CHAPTER V.
The unhappy widow now prepared herself to perform the dreadful sacrifice which was to free her from the cares of this world and exalt her to the Swerga bowers, or Hindoo paradise. She was stationed before the door of the house of mourning in a kind of rostrum, which was profusely and extravagantly ornamented; tomtoms, trumpets, and cymbals continuing their deafening clangour as before. She placed a small piece of areka-nut between her almost motionless lips and softly aspirated the name of Somnat’s idol. She next adorned her head, neck, and arms with all her jewels, arraying herself in sumptuous apparel, as if about to appear at the marriage ceremony, instead of a funeral solemnity.
The array of her person being concluded, she proceeded toward the place of sacrifice, accompanied by numerous friends, to the sound of those instruments which had already preceded the procession of her husband’s body. Several Brahmins, including the hierophant, walked by her side encouraging her with assurances that she was going to enjoy eternal felicity in regions where there is no misery known, and where she would become the sita[8] of some god who would espouse her as a reward for her constancy and virtue. They further promised her that her name should be celebrated throughout the earth, and sung in all their future sacrifices. This proves a strong stimulus to some women, who go to the pile voluntarily, and with an enthusiasm truly astonishing; for there is no legal obligation to perform the suttee.
A cup was now handed to the unhappy victim of the most barbarous superstition that has ever stained the black annals of fanaticism. She drank of it without the slightest emotion. In a few minutes the effects of this draught were visible. Her eyes glistened; she erected her frame to the full height of her stature, and looked around her with a flushed cheek and stern severity of purpose which sufficiently showed that the fever of enthusiasm was beginning to circulate rapidly through her veins. As the aged Brahmin approached her, she looked at him with a glance of defiant scorn, and pointing to the pile on which the corpse of her husband had been laid, said, with a raised brow and flashing eye—
“Dost thou think I would escape that fiery passage to everlasting repose? Thou wouldst withhold me from my glory. My soul shall ascend on wings of flame to the abodes of those who never die. I see the beckoning spirit in yonder cloud waiting to bear mine to its eternal home. Thou wouldst tear me from my bliss. Away, away!”
She immediately grew calm and began to prepare for the sacrifice with a truly sublime solemnity. Her relations came to her, with an alacrity that showed how gratified they felt at the oblation she was about to offer. The place was surrounded by an immense concourse, upon whom the victim occasionally cast a glance of pity mixed with triumph at the approaching consummation of her destiny. The music, if such it might be termed, had ceased while the preliminaries of the sacrifice were taking place, and an intense and awful silence reigned among the assembled multitude.
The beautiful widow now advanced to the foot of the pyre, prepared to consume that exquisite frame in the early freshness of its blossoming youth. The Brahmins crowded round her, endeavouring to sustain her fortitude to endure the coming trial by songs in which they artfully introduced the most fulsome eulogies of her heroism. This appeared to elevate her courage amid the awful array of death. It was now announced to her that the fatal moment had arrived when the flames were to embrace one of the most perfect bodies that Nature had ever moulded. She did not quail at the summons. Her eye dilated, her nostrils expanded, her lips parted, and her whole countenance was lighted up with a sublime energy of expression that recorded, with the mute but soul-stirring voice of an oracle, the deep and solemn purpose which engrossed her soul. She stood a few moments as if in prayer. Her babe was brought and placed within the arms of a once yearning mother. The feelings of nature revived. She spoke not, but pressed it tenderly to her bosom. Tears streamed down her cheeks in a flood, still not a feature quivered. The palpitations of her heart were perceptible under the slight muslin drapery that covered her bosom. It heaved beneath the suppressed throes of her emotion, but the countenance betrayed not the internal struggle. Her tears gradually ceased to flow. Her eye cleared and resumed its former expression of solemn determination, and she waved her hand as a signal that she was ready.
Two Brahmins now advanced with lighted torches. Having fervently kissed her infant, she placed it in the arms of an attendant, and it was instantly removed from her sight. At this moment her nearest relations approached; to these she bade a tender adieu. Having distributed her jewels among them, she embraced them severally, when they retired and left her alone with the ministers of death.
Not a breath stirred among the multitude as she prepared to ascend the pile. Hundreds stood agape with awe at witnessing the solemn spectacle. Having performed certain preliminary rites, a signal was given by the chief Brahmin, when she raised her dark but bloodless brow towards heaven, sprang upon the pile, embraced her husband’s corpse, and in a few moments was enveloped in flames and smoke, which hid her from the sight of those who had assembled to behold this dreadful sacrifice.
No sooner was the fire kindled than the notes of innumerable instruments were heard, shouts and acclamations rent the air, in order to prevent the sufferer’s screams of agony being heard. Ghee was poured upon the burning pyre to accelerate the horrible process of destruction, and the flames raged with such fury that in a short time not a vestige remained but the ashes of the dead. The crowd then quietly dispersed, rejoicing at having witnessed so acceptable a holocaust.