Chapter XXV
_FOR MY COUNTRY_
Gwalior was captured by the Rani of Jhansi. Such was the astoundingnews carried swiftly from end to end of the Indian Peninsula. TheNatives, for the greater part, hailed it either with secret or openjoy, many nobles, with their retainers, hastening to join the standardof the redoutable Princess. To the Foreigners, it brought astonishmentand perplexity, with fears that the whole rebellion would burst forthanew. They realized that a second Jeanne D'Arc, as valiant in battle,more subtle in council than the Maid of Orleans, moved by the samepassionate love for her country, had cast in their teeth a wager ofdefiance, to stand until either they were driven from her state, or shehad perished.
It was no hour for deliberation. Her _coup de main_ had been so welltimed, that unless Gwalior was immediately recaptured, the rains woulddescend, making the country impassable for military operations, and herposition thus secure for months to come. The result was unpleasant toconjecture.
With all haste the army of Central India, that had retired to quartersfor the approaching season of storm, was reorganized, and the generalwho had fought against the Rani at Jhansi, at Kunch, and at Kalpi,marched forth to another test of skill. In his long and honorablecareer he had never met an opposing leader more worthy of his steel.
In the meantime the Rani threw all the force of her character, allthe energy of both her body and mind, into preparations for thestruggle she quickly perceived was at hand. She fully appreciated thematerial advantage she had gained, she also understood the weaknessesof her comrades in arms--their tendency to prolong the festivitiesin celebration of their victory, their unconquerable disposition toretreat the moment the Foreigners closed in battle. But now that shewas in supreme command, she determined that at Gwalior it would eitherbe another victory, or death for herself and the majority of hercompanions.
"Canst thou not rest for a little, dear Rani"? Prasad asked, when afterdays of untiring energy she continued to bend her efforts to perfectthe defenses. "If the Foreigners come, surely we are safe from themhere."
"Nay Prasad," she returned. "No rest will I take while dangerthreatens, and this work remains uncompleted. But in a little therewill come a long rest for me, either in thy arms, my love; or in thoseof God."
Prasad, the Rao Sahib, even Tantia Topi, through his jealousy,marvelled at the spirit of the woman. They curtailed their feasting,and zealously furthered her commands.
The general belief that the Foreigners would not march upon Gwaliorbefore the rains was soon dispelled. From two directions, the East andSouth, it was learned, that the enemy was rapidly approaching. It wasevident they regarded the recapture of Gwalior as of supreme importance.
It was impossible for the Rani to superintend in person the longline of defenses raised before Gwalior, so she delegated the commandof those to the south to Tantia Topi, reserving for herself theless strongly fortified position amid the hills and ravines to thesouth-east of the city, lying between that place and the village ofKotah-ki-sari. There she awaited the army advancing from the east,impatiently for a few days; with still greater impatience on theSixteenth of June, when the distant roar of cannon announced thatTantia Topi was engaged with the Foreigners at Morar, on her extremeright.
Throughout the day various reports reached her ears. At one time, itwas claimed, that the Foreigners were successively repulsed, beaten,and in full retreat; later, that Tantia Topi was as usual practicingmasterly tactics in a retrograde movement.
"Ah, now, may God curse his cowardice," she cried passionately, to themessenger. "Return with all speed and order him to stand wherever hemay be; for if I find him in the Gwalior fortress, one of us shall diefor it."
But Tantia was not of standing fibre before Foreign bayonets. If inlittle else, he was a genius in limbering up his guns and dragging themaway from desperate positions. That night the Rani was informed thathe had succeeded in executing a clever strategic act. He had held theForeigners at bay until he was able to move back upon Gwalior in goodorder with his guns, abandoning Morar, a useless place, to the enemy.On the morrow he believed he would rout them utterly.
The Rani's anger, her contempt for such conduct of warfare, couldscarcely find expression in words or action. She sat in her tent, sickat heart, pondering deeply over the situation.
"What can I do"? she murmured. "I cannot command at all points of thiswide field at the same moment. Is there no one but me who hath thecourage to dash forward? These Foreigners are only men like ourselves.They are not Gods. God knows, far from it. Have I not seen many of themperish at Jhansi, at Kunch, and at Kalpi"?
"Go," she commanded to an aid-de-camp. "Go to Tantia Topi, and say thatif he doth make such another masterly retreat, the Rani of Jhansi willaid herself by attacking him in rear, and driving him on to the enemy'sbayonets."
Then she retired to a temple and prayed long and fervently to theGod of Battles, that on the morrow her troops might be endowed withinvincible courage, that once more He would give her arms a victory.
The day broke with an atmosphere charged with sweltering heat. Soon therocks and sand burned to the touch as if but a thin crust lay betweentheir feet and a mighty furnace. If its oppressiveness was felt bythe Rani's troops, it bore tenfold more heavily upon the Foreigners,fatigued by a long march.
The Rani had taken up a position with cavalry, artillery and infantryamong the hills intervening between the enemy and the plain of Gwalior.Her plan was to draw the Foreigners into the ravines by a feint ofretreat, holding them there in conflict with intrenched infantry andmasked batteries, while she swept down with her cavalry through aflank defile upon their rear. She might thus capture their baggage andammunition train, throwing their front into hopeless confusion.
At daybreak she beheld the enemy advance to the assault.
All through that day the battle was waged with desperate valor on bothsides. Step by step the Foreigners fought their way into the ravines,driving the Native troops before them. At different stages the Ranirode into the thick of the combat to animate her followers, with Prasadbearing her standard. Her counter attack was delivered at an opportunemoment, but was frustrated. Evening approached to find both armiesexhausted, the Rani's first position captured, but her forces stillheld well together. A decisive victory could not as yet be claimed byeither side; for the Rani had decided to continue the battle throughoutthe night.
It was in a moment of temporary rest, that the Foreign general orderedhis cavalry to charge, with the object of driving the Rani's bodyguardout into the Gwalior plain. The movement took the latter by surprise,with a resulting panic.
The Rani bravely fronted the oncoming squadrons in an endeavor to rallyher troopers, but in the tumult her horse took the bit in its teeth andcarried her away in the rout. At their heels the Foreign horsemen wereslashing and firing their pistols mercilessly. Again and again the Ranicalled on her troopers to halt, but they only rode for the camp thefaster. She reined in her horse and turned, to find she was the last onthat part of the field. A hussar was upon her with uplifted sword.
The blow fell but she parried it adroitly, and delivered another inreturn that slightly wounded her assailant. More hussars coming fastin their leader's wake, the odds were too uneven against her. She sether horse at a ditch a few yards in front, beyond which was safety.The brute urged by her voice leaped forward to the bank, then refusedto jump, stumbled and fell with its rider. Before she could extricateherself, the hussar dashed upon her with fury nettled by the pain ofhis wound. As he swept by, he leveled his pistol and fired. The bulletlodged in her breast, her sword fell from her hand, she sank to theground in unconsciousness to rise no more.
Over the ditch the hussar passed little thinking that he had dealt amortal wound to the "bravest and best" of the Native leaders. In hiseyes she had appeared only as one of their officers.
Soon the Foreigners' bugles sounded the recall, the Rani's bodyguardrallied and charged back over the field, but it was too late to savetheir mistress. They discovered h
er where she had fallen, and gently,sadly, bore her back to her tent.
There it was made apparent that her end was quickly approaching.Prasad, heartbroken, bitterly reproached himself that he had notremained at her side to protect her from harm. He had taken herlifeless form in his arms. About them were grouped men who had neverbefore experienced a tender emotion. Tears coursed down their fierce,bronzed, visages.
Prasad's gentle caresses at last recalled the Rani to consciousness.
"Well Prasad," she asked in a faint voice. "How went the battle? All isnot lost I hope, though I am wounded to the death."
"Ah, dear one," he sadly returned. "All is truly lost with thee."
"Do not speak thus," she replied, painfully exerting herself to areturn of spirit. "While brave men live no cause is lost."
Then turning her gaze upon the grief stricken countenances of hertroopers, she enjoined them not to weep for her.
"For thy tears will bring forth mine," she pleaded, "and the truesoldier cries not on facing death."
With assistance, she then removed Sindhia's necklace from her breast.She directed the strings to be broken, and summoning her ever faithfulValaitis gave to each, in turn, a pearl in remembrance of their faircaptain.
"Farewell," she said, as each saluted with uncontrolled grief. "Bebrave and fight on until the end."
Soon Prasad remained with her alone.
For a time she rested her head upon his breast with her arms about him.Many loving, sorrowful words were exchanged, until she felt the momentof dissolution nigh.
"Prasad," she said. "Place thy hand within my jacket. Thou wilt find myparting gift to thee there."
He obeyed as she directed, and drew forth his dagger.
"Thy dagger, O Prasad," she exclaimed. "I have kept it to protect myhonor. I give it back to thee to save thine own in case of need. Andnow, my dear Lord, one request have I to ask of thee before I sayfarewell. I beg thou wilt see to it, that no Foreign eye doth gaze uponmy body after I am dead."
In a sorrowful whisper he promised to comply.
"Then farewell," she said. "Farewell Prasad, may God love thee as trulyas I have done."
"Farewell"? he exclaimed interrogatively. "I will not leave thee yetalone."
"Prasad," she returned. "It is my will to be alone. Nay, I shall not bealone. Again I say, farewell to thee, for thine eyes must not behold mylast moment."
He embraced her once more, laid her gently back amid the pillows, thenrose obediently to her command. He paused on the threshold of theentrance to gaze for the last time upon her face. In its beautifulfeatures there was discernible neither sign of weakness nor offear--her spirit remained heroic to the end. He covered his eyes withhis hands and passed forth.
Within the tent a profound, mysterious, silence fell, as the darknessof night descended on the land. The Rani clasped her hands upon herbreast as her lips murmured a last prayer.
"Great God of Gods. O most holy, omnipotent One. If I have sinnedagainst the laws of my caste, it was for the love of my country. Surelythou wilt forgive a woman who has tried to inspire others to be braveand just. O India," she cried, raising herself with difficulty upon herside and stretching forth her arms, "farewell. Farewell my people, mybrave soldiers whom I have loved to lead in battle against the foe. Notforever shall their horsemen ride triumphantly through the land. A daywill come when their law shall be no longer obeyed, and our temples andpalaces rise anew from their ruins. Farewell! Farewell! O Gods of myfathers, be with me now."
She drew the folds of a shawl over her face to hide her death agony,and again lay down. The blackness of night grew deeper, the silencemore intense. Presently, strange, warrior forms seemed to appear fromthe unknown and filled the Rani's tent. One supremely beautiful figure,in dazzling raiment, came forth to enfold the dying woman in her arms.
In a little, a wail of lamentation rose across the intervening spacebetween the camps of the two armies. The Foreign soldiers asked itsmeaning of one another.
The answer might have been, that the spirit of the heroic Lachmi Baihad been gathered to the protecting arms of Param-eswara, the merciful,the just, the all supreme God, alike of the Hindu, the Mohammedan, andthe Christian.
The Rani of Jhansi was dead.
* * * * *
Great was the pomp and solemn the ceremony with which they carried outher last desire, so that even her body might not fall into the hands ofthe enemy.
Before the day had come again, a long procession took its way fromSindhia's palace to a point on the bank of the Morar river, where aflower-decked funeral pyre had been erected.
In the van troopers marched with mournful step, followed by officersbearing torches. Then came Brahman priests, naked to the waist inperformance of their sacred office. They chanted from the Vedas andscattered rice upon the way. These preceded the bier, upon which, undera canopy of cloth of gold, lay the body of the Rani, attired in royalrobes, with the marks of her high caste set upon her forehead. Directlyfollowing, walked her aged _guru_, whose solemn duty it would be, inthe absence of a relative, to ignite the funeral pyre. Lastly, Prasadwith the Rao Sahib, attended by all the nobles of the court.
Beside the whole length of the route traversed by the procession, amultitude of people had gathered, whose lamentations rent the air.
The bier was carried slowly to its destination, and seven times roundthe funeral pyre. Then the Rani's body was lifted tenderly and placedupon its last bed of death, rice was scattered over all, and the drybrush, saturated with _ghee_, ignited.
The flames leaped high, illuminating many weeping faces, and throwinginto relief the figures of Brahmans, nobles, and officers, grouped in amajestic scene. Quickly the tongues of fire reduced to ashes the Rani'smortal form. These, the priests reverentially collected, and, withprayers, cast them upon the waters of the river, to be carried into thebosom of holy Ganges.
"Farewell," cried Prasad, as he stood upon the bank. "Farewell, thoubrave, dear Rani. I doubt not I shall be with thee soon."
That day the sun of India hid its face behind gathering clouds, thestorm, the monsoon burst.
THE END
Lachmi Bai, Rani of Jhansi: The Jeanne D'Arc of India Page 26
