Chapter XXIV
_AHMAD'S LAST STRATAGEM_
From the moment of Prasad's reappearance at Gopalpur Ahmad's jealousywas rekindled to greater force even than in Jhansi. He hated theHindu noble with all the vindictiveness of his nature. Had stirringevents not followed each other with such rapidity, he would havesought a pretext for an open quarrel, and once for all settled theirrival claims to the Rani's affection. If he was chagrined at Prasad'sselection to act as her envoy to the Maharaja Sindhia, the feelingwas intensified on the other being chosen as her standard bearer atBahadurpur, and by Prasad's telling stroke for her favor in salutingher as Princess of the Marathas at the grand _Darbar_.
At the subsequent banquet he sat in sullen, gloomy humor. He neitherspoke nor feasted. At the call to drink of spirits and join in thecarousal of the assembled nobles, he pleaded his religious principlesas an excuse to withhold his lips from intoxicating liquors.
That the Rani was not present at the banquet was to be expected, but hemarked Prasad's absence, and drew conclusions from a guilty conscience.They were together, he surmised. His duplicity was probably discovered."What then"? he again and again asked himself.
For the vengeance of Prasad he did not fear. His arm was as strongas that of his rival. But he dreaded the form of retribution usuallyvisited at Native courts by a powerful enraged woman. He conjecturedthat the Rani's resentment would not be displayed in a burst of anger,a dagger thrust openly at his breast; but in one of those covert ways,by which such offenders as himself were disposed of, to terrorize thestoutest heart. He might be invited to an entertainment that led tothe dungeon of a fortress, there to die of cholera, so it would beaffirmed. Obnoxious people often disappeared without an explanation.The blank of that unknown was fraught with the suggestion of torture,and a lingering death by slow poison.
As Ahmad glanced uneasily round the hall, every shadow seemed to warnhim of impending danger. The palace was no safe place for him if theRani and Prasad were together. He had better, indeed, gain the outsideof the walls of Gwalior until he had made up his mind what course toadopt. He rose to carry this idea into immediate effect.
"What, art thou going"? his neighbor asked in a tone of friendlyrebuke. "Thou, who art ever the first in war and the last to leave abanquet."
"To-morrow is a fast," Ahmad tersely rejoined. "I would be early at mydevotions."
His neighbor laughed banteringly.
"Your devotions"! he exclaimed. "Ah, to be sure, and to a fair deity,I doubt not. It is ever the way with you Mohammedans. Your Prophettakes good care that his followers are provided with _houris_ on earthas well as in heaven. But good luck to you. May she speedily rewardyour prayers."
"The fool," muttered Ahmad, as he passed from the hall by the nearestexit. "A very yielding deity is the one I have in mind."
With caution he made his way through dark passages and courts out fromthe palace. He strode rapidly into the narrow, squalid bazaars ofGwalior, directing his steps toward one of the city gates, heedlessof the rejoicings of the people among whom he passed. He breathed thenight air more freely when he had left the walls behind.
At the camp, which was his first destination, he found the soldiersdrinking in celebration of the victory, and disposed to be quarrelsome.He approached his own quarters and sternly ordered a few men, uponwhose temporary fidelity he could depend, to saddle their horses.Curses and blows soon brought them to their senses and obedience. Inhis tent, Ahmad quickly sorted and placed in security about his person,the lighter and more valuable of Sindhia's jewels that had fallen tohis share. Then he came forth, mounted his horse, and led the way to adwelling situated a few miles out from the city.
It was a house he had visited on a previous residence in Gwalior,secluded, and within easy reach of the hills in case of the necessityof flight. It was owned by a member of his religion, who received himwith every outward sign of friendship.
There, he determined to remain for a day or two, and by means of spieswatch the actions of the Rani and Prasad.
Such news as he did thus receive inflamed his jealousy still further,and confirmed the surmise of danger in his position.
The Rani, it appeared, had taken up her abode in the camp, to directthe maneuvering of troops and the erection of fortifications in thedefiles of the hills against a possible return of the enemy. Prasadwas observed constantly at her side. It was evident he had entirelyregained her favor; it was almost certain the moving hand of the Jhansiintrigue had been detected.
Clearly, to Ahmad's mind, Gwalior was no safe place in which to remain.He had better away before the Rani's vengeance fell.
He argued further, that, for other reasons, a severance of hisconnection with the Native cause would now be a wise course. The jewelshe had obtained from Sindhia's treasure were of considerable value.He had taken other booty, too, that could be turned into ready moneythrough the agency of his Moslem host. With this, he might returnto Afghanistan and placate the Amir, from whose anger he had fled,consequent upon the death of a relative of that monarch, charged toAhmad's long account of such affairs. Besides, what business had he tofight in the Peshwa's name? Had the Emperor of Delhi been proclaimedat the _Darbar_, religious principles might have enjoined upon himthe duty of remaining in the field, but he owed no allegiance to theHindu king. As a fanatic, at heart, he detested the Hindu faith and itsfollowers. His object had been to fight with them, first to vanquishthe Foreigners, and then, in the name of the Mogul Emperor, subdue hisallies. But that hour was now unlikely ever to come. The Emperor was aprisoner in the Foreigners' hands, and such power as was regained tothe Native cause through the victory of the Rani of Jhansi, lay withthe Peshwa. He despised and hated the Peshwa, so he decided to withdrawfrom Gwalior, though not alone. He purposed to carry the Rani with himby force, if such an act were possible. He thought out his plan deeply,for in it there was no little danger.
That night, he determined to ride into the camp and direct one ofhis followers to seize her from her tent, then away before an alarmcould be given or a rescue effected. It was a bold project, but hewas prepared to risk much in a last attempt to secure her embrace. Iffrustrated in the act, he could lie, fight, or fly as circumstancesdictated. The chief difficulty lay in discovering her sleepingplace, as it was reported she changed her tent nightly. Over this,he pondered, at length arriving at the decision to decoy the Rani'ssecretary to his house, and by threats compel him to disclose thesecret, if it were preserved as such. He sent forth two of his men,discreet in such affairs, to lay hold of Bipin Dat.
As it happened this proved to be an easy matter.
Like the majority of the Rani's followers, Bipin had plunged into ademonstrative celebration of good fortune. With head held aloft andchest expanded, as he considered was the proper carriage for one whostood so near to the person of the Heroine of Gwalior, he had goneforth on the morrow of the victory to impress upon everyone he metthe exalted nature of his office. He was thus received by all withprotestations of friendship, given the best to eat, and unluckily morespirits to drink than it was prudent for him to imbibe. Alas! For twodays the worthy secretary had been absent from his duties.
In sober intervals, marvelous were the stories he recounted of personalvalor in battles fought side by side with his great mistress. Hisaudiences gazed upon him with eyes wide open, as they listened withears of deep attention. At the conclusion of each narrative the bravesecretary must accept another cup of spirits. Of a truth the bravesecretary seemed as great a drinker as he was a fighter. He alwaysprotested, but drank the spirits nevertheless. At last he stumbledacross an accursed unbeliever in his prowess, one of those unpleasantpeople to be found among all nations, who will persist in placing avocal mark of interrogation after every man's statement.
"At Bahadurpur," Bipin asserted, "six of the Foreigners I killed withthis arm. Their Maharaja I would have captured, but that he plungedwith his elephant into the jungle."
"How could that be"? asked the incredulous one, "since there were noForeign
ers at Bahadurpur, their general does not ride on an elephant,and there is no jungle within leagues of the place. To be sure whatthou sayest is doubtless true, honorable sir," he added apologetically,"but other accounts of the battle differ so much; and what am I, but aseeker after the exact truth"?
Bipin glared angrily upon the venturesome man, but his ideas were notin such order, just at the moment, to discover an answer on the tip ofhis tongue. Fortunately, two men who had sat attentively in a cornercame to the relief of his confusion.
"Thou art a miserable fellow," interposed one, addressing the doubter."If the great secretary says he killed six of the Foreigners atBahadurpur, they must have been there to be slain. If he asserts theForeign general escaped on an elephant, did he not possess eyes tonote the difference between that beast and a camel. Wert thou at thebattle"? he asked pointedly.
"Aye, wert thou at the battle"? echoed the companion, "otherwise thouart an ass to talk in such fashion."
The doubter was compelled to admit that he had not been within milesof the fight, when the secretary's confusion was transferred to hiscountenance.
Bipin effusively thanked his champions for their belief in his words.In turn they insisted upon drinking a cup of spirits with so great aman.
"Ah"! exclaimed the first who had spoken, "what would not my poormaster give to hear such tales as flow from thy lips."
"Who is thy master"? asked Bipin, with a solemn period between eachword.
"The Raja Krishna Singh, great sir," the other replied respectfully,"a Gwalior noble whose infirmities have for long held him to hiscouch, and prevented his attendance even at the grand _Darbar_. Hewould receive thee with all honor as the Rani's secretary, and rewardthee handsomely if thou wouldst deign to tell all thou knowest of theglorious Queen of Jhansi. Her name is ever in his mind. My companionand myself would gladly lead the way to his house."
Bipin's pride was immensely flattered. His society was now beingsought by a raja. Soon he would be a raja himself. With condescensionhe agreed to accept the invitation, after he had drank another cup ofspirits to steady his feet.
"Is it far to thy master's house"? he asked.
"But a short distance beyond the walls, noble Secretary," his newfriend replied.
"_Wah!_ Then I will go with thee now," Bipin assented.
He endeavored to rise, but the additional cup of spirits had an effectcontrary to what was intended. His limbs collapsed under him as ifdisjointed. He would have been obliged to remain on the spot but forhis friends' assistance. They helped him to his feet and out into thebazaar, then with strong arms supporting him on either side, theyhurried him to the gate.
For a time, Bipin chattered incoherently about battles, rajas, andpalaces; when it began to dawn upon his obscure understanding that hewas travelling a great distance. His feet dragged over the road as ifweights of iron were chained to his ankles. He begged to be permittedto lie down and sleep. To his dismay his companions gruffly ordered himto move faster. It suddenly occurred to him that he might have beenabducted by thieves.
He cried once for help, but a hand promptly laid over his mouth stifledthe sound. In a firm grasp he was thrust unwillingly forward.
At last they came to the house occupied by Ahmad Khan, when Bipinwas conducted out of the darkness immediately into the Mohammedan'spresence.
For a moment the secretary stood blinking in the light with no idea ofhis surroundings. He had entirely forgotten the object with which hehad been induced to set forth from the city; but Ahmad's countenanceseemed familiar. Through a mental haze, the thought came to him thatone of his uncles had heard of his good fortune, and had arrived toobtain a share of his money. This was a displeasing, if not an entirelyunlooked for event, so he determined to disavow the relationshipbefore the other had time to make himself known.
"Go away," he ejaculated, with his eyes fixed stupidly upon Ahmad. "Goaway. Thou art a rogue, a lying _fakir_. I swear thou art no uncle ofmine."
"What, thou drunken fool," shouted Ahmad in a voice of thunder. "Iwould as soon be uncle to a litter of swine."
He clutched Bipin by the throat, and held him until the secretary'seyes and tongue protruded. Ahmad hurled him into a corner.
"Get water," he cried, "and throw over the idiot. Then, perhaps he willcome to his senses."
But Bipin had arrived at a realization of his position. He recognizedAhmad, and begged forgiveness for his mistake.
"To be sure," he returned feebly. "Thou art my good friend, Ahmad Khan,though a little rough and quick in resenting an error of sight oncoming in out of the darkness. I beseech thee to say no more about thepitcher of water."
"That wilt depend how quickly thou canst gather thy wits," Ahmadsternly replied.
"Surely every one of them are now in my head," answered Bipin,frightened at Ahmad's manner. While he endeavored to recollect how itwas he had been induced to come to the place, he began to change hisprevious good opinion of the Mohammedan.
"Then listen," enjoined Ahmad, "and speak truly or a torch applied tothy feet may quicken thy understanding. Dost know in which tent theRani sleeps to-night"?
As Bipin had not been to the camp, he was not possessed of theinformation, but under the circumstances he thought it best to withholdhis ignorance. In any case, he reasoned, it was probable Ahmad wouldnot place credence on his denial, and might carry his threat of thetorch into effect.
"Certainly, great sir," he replied. "If it be thy desire, I am ready topoint out the Rani's tent."
"Where is it situated"? Ahmad asked.
This was a difficult question for Bipin to answer off-hand. Hehesitated a moment before he replied.
"Where is her tent placed"? Ahmad again demanded.
"Great Lord," stammered Bipin, "near to,--I mean on the right of thatoccupied by her Valaiti guard."
"Thou art assured of this"?
"Noble sir, why should I tell a lie"? Bipin questioned in return.
"Good, then," Ahmad resumed, bending a stern look on the secretary. "Intwo hours we set forth from the camp. When we arrive there, thou wiltpoint out the Rani's tent to one of my men. If thou hast spoken thetruth, then thou canst go to the devil for aught I care; but if a lie,the Rani will herself have thee well beaten. It is her order that thoudost obey me in this," he added, in response to a surprised look on thesecretary's face, "as she awaits a secret message that must fall intono other hands."
Ahmad then withdrew to call down, as usual, the blessing of God on hisevil intent; leaving Bipin in charge of an attendant.
An attempt on the secretary's part to discover Ahmad's object further,was met by a silent repulse.
Truly, the situation was not one to afford the secretary cheerfulreflections. He knew no more than Ahmad of the position of the Rani'stent, but he trusted that in the scuffle likely to ensue, from anentry into a tent presumed to be that of the Rani, he could escape. Hehad told a lie in the first place, and was now afraid to disclose thetruth. Whatever was the result, he vowed henceforth to transfer hiswatchful eye from Prasad to Ahmad, as it was evident the Mohammedan hada disagreeable, an unfriendly side to his nature.
"What a miserable existence is this," concluded Bipin. "We have nosooner climbed to a great height, than a rock slips from under ourfeet, and behold! we are again where we started. If I only get well outof this, no prospect shall tempt me to remain away from my family."
Presently the effect of the secretary's libations overcame his fears,and snores proclaimed unconsciousness.
Bipin had slept for about two hours, when he was awakened by a roughhand laid on his shoulder, while a voice commanded him to riseimmediately.
He was led to the outer door of the house, where a group of horsemen,with Ahmad in their midst, were accoutred apparently for a long march.With considerable effort, emphasized by impatient oaths from Ahmad,the secretary was assisted on to the back of a spare charger. Ahmadgave an order, and the party set off at a brisk pace through thedarkness of midnight toward the camp--silent, grim visaged figure
s,ready for any desperate act.
Ahmad approached the camp at a point where he was well known andwould be permitted to pass unquestioned. He inquired his way to theheadquarters and rode thither with caution. Then he ordered two of hisfollowers to dismount and carry out his previous directions.
There were no lights, and for a space Bipin stumbled about among thetent ropes.
"Thou fool," muttered one of the men. "If thou dost make such adisturbance the whole camp will be awakened. Where is the tent? Pointit out quickly and let us get the work over, or the master will slitthy windpipe."
Bipin had not the faintest idea of the Rani's sleeping place, but heindicated a tent at random.
"Siva protect me," he faltered. "What now will happen"?
One of the men approached the tent noiselessly and untied thefastenings. He listened for a moment, when being satisfied apparentlythat its occupant was still asleep, entered. His companion watchedoutside.
In a minute the man reappeared bearing a struggling woman's form in hisarms, with one hand over her mouth to prevent an outcry. He hurried tothe waiting troop and relinquished his burden to Ahmad. The two menthen vaulted on to their horses, and the whole party were off without acry, or a word exchanged.
Bipin remained for some moments a prey to fear and astonishment. Thenit broke upon his mind that he had betrayed his mistress for some evilpurpose.
"Ah, hae, hae"! he cried. "Oh, wretch that I am. Ah, the unluckiness ofeverything. Help! Help! good people. The Rani has been abducted."
In a few seconds guards ran with all haste to the spot; figuresemerged from the tents, a babel of tongues rose above the wail of thesecretary. Presently, to Bipin's surprise, the Rani herself appeared onthe scene.
"What is all this"? she demanded. "Bipin art thou intoxicated, or hasthy sleep been possessed by a nightmare"?
"Oh, great Lady," he cried. "Tell me, I implore thee, is it, in truth,thyself, who speakest"?
"To be sure," she replied. "Who else should it be. Thou art becoming atiresome fellow," she added, "with thy midnight adventures. Disclose,what manner of creature hast thou been in combat with now"?
"Alas! great Rani," Bipin returned. "It was the terrible Ahmad Khan whocompelled me to point out thy sleeping place, and he has gone off withI know not whom."
"Ahmad Khan"? the Rani exclaimed, as the truth of his design flashedupon her. "Now, by Heaven"! she cried angrily. "I will bear no morewith him. Go," she commanded to the captain of her guard, "mount witha troop and follow swiftly. Thou art to bring him to me alive or dead.The beast hath gone mad and must be exterminated."
The officer obeyed her order with dispatch. He rode forth in thedirection it was said Ahmad Khan had taken, but in the darknesssoon lost the track. At daybreak he was forced to return with theintelligence that Ahmad had escaped.
Meanwhile Ahmad galloped northward with savage joy in his heart. Heclasped the insensible captive form tightly in his arms.
"Now Allah be thanked," he muttered exultingly. "The fair Rani, thefickle beauty can escape me no longer."
He rode with all speed for a long distance in fear of pursuit, but atlast he could restrain his impatient desire to gaze upon her face nolonger.
The day was breaking as he halted his party. He moved a little apart,and uncovered the fold of linen over the woman's head. He directed hiseyes with passionate rapture upon the unveiled face; then broke outinto a volley of oaths.
"Hell's fiends," he shouted, as his astonished gaze beheld an old andwrinkled countenance. "What damnable trick of fortune is this? Am Ibewitched"?
His arms mechanically released the figure of an aged servant of theRani. She fell to the ground, and, recovering her senses, sat moaningpitifully.
For a time, Ahmad was too dumbfounded to take any other course thanto explode curse after curse. Then his mortification and fury burstupon the heads of the two attendants, who had been chief parties tothe misadventure. He rode at them with uplifted sword, but they warilyparried his blows, to finally disarm their master.
"What will my Lord do now"? they asked significantly.
Truly, what would Ahmad Khan do now? was the question. To return to theRani's camp was impossible. There was no choice but to go forward.
"Get thee home, hag," he addressed the terrified woman, "and bear AhmadKhan's best _salaams_ to thy noble mistress. Tell her, he hath grownweary of her court and her caprices."
With fury he drove his spurs into his horse's flanks. By night and day,with little rest, he rode for that lawless territory beyond the Afghanborder. There, his own followers seized an opportunity to relieve himof his life and treasure.
In a barren, rocky pass, his body lay, pierced by a dozen wounds,exposed to the vulture and the lion; while his murderers, in retreat,quarrelled and fought over the price of their treachery.
It was a pitiless closing scene, in keeping with his nature.
Lachmi Bai, Rani of Jhansi: The Jeanne D'Arc of India Page 25
