"The opportunity might be found, friend," answered the Rajah, "if it were truly desired; but proof of fidelity would be required,—would it be given? What is the Maharaja's desire? Dost thou know it?"
"I guess it," said the Brahmun, "for I am not easily deceived by appearances, and I understood his looks to-day, if I mistake not. Could I only speak with him? Canst thou take me to him?"
"I can tell thy message to him," replied the Rajah, "and will deliver it faithfully. He chose me, else I had not dared to come."
The Envoy appeared to hesitate for a moment. "Impossible," he said—"impossible that I could tell another, what Sivaji himself should alone hear; it could not be."
"Dost thou know me, friend?" returned the Rajah, as he untied the handkerchief which concealed his face, and with it wiped the white ashes from his eyes and forehead—"dost thou know me? It is thus that I salute a holy Brahmun;" and he rose and made a lowly reverence, touching the feet of the Envoy respectfully.
The man strove to return it, but was prevented. "It cannot be," continued Sivaji; "here thou art a Brahmun, and I a Sudra. Let it be as I wish. It is for thee to receive the honour, not I."
"What would you have me do, Maharaja?" replied the Envoy, now trembling much. "I have done evil in helping the unclean, and would now expiate it if possible."
"I have had many things in my mind, Pundit," replied the Rajah, "and the Mother sends perplexing thoughts; but one thing is clear to me—she must be avenged."
The man echoed the words—"She must be avenged."
"Yes," continued the Rajah, "day and night, by old and young, rich and poor, man or woman, there is but one cry going up from Maharástra—'Avenge the Mother!' and yet before that force we are powerless."