Tara: A Mahratta Tale

by Meadows Taylor

  CHAPTER LXXI.

  The morning ceremony was at length over, and, somewhat wearied byit, and by sitting inactive so long, Sivaji rose and passed into hisprivate apartments, to which the shed or pavilion was a temporaryaddition. The rough mountain fortress afforded no royal palaces. A fewterraced houses, divided by courts, with some thatched out-officesand stables, stood on an elevated spot near the walls; and theRajah's favourite retreat was a small vaulted apartment, whichjoined the fort-wall--indeed, formed portion of it--and from which asmall projecting window, placed immediately above one of the deepestprecipices, looked out over the valley and mountains, and commanded aview of part of the ascent.

  It was a habit of Sivaji's to go to no ceremony, nor return from any,without saluting his mother. Did he ever leave the house or return toit, he touched her feet reverently, while she gave him her blessing.The son's faith in his mother was only equalled by her faith and lovefor him; and as a pattern of filial piety and devotion, his exampleis still inculculated upon the Mahratta youth by many a villageschoolmaster.

  She met him at the threshold of the door, and, as was her wont, passedher hands over his face and neck, kissing the tips of her fingers;while, bowing low, he touched both her feet, then his own eyes andforehead.

  "Is Tannajee arrived, son," she asked, "that thou hast broken up thereception so early?"

  "No, mother," he said; "but come with me, for my spirit is heavy, andthere is a shadow of gloom over me which thou only canst dispel. No,there is no news, and that vexes me."

  She followed him into the apartment we have mentioned. A plain cushionhad been placed near the window upon a soft mattress, and he flung,rather than seated himself, upon it, and buried his face in his hands,turning away from her.

  She sat down by him, and again passed her hand over his face and neck,and kissed her fingers without speaking.

  A mother's loving hand! O ye who know it, who possess it as the rudewaves of life come breaking one by one against you, be thankful thatit is there in its old place, soothing and sustaining like nought elseof earthly comfort! Ye who have lost it, never forget how lovingly itused to do its blessed work. In times of anxious trial, perplexity,and sickness most of all,--ye shall feel it still, in the faith whichleads ye where it is gone before, and awaits your coming. So, forget itnot!--forget it not!

  For a while both were silent. The mother knew the feelings which filledher son's mind too well to interfere with their course. Still she satby him, and patted him occasionally as she used to do when she soothedhim to rest as a child. "If he could sleep," she thought, "this gloomwould pass away; but it will do so nevertheless."

  He lay still, sometimes looking out into the blue air, watching theswallows as they passed and repassed the window in rapid flight to andfrom their nests, which hung to the ledges of the precipices--or thegroups of people ascending and descending the pathway to the gates.Again, burying his face in the cushion, he lay still, and his motherwatched, and gently waved the corner of her garment over his head, lestany insect should light on him and disturb him. There was no soundsave the dull buzzing of flies in the room, and sometimes the loudmonotonous note of a great woodpecker from the depths of the ravinebelow.

  He turned at length, and she knew the crisis was past. "Mother," hesaid, "hast thou been with the goddess to-day? To me she is dim andmournful; I ask my heart of her designs, but there comes no answer. Isher favour gone from us?"

  "Who can tell her purposes, my life?" she replied, "we are only herinstruments. O, fail not in heart! If there be troubles, should we notmeet them? If she bid us suffer, shall we not suffer? But, O, failnot--doubt not! Remember thy father doubted and failed, and what cameof it but weary imprisonment, fine, pain, shame, and failure? O, notso, my son: better thou wast dead, and I with thee, than to doubt andfail."

  "The trial will be heavy, mother," he returned. "Here we are safe, andI fear not for thee: but for the rest, the cause is hopeless, and thatis what vexes me. Years of stratagem and arrangement are gone with thatman's death, and all we have planned is known."

  "And if it be known, son, dost thou fear?" she exclaimed. "What hasbeen gained by these communications with a traitor? O son, he who isnot faithful to the salt he eats, is untrue to all besides. I--a womanonly--and the priests will tell thee not to trust a woman's thoughtsor designs--I tell thee I am glad: I rejoice that a trial has come tothee. One hour such as thou hast passed now, with thine own heart tospeak to thee, is worth more to the cause than a thousand priests ora lakh of swordsmen. I tell thee I am glad: for such things only canteach thee to trust thyself, and not to look to others."

  "And thee, mother?" he said, smiling.

  "No, no--not to me," she replied quickly, "except the goddess speaksby my mouth. No, not to me. I am but a woman else, fearful of thee,my son--fearful of the bullet, the sword, the lance, the wild fray ofbattle--fearful of----"

  "Nay, mother," he cried, sitting up and interrupting her, "not of thesword or the battle; there I am safe,--there I fear not. Were I butthere now, this heaviness at my heart would pass away. 'Hur, Hur,Mahadeo!' the cry--the shout rings in my ears and urges me on; thenthere is no time for thought, as now in this silence."

  "And it shall ring again, my son," she replied. "Fear not--doubt not,only act: that is all. Wilt thou be like thy father, drifted here andthere by every current of rumour like a straw upon the sea? 'Such aone will not join, what can I do? Such a thing threatens, what can Ido? This man says this, shall I follow it? That man says the other,shall I follow it?' So he followed as others led; so he acted as othersadvised. What came of all? only shame, my son. Had he said to all, Dothis, they would have done it. O Mother, O Holy Mother," she cried,standing up and lifting her joined hands towards the deep blue sky,"come from thence--come from the air into thy daughter's heart; teachme what to say, how to direct him, or direct him thyself! O Mother, wedo all for thy name and honour, and for the faith so long degraded: letus not fail or be shamed!

  "Not thus, son," she continued after a pause--"not thus will the spiritcome upon me, but in the temple must I watch alone and pray and fast,ere she will disclose herself to me; and I will do so from to-night.Yes, she will be entreated at last. Perhaps," she continued simply, butreverently, "the Mother is in sorrow herself, and needs comfort. Nomatter, I will entreat her."

  "Surely she hath heard already," replied her son after another pause,"for my soul is better for thy words--stronger, mother. Yes, I see howit will be; nor Moro Trimmul, nor Tannajee, nor Palkur, nor any onebut myself. I had thought to lay all these matters before the peopleat the Kutha to-night, but I will not. I will only say we must workfor ourselves--against the Emperor, against the King, and most againstAfzool Khan. If they will only trust in me--yes, mother, if they willonly trust in me--we shall have victory, and I will not disappoint themor you."

  "Now, a thousand blessings on thee, Sivaji Bhoslay, for those words,"cried his mother, passing her hands over his head. "I have no fearnow--none. Go to the Kutha--tell them all that their time is come; andwhen you cry 'Hur, Hur, Mahadeo!' each shout of theirs in reply willecho the death-cry of a thousand infidels. Now, let me depart, my son;it is well for me to go to the Mother, and sit before her; haply shemay come to me. Better to be there, than that a woman should be nearthee, when the woman's spirit has passed out of thee."

  "Bless me, then, my mother, and go; nor will I stay here long," hereplied. "The shadows are even now lengthening in the valleys, and Ishould have the people collected ere it is dark."

  She placed her hands upon his head solemnly: "Thus do I bless thee, myson--more fervently, more resignedly than ever. Go, as she will leadthee in her own time. To all thy people thou wilt not alter, but, tothe Moslems, be stone and steel. Trust no one--ask of no one what is tobe done, not even of me. Do what is needful, and what thy heart tellsthee. Show no mercy, but cut out thine own path with the sword. If thouwilt be great, do these things; if not----: but no, thou wilt be great,my son. She hath told me so; and thou wilt reckon the true beginn
ing ofit from that silent watch there, by the window. I go now, but stay notthou here. See, there are none ascending, and even those descending thehill are fewer. Go to them."

  He watched her intently as she left him and disappeared behind acurtain, which fell before a door of the apartment leading to thesmall household temple. An expression of triumph lit up his largedark eyes and expressive features. "She said I must act for myself,"he cried aloud. "Yes, mother, I will act for thee first, and then forthe people; and there shall be no idle words again--only 'Hur, Hur,Mahadeo!' when the fire is on the hills."