Tara: A Mahratta Tale

by Meadows Taylor

  CHAPTER LXXX.

  Gunga's appearance is easily explained. On his arrival at PertabgurhMoro Trimmul had been sent to bring up some of the Rajah's Hetkureesfrom the Concan, the tract below the mountains next the sea, and he hadbesought the post of honour in the ensuing attack upon the Mussulmancamp, which had been granted to him.

  In this he had two motives: the one, personal distinction, and thedesire of retaliation for Tooljapoor, which was shared commonly withall Brahmuns; and, secondly, and probably most urgent, the desire ofrevenge upon Fazil Khan, and, if possible, the capture of his sisterand family. That either Afzool Khan or his son would survive the fight,he did not think possible, or if they escaped death, and were captured,that they would be spared.

  Of the Rajah's intentions in regard to the Khan, he had no idea; andwhen Maloosray and Palkur were with their prince on the night precedingthe Khan's visit to the fort, Moro Trimmul was in company with his ownmen, placing them in positions in the woods, ready to obey the signalwhich had been communicated to him. Gunga, therefore, had been senton to the fort under charge of his servants, and directed not only tohave the house swept and prepared, but, as the guns were fired from thefort, to offer sacrifice for him in the temple, and await his coming.

  "Dost thou know her?" asked the Brahmun priest of Gunga, when he heardher speak to Tara, and observed the effect of her address.

  "Know her?--Yes, Maharaj," returned Gunga, "she is a Moorlee of thetemple at Tooljapoor, and I am another,--that's why I know her."

  "It is curious," said the man, musing. "There, raise her up till mywife comes; we have had charge of her given to us, and she is to watchhere to see if the Mother comes to her to prove herself what she saysshe is. Did she ever prophesy?"

  "The Mother came to her once," replied Gunga, "when she was made aMoorlee; but I never saw her come afterwards. If she would be a truepriestess, she perhaps would come; but she is only half a one at heart,and that's why trouble follows her."

  "What trouble?" asked the priest.

  "O, her father and mother are dead, killed in the fight at Tooljapoor,and she is here, among strangers, with no one to help her; is not thattrouble enough, Maharaj?" replied the girl. "And she is so beautiful,too; they say she is a witch, and steals men's hearts, and throws themaway; but I don't know that she is--she is only beautiful--look at her."

  "Ah, that's the worst I have heard yet," said the man, musing.

  "Yes, but she is pure, quite pure, sir," returned Gunga earnestly,"not like me and the rest of us; and we envied her, and I hated her;but I don't hate her now, and when she wakes I will tell her so. Tara,Tara! wake! She is not dead, sir, is she?" continued the girl dreamily,pushing away Tara's hair from her face, and looking into her eyes: "shedoes not answer me. O, speak to her!"

  "No, she is alive," replied the Brahmun, feeling her hand and forehead."Wait, I will bring some water."

  "Would she were dead--dead ere he came," Gunga muttered to herself. "Hewill not spare her now--ah me! not now: and in the heat and confusionof victory, who will care for her? All those she loved last, too, aredead--all gone--and that fair boy with the rest! Ah me, better shedied! Tara, drink! here is water!"

  A woman came with a brass vessel full, and helped Gunga to raise herup, while she poured some into her mouth, and sprinkled her facegently. They saw Tara heave a great sigh; and presently, as the womanfanned her with the end of her garment, she awoke and looked dreamilyaround her--first to the woman, then to Gunga, against whom she wasreclining. Her first impulse was to rise, but in the attempt she sankdown again, and buried her face in her hands.

  "Why art thou here?" she cried piteously. "O Gunga, go? leave me." Shedid not yet comprehend what had been said of victory, for she made noallusion to it.

  "No, Tara, not now," said the girl--"not now. I will tell thee why.Go," she continued to the woman. "You are kind. Go now. I have that tosay to my sister which no one must hear. Go! We are priestesses, andwill serve the Mother in our own fashion. But if I need shelter forher, wilt thou give it?"

  "Ah," replied the dame, "we are poor people, and can do little; but theMaha Ranee is kind and just--I will speak to her."

  "True," replied Gunga absently; "if needs be, I will come to theeagain--now, go. Tara!" she continued, stretching out her hands to herimploringly when the woman had gone out--"O Tara, look up! look up, andsee if I be like what I was;--cast me not away now, for we are both inthe like misery! O Mother!" she cried to the image on the altar, "bidher speak to me, ere it be too late;--bid her trust to me, and saveherself! Tara, behold I kiss your feet; trust me now, as I swear onthem not to fail you. No, no, never, never more--never more, except indeath. See what I do!"

  She arose, went to the shrine, and prostrated herself before it onher face, so that her hands embraced the feet of the image. "O, killme, Mother--O, kill me, Mother!" Tara heard her cry, in a passionateburst of weeping; "kill me, if thou wilt, for touching thee, who am notworthy; but hear me, and help me to save Tara. She is thy child. O, letme save her for thee. I will,--I will, if thou wilt bid her trust me,for I am not lying now. I am true to thee and to her!"

  The words were almost inarticulate, and gasped or sobbed, rather thanspoken. They fell strangely on Tara's ears as Gunga still moaned ratherthan spoke. "Mother--O Mother, I am true, I am not lying; bid her trustme! bid her trust me!"

  It was impossible to resist them. Tara rose and went across thevestibule to her. "Gunga," she said, "get up, I am here: what wouldstthou of me?"

  The girl arose, put away the dishevelled hair from her face, and againbowed before Tara, embracing her knees. She was not repulsed this time.The priest had watched the scene wonderingly--he could not understandit. Tara was standing beside the door of the shrine, the light fromwithin streaming out upon her. Her slight figure was drawn up to itsfull height, and her beautiful features were calm--almost sublime intheir expression. Lying at her feet, and clasping them, was the othergirl, still moaning in apparent agony.

  "She hath done some terrible crime," thought the Brahmun, "and theother will intercede for her."

  "O Tara--O Tara," cried Gunga piteously, "I dare not look up to theenow; all my shame is rushing back into my heart; my words and my touchare alike pollution to thee! O Tara, I dare not ask forgiveness--I whohave wronged thee so foully. Speak, for time passes quickly, and theywill be here--wilt thou trust me now? O Mother, Mother! what can I do?what can I say to make her trust me--to make her forgive me?"

  "Look up, Gunga," said Tara, sitting down, and gently parting the hairon the girl's forehead, "what hast thou done? It was he, not thou; see,I forgive thee freely."

  "O yes, it was he, not I," she cried,--"I resisted, and he used to beatme. Yes, he beat me cruelly only yesterday, when he left me, and thenit came into my heart to save thee! Yes, the Mother told me--I knowit now--to come here, and I have found thee. Listen!" she continued,rising, and looking hurriedly about her. "There is no one near--all aregone. Come! come! we are not seen;--come at once,--do not delay: we canescape during the confusion. Hark! they are fighting below--come! Itell thee the tigers and the bears on the mountain, are better for meand thee than they. Dost thou not hear?"

  "It is the men firing for the Khan's arrival," said Tara gently; "thereis no fighting. Who should fight?"

  "Ah no," cried Gunga, "they are attacked,--the Khan is already killed.I heard it as I came in--they are all dead or dying. O Tara, I tellthee that no one will escape,--no, not one. Hark! the din increases,and thou art here: alas! alas! O Mother! tell it to her," sheexclaimed, with passionate gesticulation, to the senseless image beforethem--"tell it to her--she will not believe me--Tara, dost thou nothear?"

  Just then, an eddy, perhaps, of the mountain-wind, brought up to themfrom the deep valley below, a hoarse, confused din of shouts, shots,and conflict. It could not be mistaken. Tara had heard it once atTooljapoor, but this was far more tremendous.

  "Come!" again shrieked Gunga, seizing her arm, and dragging heraway--"come! It is our last chance for life-
-do not throw it away. Wecan get out and hide among the bushes; and I will never leave thee,Tara, never."

  But she spoke to one now wellnigh bereft of sense. The Khan killed, therest attacked, and the fierce turmoil of the fight coming up strongerand stronger, till the fretted roof of the temple seemed filled withthe sound, overpowered Tara; for at last, the hideous truth seemed toflash upon her, as she sat down and buried her face in her lap in anattitude of mute despair; but Gunga would not let her rest.

  "Ah, I am believed now," she cried wildly: "listen! Moro Trimmul, withthousands upon thousands, has attacked the camp, and he swore to me tobring the Khan's wife and daughter hither. O Tara! will he spare them?He swore he would not, and he beat me when I pleaded for them. Look!here are bruises on me. I tell thee he will not spare them or you.Come!"

  "I will die here,--I will not go from the Mother, Gunga," replied Tara."I am her child now--only hers: let her do with me as she wills, I willnot go. Save thyself, care not for me," and she arose and prostratedherself before the shrine. "O Mother," she cried piteously, "I will notleave thee again. Death or life, what matters it to me? let it be asthou wilt. I have promised not to leave thee, and I am here waiting."Then rising, she seated herself as she was used to do before theshrine, and spoke no more.

  "I can at least die with thee, Tara; I will not leave thee," saidGunga. "Whatever comes, let it come to us both; I am as ready to die asthou art--I will not go."

  They sat there long. The sun declined, and the evening was drawingin. Once only Gunga had gone out to see whether she could gain anyintelligence, and had returned saying the doors of the temple enclosurewere shut. The Brahmun priest had disappeared like the rest, butthere were shouts as if of victory which rung through the building inbursts, evidently growing nearer. Tara seemed not to hear them. Itmight be that utter despair possessed her, or, as Gunga hoped, thatsome manifestation of the goddess was about to take place. She scarcelymoved now, but when the shouts grew louder she shuddered, and drew theend of her garment more closely around her as if she were cold.

  It was thus that the Maha Ranee, Sivaji's mother, found her and Gungaas she entered with her attendants for the evening prayer and worship,and to give thanks for the victory.

  As the lady had approached the temple, the attendant priest told her ofTara, and why she had been left there by the Shastree and Govind Rao,and the tale had excited her curiosity, if not her compassion.

  "She is sitting there before the Mother," he said, "and does not speak.Perhaps she will answer you, lady, but it seems as though a fit werecoming on her. I will tell her at least that you have come," and,stepping forward, he advanced to Tara and whispered in her ear.

  The Maha Ranee followed, and paused as she entered the vestibule. Thelight shone full upon Tara, and her expression of deep misery couldnot be mistaken. Long afterwards, the first sight of that pale, wan,despairing face recurred to the lady with pain, and she never forgotthe look of hopeless grief which Tara had first turned upon her.

  "There is no inspiration in that face," said the lady to thepriest,--"none. It seems to me the Mother hath forsaken her. Of what isshe accused?"

  "She was taken from the Mussulman chief, we hear," said the Brahmun,"and was to have become a Mussulmani. They say, too, she is asorceress, and does evil with her eyes; but Govind Rao placed her here,and knows about her."

  "I fear her not," cried the Ranee, with flashing eyes. "Who is she,that she dare sit in my presence? Put her out! Away with thee, wench!"she continued to Tara, "get thee hence! If thou art forsworn, begone!The Mother hath drunk blood to-day, and will not spare thee! Take heraway, Bheemee--she is an offence to us."

  "Get up, girl," said Bheemee roughly, as she advanced, followed byseveral other women--"get up; dost thou not hear? else we will castthee out."

  Gunga came forward boldly. "Do not touch or hurt her," she said: "Ifear she is not now in her right mind. If I may take her, I will lookafter her. Get up, Tara," she whispered in her ear: "come, we will goand hide ourselves. Come, for thy life, come!" and she tried to lifther up and drag her away.

  But Tara could not rise; her limbs seemed paralysed by grief or terror,and she did not evidently understand what had occurred. Not noticingthe Maha Ranee, she disengaged herself from Gunga, and once morestretched out her arms to the shrine before her, and cried in piteoustones which affected many around her to tears, "O Mother, I will notleave thee: do with me as thou wilt, even to death!" and so lay moaning.

  "Send for Govind Rao and Wittul Shastree, lady," said the old Brahmunpriest, who was sobbing and wiping his eyes: "they know of her, and youwill hear about her from them."

  "Good," replied the Ranee, already softened, "let them be broughtinstantly,--they are without. We will await their coming."

  Some little time elapsed, and others assembled. No one knew what wasgoing to happen. After a while Tara seemed to regain sense and toremember why she was there, for she sat up, and they saw her lipsmoving as if in prayer. As the trumpets sounded the setting of thefirst watch at sunset, and the great kettle-drums and pipes played theevening music in the Nobut Khana above the gate, the Brahmun priestsentered with the usual offerings, and began to chant one of the eveninghymns of praise, as they moved round the shrine in time with the faintclash of the silver cymbals, which one of them carried. Then, timidlyand faintly at first, but increasing in power as she sang, Tara joinedthe chant. It was an emotion which she could not restrain, and whichnot even the sense of desolation and dull misery which had overwhelmedher, could repress. She was unconscious of the effect it produced uponthose who listened to her, as her full rich voice rose above the hoarseand unmusical chant of the priests; but as it gradually ceased, andthe sound died away in the recesses of the temple, it affected many ofthose who heard it to tears, and was never forgotten.

  "No wonder," said the Ranee, who had listened to the hymn with emotionwhich she hardly chose to acknowledge,--"no wonder they say she is asorceress. See, she has no fear--no perception of what is to happen, orwho are around her. That is not natural; it is magic, and may not belooked upon."

  "Lady," said Wittul Shastree, who, with Govind Rao and the otherBrahmuns, now approached her, "we attend you; what are your commands?"

  "We doubt the girl yonder, and they tell us she is dangerous, and asorceress; we would have her removed ere we render sacrifice forvictory," she replied; "but the priests tell us she is there by yourorder. Is it so?"

  "By her own will," said the Shastree; "not our orders. We would havemade her over to the council for chastisement and discipline, because,as a priestess of Kalee, she hath been residing among the Moslems; butshe claimed ordeal and sanctuary with the goddess, and we sent herhere. Has any vision appeared to her?" he asked of the attendant priest.

  "None," replied the man. "They have been talking together, she and thegirl beside her, who wanted her to get up and go away; but she hasnot stirred since the five guns were fired, and she was told of thevictory."

  "I will ask her again what she wishes, lady," said Govind Rao, "butbetter than I, Moro Trimmul should do it, who, we hear, has married hissister to her father. He, too, is without with the Rajah; they havejust come up into the fort."

  "Let him be called," replied the lady, "and keep out other strangers.Be ye all seated, sirs," she continued to the Brahmuns who hadaccompanied the Shastree, "while this inquiry lasts."