But cowardice and cruelty always accompany each other, nor could all the speeches of the brothers “screw his courage to the sticking place.” Parmal went to his queen, and gave fresh vent to his lamentation. She upbraided his unmanly spirit, and bid him head his troops and go forth to the fight. The heroes embraced their wives for the last time, and with the dawn performed their pious rites. The Bannaphar offered oblations to the nine planets, and having adored the image of his tutelary god, he again put the chain round his neck;[[40]] then calling his son Indal, and Udala his brother, he once more poured forth his vows to the universal mother “that he would illustrate the name of Jasraj, and evince the pure blood derived from Dewaldai, whene’er he met the foe.”—“Nobly have you resolved,” said Udala, “and shall not my kirwan[[41]] also dazzle the eyes of Sambhar’s lord? shall he not retire from before me?”—“Farewell, my children,” said Dewaldai, “be true to your salt, and should you lose your heads for your prince, doubt not you will obtain the celestial crown.” Having ceased, the wives of both exclaimed, “What virtuous wife survives her lord? for thus says Gauriji,[[42]] ‘the woman, who survives her husband who falls in the field of battle, will never obtain bliss, but wander a discontented ghost in the region of unhallowed spirits.’”
This is sufficient to exhibit the supreme influence of women, not only on, but also in society.
The extract is taken from the Bardic historian, when Hindu customs were pure, and the Chauhan was paramount sovereign of India. It is worth while to compare it with another written six centuries after the conquest by the Muhammadans; although six dynasties—namely, Ghazni, Ghor, Khilji [622], Sayyid, Lodi, and Mogul, numbering more than thirty kings, had intervened, yet the same uncontrollable spirit was in full force, unchangeable even in misfortune. Both Hindu and Persian historians expatiate with delight on the anecdote; but we prefer the narrative of the ingenuous Bernier, under whose eye the incident occurred.
Jaswant Singh and his Wife.
Bernier, who was present, says, “I cannot forbear to relate the fierce reception which the daughter of the Rana gave to her husband Jeswunt Singh [Jessom Seingue], after his defeat and flight. When she heard he was nigh, and had understood what had passed in the battle; that he had fought with all possible courage; that he had but four or five hundred men left; and at last, no longer able to resist the enemy, had been forced to retreat; instead of sending some one to condole him in his misfortunes, she commanded in a dry mood to shut the gates of the castle, and not to let this infamous man enter; that he was not her husband; that the son-in-law of the great Rana could not have so mean a soul; that he was to remember, that being grafted into so illustrious a house, he was to imitate its virtue; in a word, he was to vanquish, or to die. A moment after, she was of another humour; she commands a pile of wood to be laid, that she might burn herself; that they abused her; that her husband must needs be dead; that it could not be otherwise. And a little while after, she was seen to change countenance, to [623] fall into a passion, and break into a thousand reproaches against him. In short, she remained thus transported eight or nine days, without being able to resolve to see her husband, till at last her mother coming, brought her in time to herself, composed by assuring her that as soon as the Raja had but refreshed himself he would raise another army to fight Aurangzeb, and repair his honour. By which story one may see,” says Bernier, “a pattern of the courage of the women in that country”; and he adds this philosophical corollary on this and the custom of satis, which he had witnessed: “There is nothing which opinion, prepossession, custom, hope, and the point of honour, may not make men do or suffer.”[[44]]
The Tale of Sanjogta.
“‘This night, while in the arms of sleep, a fair, beautiful as Rambha, rudely seized my arm; then she assailed you, and while you were struggling, a mighty elephant,[[45]] infuriated, and hideous as a demon, bore down upon me. Sleep fled—nor Rambha nor demon remained—but my heart was panting, and [624] my quivering lips muttering Har! Har![[46]] What is decreed the gods only know.’
“Sanjogta replied, ‘Victory and fame to my lord! O, sun of the Chauhans, in glory, or in pleasure, who has tasted so deeply as you? To die is the destiny not only of man but of the gods: all desire to throw off the old garment; but to die well is to live for ever. Think not of self, but of immortality; let your sword divide your foe, and I will be your ardhanga[[47]] hereafter.’
“The[“The] king sought the bard, who expounded the dream, and the Guru wrote an incantation, which he placed in his turban. A thousand brass vessels of fresh milk were poured in libations to the sun and moon. Ten buffaloes were sacrificed to the supporters of the globe, and gifts were made to all. But will offerings of blood or libations of milk arrest what is decreed? If by these man could undo what is ordained, would Nala or the Pandus have suffered as they did?”
While the warriors assemble in council to consult on the best mode of opposing the Sultan of Ghazni, the king leaves them to deliberate, in order to advise with Sanjogta. Her reply is curious: