Durgesa Nandini

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DURGESA NANDINI

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Book I Chapter I

DURGEŚA-NANDINÍ, | OR | THE CHIEFTAIN'S DAUGHTER. | BOOK I. | CHAPTER I. | THE TEMPLE. | One day, near the end of summer, in the year 998 of the Bengali era, a solitary horseman was journeying along the road which leads from Vishnupur to Jehanabad. Seeing that the sun was about to set, he began to gallop; for before him lay a long, lonesome, unshaded road, and if the evening should bring with it one of those thunder-storms so frequent at that season of the year, it would go hard with him in that shelterless place. By degrees the twilight sky was overspread with masses of dark clouds. As early as nightfall, such dense darkness enveloped the landscape that the guiding of the horse became extremely difficult; and the traveller could only with difficulty follow the path shown by the lightning flash. In a short time, the winds began to roar, accompanied by heavy rain. The horseman was now absolutely incapable of distinguishing his course. The reins were now slackened, and the animal went his own way. After going some distance in this manner, the charger stumbled at some hard substance. As the lightning played just then, the traveller caught a glimpse of some gigantic white object before him. Taking it to be a building, he jumped to the ground, and came to know that some stone stairs had occasioned the accident. Hence concluding shelter to be at hand, he let his horse loose, and in darkness cautiously began to ascend the flight of steps. By the help of the lightning he soon ascertained that the pile before him was a temple. He adroitly reached its little door, but found it shut. He felt it about with his hand and perceived that it was not fastened outside. "In this temple, situated as it is in an uninhabited, solitary tract, who can have fastened the door within?"—the traveller asked himself with some surprise and curiosity. But the rain was beating pitilessly against his head, so that be the occupant whoever he might, the traveller fell to rapping at the door violently with his hand, again and again. But in vain. Irresistibly prompted to break it open by kicking, he refrained from going so far, lest thereby he should commit an act of graceless sacrilege. But notwithstanding this forbearance of his, the violence of his blows was such that the frail wooden thing was not able to bear it long—shortly it was deprived of its fastening pin. On the door being flung open, as the young man entered the temple, a faint shriek, issuing from it, entered his ear; and immediately a gust, rushing in, blew out the lamp which had been burning there. Who was in the temple and what the image of the god?—the newcomer could not at all determine. Finding himself thus placed, the dauntless young man only smiled, and first reverentially bowed down his head before the invisible image. He then arose and in darkness spoke, "Who's there in the temple?" No answer; but the tinkling of ornaments was heard. Thinking it useless to waste words, the traveller then closed the door in order to keep out the wind and rain, and in place of the broken pin leaned against it. "Whoever you may be, here," again said he, "listen. Here I sit at the door armed. Do not break my rest, or do it at your own peril, if you should happen to belong to the stronger sex. But if you be women, never fear; so long as sword and buckler are in the hands of a Rajput, not a hair of your head shall come to grief." | "Who are you, sir?" was the question in a female voice. | The traveller answered in surprise, "From the voice I gather this is asked by some fair one. What's the use, madam, of your knowing me?" | "O sir, we were so frightened!" answered the voice. | "Whoever I may be," replied the young man, "it is not our custom to make ourselves known by our own mouth. But rest content that so long as I am here, no danger shall befall the weaker sex." | "I take heart at your words, sir," said the woman. "Till now we were almost dying of fright. My companion has yet not completely recovered from her swoon. In the evening we came to worship this Siva, called Saileswara. Afterwards when the storm broke out, our bearers and attendants left us and have gone, we know not where." | "Be of good cheer, madam, I pray you," said our young man. "Rest here for the present. To-morrow morning I will conduct you home." | "The blessings of Saileswara upon you, sir!", returned the woman. | At midnight when the storm ceased, the young man said, "Madam, please stay here alone for a while, summoning up courage. I'll just go and procure a lamp from the nearest village." | At this the female interlocutor returned, "Sir, you needn't go so far. The keeper of this temple, a menial, lives close by. The moonlight has now appeared, so that you will be able to see his hovel on going out. This man lives alone in this lonely region and has always by him articles for lighting a fire." | Accordingly the young man went out and in the moonlight discovered the dwelling of the keeper. Coming to the door of his habitation, our traveller awakened him. The man, not opening the door at once from fear, began at first to peep out to ascertain who it was that had come. On close examination, no signs of a robber were recognisable in the traveller; moreover, it was not so easy for the former to overcome the temptation of gold held out by the latter. After some balancing, the keeper opened the door and lighted a lamp. | Having brought in the light, the traveller saw that an image of Siva, made of white marble was established in the temple. Behind it were two women only. The more youthful of them, on seeing the light, sat down veiling herself, and looking down. But from the diamond-studded Marwari bangles that shone on her wrists and from her embroidered dress of exquisite workmanship, over which were displayed tastefully her jewelled ornaments, the traveller could clearly infer that she came of no mean family. From the comparatively inferior value of the second woman's dress, be concluded her to be the hand-maid of the young lady, yet more well-to-do than the ordinary run of maid-servants. Her age might be thirty-five. Naturally it appeared to the young man that he was speaking to the matron. He also remarked with surprise that the dress of neither was like that of Bengali women, both being attired after the fashion of the North-Western or Hindustani females. | After placing the lamp in its place, the young man stood facing the women. Then, as the rays of light fell full on his head, the ladies perceived that his age might be slightly over five and twenty. His body was of such a height as would not have looked beautiful in another, but owing to the young man's broad chest and the symmetrical largeness and fulness of every member, his tallness contributed singularly to his beauty. Over a complexion, like the hue of the tender grass brought forth by the rainy season, or rather like the more captivating color of the fresh, spring leaves, shone amulets and other ornaments worn by the Rajputs. Over his loins hung his sheathed sword fastened to the girdle; in his long arm was a long spear; a turban, crested with a diamond, was on his head; from his ears hung pearl ear-rings; a jewelled neck-lace completed his dress. On viewing each other, both parties were eager for acquaintance, but neither could bring itself to stoop to the indecorum of making advances to the other.

Book I Chapter II

CHAPTER II.

ACQUAINTANCE.

The young man was the first to betray his curiosity. Addressing the dame, "I presume, madam," said he, "you belong to the zenānā of some respectable person. I should scruple to ask for your name and lineage, but you may not have the same objection that I have to make myself known. May I therefore take the liberty to enquire who you are?"

"No, sir," replied the woman, "that can not be. When do women first make themselves known?"

"What does precedence in acquaintance signify?" rejoined the young man.

"And how, I pray, is a woman to make herself known—she who is not allowed to bear her caste addition? How can she, whose virtue consists in living shut up from the world, disclose herself? When God forbade woman to utter her husbands name, didn't He thereby deprive her of the power of discovering herself?"

The young man returned no answer to these words; in fact, he was otherwise engaged. By degrees removing part of her veil, the youthful lady had been gazing at him steadfastly from behind her companion. In course of the conversation, the traveller's glance had also accidentally fallen in that direction and been fast rivetted on her face. He thought it would never again fall to his lot to witness such a 'shower of beauty.' As soon as the young man's glance mingled with that of the damsel, she looked down. On the other side, the attendant receiving no answer to her words, looked right into the traveller's face, and marked well which way he was looking. Knowing also that her fair companion was eying the young man ardently, she whispered into her ear.

"What's this, girl? Dost mean to marry in presence of the Siva?"

She who was thus spoken to, gave her attendant a pinch, saying, "Beshrew thee!" Seeing how matters stood, the clever attendant reflected, "I shrewdly fear the charms of this young man have begun to tell on my charge. Should she conceive a passion for him, even if worse consequences do not happen, her peace of mind, alas! would go for ever. Ah! that's to be averted. Aye, but how? Let me try artifice to rid ourselves of him."

Having determined this, with the innate cleverness of a woman, she said, "Sir, women's good name is so frail a thing that it can hardly bear the weight of the air, what shall I say of to-night's violent gale? Therefore, now that the storm is over, we shall with your permission see whether we can walk home."

"If you needs must go home afoot at this hour of night," replied the young man, "I will convoy you. The sky has become clear, and I would by this time have set out for my quarters; but it is only because I have not the heart to leave a beauty like your companion, without a guard, that I am still here."

"Sir," replied the woman, "your kindness towards us has been very great—indeed so great that it alone prevents me from speaking out my mind fully to you lest you think us ungrateful. But, sir, what shall I tell you of woman's cursed luck? We are naturally looked on with suspicion. It would indeed be a very happy thing if you accompanied us, but pray consider when my master, who is the father of this girl, will ask her, 'Under whose safeguard have you come at this dead hour?' what shall she answer?"

The young man mused a little and then replied, "Why, even thus, 'Under the safeguard of Jagat Singha, son of Maharaja Kinorh Man Singha?'"

Had the thunder burst there at that moment, the females could not have been struck with greater surprise. Immediately both stood up. The damsel slinked away behind the image; the clever-tongued dame wound the flowing border of her cloth round her neck and with clasped hands said, "Pardon, noble Prince. We have unwittingly been guilty of a thousand transgressions."

"Such grave transgressions are past all pardon," replied the Prince laughing, "but I'll forgive if you let me be acquainted with you; otherwise yon cannot escape condign punishment."

Soft words invariably breathe courage into a clever woman. "Name it, sir,—issue your fiat, we agree."

"Nothing but this," replied Jagat Singha, "that I will conduct you home."

The attendant was in a dilemma. For some very particular reason she was loath to make the damsel known to the officer of the Emperor of Delhi,—that he should accompany them was far more objectionable, being, as it was, of grayer import. She hung down her head.

Just at this moment the treading of a good many horses at no great distance from the temple, was heard. Going out hurriedly, the Prince saw about a hundred horsemen passing by. He marked their uniform and recognised them to be his own Rajput soldiers. Some time ago the Prince had gone to Vishnupur on some military duty; and had been returning to his father's camp with a hundred horsemen. In the afternoon he had left his men and gone before; and afterwards following a path different from that taken by his soldiers, he had been overtaken alone by the storm and put to trouble. Now finding them again, in order to ascertain whether they had descried him, he exclaimed, "Victory to the Emperor of Delhi!" Immediately a horseman approached. On seeing him, the Prince said, "Dharam Singha, I stopped here on account of tho storm."

"After searching much for you, sir," said Dharam Singha, humbly making obeisance, "at length we have come here tracing the marks of your horse's hoofs. We have also brought up the horse, which we found near yonder banian tree."

"Do you stay here with the steed," said Jagat Singha, "sending two men to fetch up a palankeen and bearers from a neighbouring village. Let the rest of the soldiers march on."

Dharam Singha was rather taken by surprise at this order, but thinking it unnecessary to ask his master for any reason of his command, said, "I will carry out your orders, sir."

He then communicated to the soldiers the intention of the Prince. On coming to know it, some one smiled and enquired of his campanion, "why things were ordered so wondrous strange that day." "And why shouldn't this be, Sir?" answered another. "Remember, the Maharaja at the head of the Rajputs is surrounded by no less than five hundred queens."

Meanwhile availing herself of the Prince's absence, the young lady withdrew the veil and said to her hand-maid, "Bimale, why are you so unwilling to make me known to the Prince?"

"I answer that to your father; but now, what's this noise again?"

"Methinks," replied the maiden, "some of his soldiers have come in search of the Prince. But why should you fear while he himself is with us."

Before the return of the horsemen who had gone to bring up a palankeen, the bearers and guards who had left the ladies and taken shelter in an adjacent village, came back. Espying these, Jagat Singha re-entered the temple and said to the attendant, "Some bearers accompanied by several armed men, are coming this way with a palankeen. Please come out and see whether they are your people." Bimala looked out from the door, and recognised them to be their men. "Then I mustn't stay here any longer," said the Prince, "my presence with you may be attended with evil. Farewell, then. I pray to Saileswara that you may reach home in safety. I only beg that you will not make known our meeting within a week. But O! do not forget me either. Rather keep this with you for remembrance. As for me, your memento is in my heart—even the fact that I could not learn who your lord's daughter is." He thereupon took out a pearl neck-lace from his turban and placed it on Bimala's head. Bimala, after twining the precious gift around her hair, bowed to the Prince in great humility. "Noble Prince," said she, "I beseech you not to blame me for withholding from you the information in which you have happened to take so much interest. Believe me, Sir, there is sufficient reason for this silence on my part. If however you are exceedingly curious, let me know where I may see you a fortnight hence."

"In this very temple," said Jagat Singha after reflecting a little. "If you don't see me here, we shall never meet again."

"God bless you, Sir!" said Bimala, humbly bowing. After looking once more on the youthful lady with burning ardour, tho Prince leaped on his horse and was out of sight.

Book I Chapter III

CHAPTER III.

THE MOGAL AND THE PATHAN.

I shall not, for the present, satisfy the curiosity of the gentle reader by following Jagat Singha from Saileshwara's temple, or by narrating the personal history of the charming damsel discovered in it. Jagat Singha was a Rajput. In order to explain why he had come to Bengal, and been journeying alone over a lonesome, open track, I shall briefly describe the political condition of Bengal at this time. This Chapter will therefore be historical, and an impatient reader may pass over it; but nothing like patience.

After Bakhtiyar Khiliji had planted the standard of the crescent in Bengal, the Pathans held undisputed sway over the country for several centuries. In 932, the celebrated Sultan Babar defeated the reigning Emperor Ibrahim Lodi, and ascended the throne of Delhi. But Bengal did not then pass under the sceptre of the Tamerlane dynasty.

Until the accession of that luminary of the Mogal dynasty—Akbar, Bengal remained under the sway of independent Pathan Sovereigns. In an evil hour, the fool-hardy Daud Khan laid his hands on the person of the sleeping Lion. As the consequence of his rashness, he was defeated by Manaim Khan, one of Akbar's generals, and so lost his throne. In 982, Daud fled to Orissa with his followers, and Bengal passed into the hands of the Mogal Sovereigns. When the Pathans had established themselves in Orissa, it became an arduous task for the Mogals to dislodge them from their hold. In 986, of the Bengali era, Khan Jaha Khan, viceroy of the Emperor, worsted the Pathans a second time, and brought Orissa under his master's yoke. Afterwards, a disturbance broke out. The Jaigirdars and other land-holders took umbrage at the introduction into Bengal of Akbar's new system of settlement for the collection of the imperial dues, and drew the sword in order to maintain their established rights. Taking advantage of this crisis, the Pathans of Orissa again raised their head, and investing one of their member, named Katlu Khan with the insignia of royalty, again brought Orissa under their dominion; and with great demonstrations of power, opportunely took Midnapur and Vishunpur—two districts lying beyond the pale of Orissa.

Both the able viceroy, Khan Azim and afterwards, Shahabaz Khan failed to wrest the conquered province from the enemy. At length a Hindu warrior was placed in command for the accomplishment of this difficult task.

When bursting with new-born fanaticism and in all the pride of strength, the surges of the Musalman soldiery rushed from the Himalayan chains, Prithviraj and other Rajput heroes resisted the tide with matchless valour. But alas! India's downfall was in the counsel of the Eternal. Instead of combining their strength, the Rajput princes fell to quarreling with one another. By virtue of reiterated efforts, the Musalmans beat the Hindu powers one by one, and established the Empire of Delhi. But although they succeeded thus far, yet they could not at once render lifeless the Kshetriya-begotten Rajputs. Many Rajput Princes remained independent; and from this time down to the final disruption of the Moslem Empire, this warlike race repeatedly challenged the Javanas to the field and on many occasions put them to the rout. In course of time, however, many Rajput chiefs were compelled to pay tribute to the Emperor of Delhi; and in the decay of their prowess, to set aside their prestine dignity, in order to obtain the good graces of the Victor by alliances with the Imperial house and by other means. The Emperors, for their part, were anxious to lay under obligation their heroic antagonists, by extending to them their friendship and alliance. In course of time, the tributary Princes began to enter the imperial service. The high-minded Akbar was in every respect far wiser than his predecessors. It was his conviction that for the administration of this country, the children of the soil and not foreigners—are pe fit, and further, that either in war or in civil administration, the Rajputs had no equals. Agreeably to this belief, he, as a rule, appointed the natives—more particularly the Rajputs, to important posts of Government.

At the time of our story, of those Rajputs who had gained eminent appointments, Maharaja Man Singha was one of the foremost. He was the brother-in-law of prince Selim himself, the son of Akbar. After Azim Khan and Shahabaz Khan had been foiled in their endeavours, Akbar sent this personage as Governor of Bengal and Behar.

In 997 Man Singha reached Patna and first suppressed the disturbances. Next year he marched towards Orissa. On arriving at Patna, he had appointed Syed Khan as his deputy in Bengal, himself intending to stay at Patna. Entrusted with this office, Syed Khan was residing at the city of Tanda, the then capital of Bengal. Now marching for Orissa, Man Singha summoned his subordinate, writing him to say that he must join him at Burdwan with his forces.

On reaching Burdwan, the Raja saw that Syed Khan had not come, but had simply sent a message. He reported that great delay was inevitable for him to levy troops;—nay, that the rains would set in by the time that he could set out with his army; so that if the Raja would encamp till the wet season was over, he would join him with his men. Seeing no alternative, the Raja closed with this proposal, and encamped on the banks of the Darukeshwara river, in the village of Jehanabad, waiting for Syed Khan.

While at Jehanabad, the Raja received intelligence that Katlu Khan emboldened by his inactivity, was plundering the country within a few miles of that village. Filled with apprehensions, the Raja thought it expedient to despatch an officer to ascertain the actual state of affairs—where the enemy lay, what his aim, what he was doing, &c. His favorite son, Jagat Singha, had accompanied him in this expedition. Learning that the Prince was eager to be entrusted with this bold task, the Raja had despatched him with a hundred horsemen, in the direction of the enemy. The Prince returned soon, after performing his work. It was when he was journeying back to the camp, that he has been introduced to the gentle reader.

Book I Chapter IV

CHAPTER IV.

THE YOUTHFUL GENERAL.

When Jagat Singha returned to his father, Maharaja Man Singha learnt from the lips of his son that an army of about fifty thousand Pathans had encamped near tho village of Dharpur, that they were plundering the neighbouring villages, and that having raised or captured forts, they were lying unmolested. Man Singha saw that a speedy check must be put on the excesses of the Pathans; but that this was a task of no small difficulty. With the view of deciding the appropriate course to be followed, he took counsel with the officers who had accompanied the expedition.

"Day after day," said he, "village after village, Pargana after Pargana are slipping off from the hands of the Emperor. Now, the Pathans must be chastised. But how to do this? The odds are against us—further, the enemy will fight from the shelter of forts; so that even if we could beat them, they could not be crushed or dislodged. But, mark, if on the contrary we are worsted, we shall be at once annihilated in this shelterless region of the enemy. Therefore, methinks, it would be a piece of hair-brained bravado to risk the lives of so many of the Emperor's troops, as also to blight once for all the prospect of conquering Orissa. To wait for Syed Khan, then, seems to be the best course; but then, in the meanwhile, some speedy means must be resorted to, for keeping the enemy in some check. What do you advise, Sirs?"

All the old officers returned with one voice that to wait for Syed Khan seemed the best course.

Raja Man Singha said, "Instead of risking the whole army, my intention is to send a small force under some able officer."

"Maharaj," replied an old officer, "where you are afraid to send the whole army, what will a detachment avail?"

"I don't mean to send it," rejoined Man Singha, "to face the enemy in the open field. A small force lying concealed will be able to keep in check small bands of Pathans who are harassing the villages."

"Maharaj," answered the Mogal, "what officer will court certain destruction?"

Man Singha scowled. "What?" said he, "breathes there not one among so many Rajputs and Mogals who can look on death with scorn?"

Immediately a few Mogals and Rajputs started up, and expressed their readiness to go. Jagat Singha was present there. He was the youngest of all. From behind the others, he also said, "With your permission, Sir, I am also willing to do the Emperor's business."

"Ah! why shouldn't it be so?" said Man Singha with complacence. "Now, I know the day is yet distant when the name of either Rajput or Mogal will be a thing of the past. So you are all ready to undertake this perilous task? Now, whom shall I select?"

"Maharaj," replied a courtier laughing, "'tis fortunate that so many have come forward. Pray, Sir, make the most of this competition, and select him who agrees to take the fewest men."

"Aye!" replied the Raja, "this is sound advice." He then asked the first that had volunteered, "With what number are you willing to go?"

"With fifteen thousand, so please you."

"Nay, that can't be. If fifteen thousand were detached, a sufficient number would not be left behind. What gallant is ready to take ten thousand?"

The officers were silent. At length Yasovantha Singha, a Rajput warrior and favorite of the Raja, solicited his permission to be placed in command. The Raja now began to eye them round with satisfaction. Prince Jagat Singha had been standing courting his glance, and as the Raja's gaze fell on him, he humbly said,

"Maharaj, under your favor, with the help of five thousand, I can engage to drive away Katlu Khan to the other side of the Subarnarekha."

Man Singha was struck dumb; the officers began to whisper to one another. "My son," said he after a while, "I know you are the pride of the Rajput race, but, child, you are rash."

Jagat Singha supplicated with clasped hands,

"Sire, if instead of redeeming my word, I waste the Emperor's troops, let me meet with condign punishment."

After thinking a while, the Raja said,

"God forbid that I should hinder the free exercise of your Rajput virtue. Look! here I entrust you with this business."

Saying this, he embraced the Prince with much feeling and bade him farewell.

Book I Chapter V

CHAPTER V.

GARMANDARAN.

The traces of the road along which Jagat Singha returned from Vishnupur to Jahanabad, still exist. At some distance to the south of it, is the village of Garmandaran. The women whom Jagat Singha met in the temple, went towards this village. Several ancient forts were situated in Garmandaran, which may probably have owed its name to that circumstance. The river Amodara flowed through it. At one place, it so much deviated from the right line, that two sides of a triangular piece of land were completely surrounded; on the third, rose a rock-cut fort. At the head of this piece of land, and just where the river first entered, rose a stupendous castle from the water, piercing Heaven. The pile was composed entirely of black stone. The strong current laved its two sides. The traveller still sees the massive ruins of this impregnable fortress;—only the lower part now remains, the building having been reduced to a heap of ruins by the destructive hand of Time. Over it, the tamarind, the madhabi and various other wild trees and shrubs have formed themselves into a wood, which affords shelter to the snake, the wolf and other ferocious beasts. Several other forts were situated on the other side of the river. These were inhabited by certain wealthy persons belonging to the same family. But our story has no connection with any other besides the first.

When Balin, the Emperor of Delhi, came to conquer Bengal, a soldier named Jayadhar Singha accompanied him. The night on which Balin obtained victory, the soldier performed prodigies of valor for the Imperial cause. In reward of his services, the Emperor gave him a Jaigir in the village of Garmandaran. The descendants of this Jaigirdar grew powerful, constructed forts at their own pleasure, and bade defiance to the ruler of Bengal. In 998 of the Bengali era, the castle which I have described in detail was inhabited by Virendra Singha, a descendant of Jayadhar Singha.

In his young days, Virendra was not on good terms with his father. He was of a haughty and impatient temperament, and seldom or never acted up to the wishes of his parent. Hence quarrel and altercation frequently ensued between the father and the son. The old land-holder fixed his choice on the daughter of a neighbour, also a land-holder and belonging to the same caste. The father of the girl had no son, so that by this alliance, Virendra could in all probability increase his fortunes. The bride too was beautiful. The match was therefore in every way highly acceptable in the eyes of the old man, and he accordingly made preparations for the coming ceremony. But instead of caring for all this, Virendra clandestinely married the daughter of a poor and forlorn widow who lived in the neighbourhood. When intelligence of this mesalliance reached the ears of the land-holder, he drove out his son in a fit of rage. Driven out from his father's house, the young man set out for Delhi with the intention of entering the army. His spouse was then in the family way, and he could not take her with him; she remained in her mother's cottage.