Tara: A Mahratta Tale

by Meadows Taylor

These thoughts hurried rapidly through the Envoy's mind as he passed up the street of men, and the Rajah's authorities and higher order of servants, who stood on each side of this approach to the hall itself. Puntojee Gopináth was a big man in every sense of the word. His body was large and corpulent, and he stooped much. His head was wrapped in a white cashmere shawl, which increased its naturally disproportionate size. His features were massive but flaccid, and his cheeks shook, while his head wagged from side to side as he walked. His eyes were large, but red and watery; and the protruding under-lip, full, and set in deep lines at the corners, gave him an air of pompous self-sufficiency.

With all this, the Brahmun was a shrewd, astute person. He was vain, and usually confident. Now, however, as he saluted the Rajah, he felt the eyes which scanned him from head to foot had already taken a measure of him, which might be favourable or otherwise. Perhaps it was flattering, perhaps mortifying; he could not say which. They were in any case different eyes to those of his own rulers and officers, who were Mahomedans. Their eyes took things for granted, and he was accustomed to placid acquiescence, or perhaps to occasional fierce bursts of passion, which never affected him. These eyes, on the contrary, were restless and inquisitive, leaving an impression that they had seen and understood hidden thoughts, and would bring them out, lurk where they might.

Perhaps, for the first time in his public life, the Brahmun was disconcerted; but it was no time to show this; and recovering himself, he offered the prescribed salutation, and sinking into the seat pointed out to him, which was beside, but rather in front of the Rajah, with a loud exclamation of Rámchunder! which was his habit—he settled himself on his heels after the most approved courtly fashion, placed his hands gravely upon his knees, twisted up his moustaches, and felt his habitual confidence return.

We need not, perhaps, follow the conference. The Envoy, as instructed, at first took a high tone as to outrages and treason on the part of the Rajah, and of the clemency and wisdom of the sovereign he represented. There should have been no attempts at insurrection, because the cause was hopeless by force, and the royal ear was ever open to suppliants for justice, if timely submission were made.

The Rajah did not reply personally, but this pitiless scrutiny of the Envoy continued without interruption, and the address was answered by Krishnajee Bhaskur, one of his own Brahmun officers, eloquently and yet respectfully:—What had been done? No redress had been given for injury, for extortion, and local oppression. In despair, some retaliation had been made. It was the mountain custom, even by village against village; and did not affect higher relations, which would only become the more firmly consolidated when the cause of quarrel was past. "But," he added, in conclusion, "the details are private matters, and will be discussed better in privacy, and through Afzool Khan alone, does the Rajah wish to have them arranged. What have we here to oppose him? We have no concealments, no means of defence against such a force as his?"

"Indeed, no," said Sivaji, smiling. "An army of elephants has been sent to crush ants' nests, as the proverb hath it; and if the noble Khan will remain, and take charge of the country now under me, I will resign it to him cheerfully, and become his servant. Wilt thou say this to him?"

"Indeed, my prince," returned the Brahmun, putting up his joined hands, "we who were in Beejapoor well know how much Afzool Khan helped your father, when he was confined, in the old Sultan's time; and how much the rigour of his imprisonment was softened by the Khan's kindness. Ah! he is a humane and generous man, and has no personal enmity against you, my lord."

"We will at least put it to the proof," returned the Rajah good-humouredly. "You are witness that you have seen no preparations for defence or resistance, and the sooner he comes the better. We cannot hurry him and the force, but we will at least make preparations for a peaceful entertainment; and if the Khan will accept of our rude mountain hospitality instead of the Jehâd we hear he has been preaching against us, it will be a happy thing for all."

"A happy thing indeed!" said Bulwunt Rao, who, in the suite of the Envoy, had as yet sat silently, and had not been recognized; "and when public affairs are settled, private justice may be done to suppliants like me, who, only for state quarrels, dare not have entered this fort."

"Who art thou, friend?" asked Sivaji; "a suitor to me, and from Beejapoor?—a Mahratta among Moslems? Who art thou?"