Then they sent for the Ranee to show her the bangle, but as soon as she saw it she recognized it as one of the bangles which had belonged to Chandra, and burst into tears, crying, “This is not my bangle. Oh, my lord, no jeweler on earth made this bangle! See, it is different to mine; and when any one comes near it, it tinkles and all the little bells begin to ring. Have you forgotten it? This was my beauty’s bangle! My diamond’s! My little darling’s! My lost child’s! Where did it come from? How did it come here? How into this land, and into this town and bazaar, among these wicked people? For this Jeweler must have kept my bangle and brought this one in its place. No human goldsmith’s hands made this, for it is none other than Chandra’s.” Then she begged the Rajah to inquire further about it.
But they all thought her mad; and the Jeweler said, “It is the Ranee’s fancy, for this is the same bangle she gave me to clean.” The other people also agreed that both the bangles were almost exactly alike, and must be a pair; and it being certain that Koila had had the bangle when he was seized by the police, the Rajah ordered him to be instantly executed. But the Ranee took Chandra’s bangle and locked it away in a strong cupboard, apart from all her other jewels.
Then they took Koila out into the jungle and would have cut off his head, but he said to his guards, “If I must die, let me die by my own hands,” and drawing his sword he fell upon it, and as the sword was very sharp it cut his body in two—one half fell on one side of the sword, and the other half on the other side—and they left his body where it fell.
When the news of what had taken place came to the town, many people who had seen Koila selling his bangle the day before began to murmur, saying, “There must be some injustice here—the Rajah has been over-hasty. Most likely the poor man did not steal the bangle. It is not likely that he would have tried to sell it openly before us all in the bazaar if it had been stolen property. How cruel of the Rajah to put such a handsome, gentle, noble-looking youth to death!—and he was a stranger, too!” And many wept at thought of his hard fate. When the Rajah heard of this he was very angry, and sent and commanded that the matter should be no further discussed in the town, saying, “If any one speaks another word of what has been done, or laments or sheds tears for the dead, he shall be instantly hanged.” Then the people all felt very frightened, and not a soul dared to speak of Koila, though every one thought about him much.
Early the very morning that this happened the old milk-seller (at whose house, which was a little out of the town, Chandra had been sleeping) took her guest a bowl full of milk to drink; but no sooner had Chandra tasted it than she began to cry, saying, “Good mother, what have you done? my mouth is full of blood!” “No, no, my daughter,” answered the old woman; “you must have been dreaming some bad dream. See, this is pure, fresh, warm milk I have brought you; drink again.” But when Chandra tasted it for the second time, she answered, “Oh no! oh no! it is not milk that I taste, but blood. All last night I had a dreadful dream, and this morning when I woke I found that my marriage necklace had snapped in two; and now this milk tastes to me as blood. Let me go! let me go! for I know my husband is dead.”
The old woman tried to comfort her, saying, “Why should you fancy he is dead? he was quite well yesterday, when he went to sell your bangle; and he said he would come back to you soon; in a little while, very likely, he will be here.” But she answered, “No, no; I feel sure that he is dead! Oh, let me go! for I must find him before I die.” Then the old woman said, “You must not go; you are too beautiful to run about through the streets of this strange town alone, and your husband would be very angry if he saw you doing so; and who knows but that you might lose your way, and get carried off as a slave; remember, he told you to stay here till he returned. Be patient; remain where you are, and I will go quickly into the town and seek your husband. If he is alive, I will bring him back to you, and if he is dead I will bring you word.” So, taking a chattee full of milk on her head, as if to sell, she went to the town to find Koila, while every minute seemed an hour to Chandra until her return.
When the old milk-seller reached the town, she went up and down all the streets looking for Koila, or expecting to hear some one mention the handsome stranger who had gone to sell such a wonderful bangle the day before. But she could not find him, nor did she hear him spoken of, for all were afraid to say a word about him on account of the Rajah’s decree. Being unable to trace him, the old woman got suspicious, and began to search, more carefully than before, down all the streets near the market-place, where she thought he was most likely to have gone; but, lest people should wonder at her errand, she called out each time as if she had some different thing to sell. First, “Buy some milk—who’ll buy milk—who’ll buy?” Then, on going for a second time down the same street, “Buy butter—butter! very fine butter!” and so on. At last one woman, who had been watching her with some curiosity, said, “Old woman, what nonsense you talk! you have been half-a-dozen times up and down this same street, as if you had half-a-dozen different things to sell in that one chattee. Any one would think you had as little sense as that pretty young bangle-seller yesterday, who spent all the day trying to sell a bangle, and got put to death for his pains.”
“Of whom do you speak?” asked the old woman. “Oh,” said the other, “I suppose, as you’re a milk-seller from the country, you know nothing about it. But that’s not to be talked about, for the Rajah has said that whoever speaks of him or mourns him shall be instantly hanged. Ah! he was very handsome.”
“Where is he now?” whispered the old woman. “There,” answered the other; “you can see the place where that crowd of people has collected. The Rajah’s Jeweler accused him of having stolen the bangle; so he was executed, many thought unjustly; but do not say I said it.” And so saying, she pointed toward the jungle some way off. The old woman ran to the place, but when she there saw two halves of Koila’s body lying side by side, stiff and cold, she threw her earthen chattee down on the ground and fell on her knees, crying bitterly. The noise attracted the attention of the Rajah’s guards, some of whom immediately seized her, saying, “Old woman, it is against the law to lament that dead man or murmur at the Rajah’s decree; you deserve to be put to death.” But she answered quickly, “The dead man! I do not cry for the dead man: can you not see that my chattee is broken and all the milk spilt? Is it not enough to make one weep?” And she began to cry again. “Hush! hush!” they answered; “don’t cry; come, the chattee wasn’t worth much; it was only an earthen thing. Stop your tears, and maybe we’ll give you a chattee of gold.”
“I neither care for your golden chattees nor for silver,” she said, angrily. “Go away; go away! my earthen chattee was worth them all. My grandfather’s grandfather and my grandmother’s grandmother used this chattee; and to think that it should now be broken and all the milk spilt!” And picking up the broken pieces, she went home sobbing, as if the loss of her chattee was all her grief. But when she got to her own house, she ran into where Chandra was, crying, “Alas! my pretty child! alas, my daughter! your fears are true!” and as gently as she could she told her what had happened.