The Slave Girl of Agra/Book 4/Chapter 1
BOOK IV
I. THE POET-PRINCE
"Welcome, welcome, Prince of Bikanir, Prithwi Raj, famed for verse as for valour! Much honoured am I by this visit to my tent."
"Nay, I am honoured by thy invitation, Norendra Nath. Let us seat ourselves on this rock awhile, for I like the balmy air of the evening after the toil of the day. Our task is done, and our Imperial Master will not forget thy services in bringing these negotiations to a happy end."
"Nay, the credit is thine, Prince. Little could I, a stranger in this land of Rajasthan, do without thy help and counsel. Thou hast pleaded our cause well; and when many voices were raised for foolish war thy advice for peace prevailed."
"Yes, Norendra Nath, I knew the Rana's father, the great Pratap Singh, and never did I counsel peace to him so long as the honour of a Rajput called for war. The high-souled Akbar himself admired his valour, and he stopped the war after the battle of Dewir, when Omrahs and Mansabdars cried for revenge. Pratap died in peace and in freedom, and it would be foolish of his son to reject peace when freedom is assured."
"And yet many there were in the Council Hall who jeered at us when we laid before the Rana the message of the Emperor. Brave men should know when to fight and when to sheath their sword."
"There is no question about their bravery, Norendra Nath; few are there among them who cannot show honourable scars received in this desperate struggle of twenty years. But the bitterness of years, ay, of centuries, between Mewar and Agra is not forgotten in a day, and the loss of Chittore still rankles in the hearts of the warriors of this land."
"But the bravest of them might have known that the Chief or King does not live in India who can wrest Chittore from the iron grasp of Akbar."
"Yet Chittore was once before taken by Moslems, and wrested from them by Rajputs, three hundred years ago. What was done once the sons of Mewar hope to do again."
"The Rana himself knows better and wisely accepted the peace, because Chittore is beyond hopes of recovery."
"The Rana accepted the peace not without a struggle. Canst thou keep a secret, Norendra Nath?"
"I have done so before, Prince, and may be able to do so again."
"Well, it is scarcely a secret, for few Rajputs there are who do not know it. Rana Amar Singh has seen too much of the realities of war, even from his childhood, to like it much. In his heart of hearts he welcomed the Emperor's offer of an honourable peace. But there was something which stood in the way."
"The fear of offending his father's old companions and counsellors?"
"The fear of breaking his word of promise to his father."
"Ha?"
"Even so. Peace without Chittore was bitter to Pratap Singh, the hero of a hundred battles."
"So I have heard."
"And that thought troubled him on his death-bed. The ancient warriors of Mewar, the bravest and the best, were gathered there, and in their presence Pratap Singh made his son swear that he would never give up the design of recovering Chittore. Prince Amar Singh gave his word, and Pratap Singh died in peace."
"Has the Prince then broken his word?"
"A Rana, never breaks his word. He has accepted the peace offered by the Emperor on the understanding that it shall not bar him from the recovery of Chittore when the occasion comes."
"And our great Emperor has consented to this clause?"
"Because the occasion will never come while the Empire of the Moguls lasts."
There was a pause, and both remained thoughtful and silent for a while. Prithwi Raj then resumed.
"To-morrow, Norendra Nath, before sunrise, I leave for my State of Bikanir. Long have I lived in the Court of Akbar, like many other Rajput Chiefs, but my native land and my faithful clansmen have claims upon me. The Court is brilliant, and the Emperor is kind and gracious, but there are dearer ties which bind a Rajput to Rajasthan, and which even the gaieties and tournaments of Agra cannot altogether sever."
"I honour thee, Prince, that among all the gaieties of the Court thou hast yet a true Rajput heart and feelest for thy own people."
"I could scarcely honour myself if I could forget my kith and kin, or the loyal devotion of my clansmen. Dost thou not sometimes feel thy long absence from thy home, Norendra Nath, and from thy estate?"
A sigh escaped Noren, and he spoke in a low voice. "I am a wanderer on earth, Prince, I don't know if my grandfather's estate is still my own."
"If, indeed, thy grandfather's estate has passed away, the Emperor has Jaigirs in his gift. And who is more deserving of a gift than the chief who has served him faithfully from Orissa to Rajasthan?"
"No Jaigir would I have, Prince, in exchange for the estate which my fathers have held these three hundred years. Home has its ties, as thou hast said, and the thoughts of some I knew in childhood come to me often in the solitude of the desert and the darkness of the night."
"Why, that is the solace of an exile, that is the inspiration of a poet."
"I have not thy gift of poetry, Prince, I can only think and grieve in silence. But that reminds me, Prithwi Raj, of thy new Ballad of Pratap Singh, which made so much noise in Court, and which the great Akbar himself deigned to hear."
"Little noise can my verses make, Norendra, for I am not one of those inspired who are gifted with the gift of song. I write verses because they please me, and my Royal Master loves to encourage me with his kind approbation."
"Nay, thou speakest too lightly of thy gifts, Prince. Both in Agra and in Rajasthan have I heard thee named as one of the gifted."
"Trust not what the people say. When a Prince composes they will always admire. But if thou wouldst listen to true poetry, Norendra, go to some poor itinerant singer travelling from village to village with his harp, and missioned by High Heaven to transmit from age to age the thoughts and the sentiments of a nation. Such were the old Charans of Rajasthan; such was Kabir the Poet and Prophet; and such is Tulasi Das, whose verse will remain the national heritage of Northern India."
"Nathless, Prince, if I am not abusing the privileges of a host, I would fain hear from thy lips the Ballad of Pratap Singh, of which I heard so much at Agra. These hills which have witnessed the deeds of Pratap will listen to thy song, and the breezes of this mellow evening will carry it far on their unseen wings."
"'Tis time, Norendra, that thou hadst begun composing poetry, for poetry comes spontaneously from thy lips. But I will sing my ballad since thou wishest it, and a beggar boy, Jamshid, who has followed my camp with his stringed instrument, will bear me company. Ho, Jamshid! Art thou there?"
The boy, who had accompanied the Prince to Norendra's tent, appeared and bowed.
"Go and fetch thy harp, my child, for my host would like to hear the ballad which I have lately composed. Thou shalt play on thy instrument as thou hast done before."
The boy bowed and disappeared.
"That little urchin, homeless and poor, has the gift of music," said Prithwi Raj. "He understands little of the Rajput tongue yet, but he has an ear for music, and sitting on some lonely rock or by a village well he will draw from his rude instrument a soft, plaintive melody which a Charan of Rajasthan might envy."
Darkness had fallen on the hills around, and the world was still. Jamshid brought his harp and humbly sat on the ground, a few paces from the rock on which Prithwi Raj and Norendra were seated. And as the music issued from his deft, pliant fingers the Ballad of Pratap Singh rose on the evening air.
I
"Man Singh came from Amber State to pay the homage due
To the Rana famed in war,
Pratap Singh of proud Mewar,
Held in honour near and far
By Rajputs bold and true!
Though an exile from Chittore and from his father's land,
'Gainst the King on Agra's throne he ranged his Chohan band!
II
Feast was spread o'er rock and heath, for palace there was none,
And around the honoured guest
Chiefs and warriors duteous prest—
Pratap came not with the rest
But nursed his wrath alone!
Wherefore for his honoured guest he layeth not the plate?
'Tis because the Lord of Amber serveth Agra's State!
III
Wrathful spake the Lord of Amber, fire was in his eye—
'Witness every Chief and Lord,
Man Singh wears a Rajput's sword,
Man Singh speaks a Rajput's word—
A Rajput cannot lie,
Proud is Pratap of Mewar, but when again we meet,
If his life is dear unto him, be his courser fleet!'
IV
And they met! And Agra's forces, Man Singh's countless host,
Broke the fiery Chohan band,
And the flower of Mewar land
Made its last heroic stand
And fell when all was lost!
Evening closed on Haldighata—fleet was Pratap's steed,
O'er the rock and darkened vale the Rana fled in speed!
V
'Nila Ghora ra Aswar! Rider of dark steed!
Stop, for far away thy foes,
Stop, for shades of evening close,
Stop, a brother brother knows,
And needless is thy speed!'
Blood is thick, and Pratap's brother, long his bitter foe,
Clasped the hero in his bosom, linked by common woe!
VI
In a cave the Queen of Pratap cooked her nightly food,
And her children broke their bread
In the jungle dark and dread,
Where the leopards softly tread,
The cobra lifts its head!
Dauntless still through years of struggle Pratap's clansmen stood,
And the Bheels of Aravelli guarded rock and wood!
VII
Twenty years had come and gone! The forces of Mewar
Fell at last on Agra's men,
Broke them on the purpled plain,
Strewed the earth with countless slain,
And ended was the war!
Those who fled from Dewir's battle spoke to Agra's King:
'Chain the tempest of the hills, but chain not Pratap Singh!'
VIII
Great is Akbar on his throne! And thus he smiling said:
'Other weapons I can wield,
Than the weapons of the field,
And my valiant foe shall yield
When arms aside are laid!
Henceforth Pratap is my friend! And let this struggle cease,
We have battled in our life, and we shall die in peace!'"