At first their stages were necessarily short, with frequent halts; but as they proceeded, they had increased the daily distance; and the news of the action at Pertâbgurh, which had spread over the country with incredible rapidity, made them more and more anxious to reach Wye, and ascertain Tara's fate. All attempts to trace her on the road were fruitless. The army had passed, but in the confusion attendant upon its progress, individuals could not be traced or distinguished.
At the last stage before Wye they found the village where they rested in much excitement. It was understood that a Sutee would take place in the town the next day; and though it was not known who the person was, the certainty that such a ceremony would occur was beyond question; and it was evident that people from all the country round would attend it.
Anunda had not been at Wye since her youth. Her parents, who had resided there, were long since dead, and she knew, vaguely only, of some distant relatives. The Shastree, however, in his professional expeditions, had frequently visited the town which, from the number of Brahmun families residing there, was then, as it still is, the seat of much learning, and, from its many temples on the bank of the Krishna river, esteemed sacred.
The chief priest of one of those temples, Vishnu Pundit, was an old friend and antagonist in scientific and literary discussions, and Vyas Shastree knew he was sure of a hearty welcome, even if his coming were not formally announced. But considering that his wives might be an inconvenience, he had sent a note on by a messenger, who had engaged to deliver it by daylight at furthest; and as they set out for their last march, it was in hopeful, perhaps joyful anticipation of news of Tara, by which their long suspense would be ended.
Mingling with the parties, therefore, which thronged the roads to the town, and hearing many speculations as to the nature of the Sutee, but nothing definite, the travellers passed on as rapidly as possible; and a fairer scene than the bed of the sacred stream, with its hundreds of bathers in the sparkling waters, the temples on its banks, and the broad flights of steps leading to the river, could hardly be imagined; but there was one object in particular upon which all their interest centred. In the middle of a broad bed of sand near the stream, some men were already piling logs of wood into a square mass, and pouring oil on them; fixing tall poles at the sides, and hanging garlands of flowers and wreaths of leaves to them. The pile was large, and would soon be completed for the sacrifice.
Vyas Shastree rode to the spot, and inquired of the men—they were Brahmun priests—for whom the preparations were being made. They did not know, they said,—it was a state matter. When the Sutee came there to die, she would be seen. Meanwhile she was at Vishnu Pundit's house, and he might go and see her, and worship her, as others were doing.
At Vishnu Pundit's house! The place to which he was going! Certainly, then, he should see the woman, whoever she might be, that was to be burned. "Had her husband died, then, last night?" he asked. If he had, the Pundit's house must be impure, and he must look elsewhere for lodgings.
"No; the Sutee was in pursuance of a vow," they said,—"not an ordinary one, and an effigy would be burned with her."