy Ganges. The vilest malefactor would respectthe sanctity of his person undergoing such a pious obligation. Had theidea only occurred to him before, it would have saved many qualms ofnervous emotion. The accursed fox would have fled precipitately at thecry of "_Ganga! Ganga_"!
To Bipin's relief his captor replied in friendly accents:
"Why, surely, thy voice is not unknown to my ears. Art thou not one ofthe Rani of Jhansi's attendants"?
Bipin was about to vow by all his Gods that so far from being in anysympathy with the Native army, he detested their actions and loved theForeigners as his uncles. For a moment he was tempted to declare, thatnever in his life had he beheld the face of the great Princess, andreassert more firmly his sacred mission; when it occurred to him thathe might have stumbled upon a detachment of the fleeing Native army. Hepromptly decided to make sure of this point before committing himselfto a confounding statement.
"And thy voice, too, I seem to know," he returned. "Art thou not alsoone of her followers"?
"A servant of the valiant Rani, herself," came the terse response.
"Blessed Devi," cried Bipin joyfully. "Am I not her worthy secretary,Bipin Dat. Tell me, good fellow, where I may discover her Highness, forwhom I have been vainly searching in the jungle these many days past."
"That is easily done, holy pilgrim," replied the other, with a laugh,at the secretary's sudden change of garment. "She is encamped here witha body of her Valaitis, in retreat from Kalpi. Come, I will take theeto her presence."
The sentry led Bipin a short distance to an open space in which twoor three hundred Valaitis were resting with their horses tethered athand. Near a small camp fire the Rani was seated gazing pensively intothe smouldering embers, kept purposely from rising into a blaze forfear of disclosing her place of concealment. She did not notice Bipin'sapproach until he had prostrated himself at her feet. Then she turnedher eyes upon him without speaking.
"Great Rani," he at last exclaimed. "Behold thy worthy servant, BipinDat."
"Aye," she replied gravely but not unkindly. "Thou art a strangecreature, appearing where least expected. Better would it have been forthee, good Bipin, if thou hadst taken another road than that which ledto the Rani's camp. I would urge thee to seek speedily thy home, forwith us henceforth there will be little use for thy pen."
A note of sadness in her voice appealed to a sympathetic chord even inthe timorous nature of her secretary. It reproached him with cowardiceand infidelity to his beautiful, heroic mistress.
"Lovely Rani," he cried penitently. "I vow hereafter I will never leavethy side, come good or evil fortune."
"Bipin," she replied with lighter spirit. "Though the present hour isdark enough, it may yet be that those who follow me shall bask in thebrightest sunshine. If thou art determined to be among them, thou hadstbetter seek thy rest, for by daybreak we must be far hence."
A prudent man, the worthy secretary took a careful survey of the campbefore deciding on his sleeping place. Not that there was much choiceas regards a comfortable position. It was the bare ground for both theRani and her attendants; but in his turban there were still hiddencertain articles of value that might tempt the cupidity of the Valaititroopers. If in guarding his sleep they despoiled him of his remainingpossessions, he reasoned, that he would have paid overmuch for anight's security.
In this dilemma, his eyes chanced to observe the well spreadingbranches of a tree, under which the Rani had taken up a recliningposition. They suggested to him a safe retreat. With some difficultyhe climbed the lower trunk and discovered a spot that nature mighthave constructed to suit his present need. He curled himself up wheretwo stout limbs branched off into space, and amid the shelter of thefoliage was soon fast asleep.
The silence of midnight descended on the camp, the fire died low, anoccasional grunt from the throat of a heavy sleeping trooper on theground, and a sonorous gurgle from that of the secretary aloft, werethe only noises distinguishable to the sentries.
Presently the worthy secretary began to dream of the peaceful abodeof his uncles. It was a soothing picture to his troubled mind, butunfortunately, like the reality of life, it was not destined tolast long without a counterpart of woe. In that absurdly impossibleprocedure of dreams, the accurs
ed barber of Jhansi appeared on thescene, attired for all the world like a Foreign soldier--in fact, ahorrible nightmare, dual personality, endeavoring to shave off Bipin'snose and ears with a two handed sword of immense proportions. In hissleep the secretary struggled and gasped, for it seemed that thebarber-soldier had seized him by the throat and was endeavoring tochoke the breath out of his lungs. Indeed, the choking sensation becameso terribly realistic, that he awoke with a wail of anguish to findthat it was no dream at all, but that some huge, black monster, manlikeso far as he could discern its face in the darkness, had grasped himround the neck, probably with the object of murdering him for thetreasures concealed in his turban.
"Thieves! Murder! The Foreigners"! shouted Bipin, as loudly as thelittle wind left in his chest would permit. He entwined his legs andarms about a furry body and commenced a struggle for his life.
At Bipin's cry of "The Foreigners," the camp was instantly aroused.Horses neighed and pawed the earth, the troopers sprang to their feet,the sentries rushed in and stood gazing up into the tree from whichthere came a medley of strange noises. From the tumult, and the showerof twigs and leaves that fell upon their upturned faces, it was evidenta desperate conflict was proceeding.
"The Foreigners! Thieves! The accursed Foreigners. To the rescue, braveRani; oh! to the rescue, good comrades," the voice of Bipin salutedtheir astonished ears. Then came screams and chattering in an unknowntongue, with a fiercer renewal of the unseen combat.
The Rani had been awakened with the rest. She was about to order someof the men to climb up into the tree and discover the nature of thedisturbance, when, with a crashing of branches, a struggling black massfell into their midst.
The troopers started back and then returned to separate the combatantsthat still writhed and fought upon the ground, when the form of Bipinstruggled to his feet. He grasped a hairy baboon by the neck, and heldhim a captive before the Rani.
"Ah, what a ruffian," he panted, "to attempt to strangle me in mysleep. Without doubt he must embody the spirit of some wicked enemy."
In spite of her overshadowing misfortune, the Rani could not restrain alaugh at the humor of the situation.
"Thou art a brave fellow," she exclaimed, "and hast earned thy rightto fight with a lance instead of a pen. Some day, perchance, thou wiltcommand a troop."
"Truly," reflected Bipin, "whether I like it or no, Fate will have itthat I am to be mixed up continually in some accursed broil. If notwith men, alas! it seems with the animals. Such is the inscrutable willof God."
The troopers' voices echoed the Rani's sally with laughter. Theydrove the baboon from the camp, peace was restored, slumber once moredescended upon their heads. Before daybreak the party were speeding ina south-westerly direction toward a rendezvous of the Native chiefs atGopalpur.
Lachmi Bai, Rani of Jhansi: The Jeanne D'Arc of India Page 21
