CHAPTER VIII.
The circumstances related in the last chapter took place during the occurrence of those which happened to the Hindoo widow, from the period of her husband’s death. She still remained in the vault. After the exhibition of infernal agents had taken place, she was left a short time to the more agreeable solitude of her own reflections, but this was finally interrupted by her old tormentor. She heard his slow and stealthy tread; she could just perceive the dim outline of his figure, as he entered the vault, and it was now rendered the more distinguishable by being covered with a plain wrapper of ashy-white linen. He advanced under the cover of darkness, still flattering himself that he should not be recognised. The widow was at this moment seated on the ground. Groping his way, the aged debauchee put his hand against her face, and having thus ascertained his propinquity, he said in the same counterfeit tone of voice which he had hitherto assumed—
“Is the condescension of the god of Somnat still slighted by the refractory widow? Know that he has power to annihilate thee, or—what is far worse—to doom thee, through all the changes of thy metempsychosis, to ineffable sufferings, which nothing can remit or modify: but he has likewise the power to exalt thee to a participation with himself to endless beatitude, in which thy obedience to his desires will inevitably terminate!”
“Blasphemer!” she exclaimed, in a tone of calm but intense bitterness, “I know thee; thou art no god, but one of the vilest ministers of evil. Thou profanest the sanctuary of him thou servest with impure and unholy rites, such as no deity can approve. The spiritual nature of the great Being whom we adore, and whose image stands within the walls of that hallowed pile, which thou hast so basely polluted, cannot defile itself by any corporeal taint. The vices which gods condemn cannot be approved by them, and what they disapprove their pure and essential natures cannot practise.”
“You are uttering blasphemies,” replied the Brahmin, now assuming his natural voice, perceiving he was discovered. “Thegods delight to reward their pious ministers, and the divinity which you have all your life served, and to whom I have ministered during the longest period of mine, has yielded thee to the embraces of one who adores thee.”
“If this be true, why hast thou assumed the character of that divinity, and in the pretended identity of his august person, presumed to address me with thy unholy love? Why have I been tormented with thy odious juggles or sorceries? Why am I confined in this cavernous prison? Is it under the sanction of that Being who is the perfection and concentration of all good—the hater and antagonist of all evil?”
“But what you call evil is good, and encouraged by the divinity. The enjoyment of holy men is desired by the Deity, because it is not evil. It is essentially good; it is the reward of faithful services and arduous labours; it leads to happiness. How then can it be evil? What you call my sorceries were representations, caused by the idol which you have despised, of what those may expect who presume to provoke his wrath. Know, too, that the god of Somnat has visited you, and in me you now behold him. He has assumed the form of his minister whom he honours, to bestow eternal dignities upon a woman he adores.”
He threw his arms round her. She rose and flung him from her with a force that cast him upon his back.
“Wretch!” she cried, with the dignity of subdued emotion, “think not to lead me blindfold into guilt, by assuming the character of a Being who is unable to endure the stains of thy pollution. Quit me, I command thee, and leave me here to die; for know that I would rather perish by the slow process of starvation than submit to the moral defilements with which you would encrust my soul.”
The old man rose with difficulty, muttering curses, and hobbled from the vault. Unappalled by the prospect of the vilest persecution, or, with perhaps more probability, of a horrible death, the lovely Hindoo calmly resigned herself to her destiny, resolved to perish, under whatever aspect death might approach her, rather than become the victim of her odious persecutor. Her mind wasagitated by a tumult of conflicting thoughts. She had been made sensible of having lived hitherto under the delusions of a false faith. Her conclusions upon the nature and quality of Deity became vague and undefined, and she knew not on what to repose her trust. Still her soul was impressed with the one vast idea of omnipotent agency, and she felt that she was under both its dominion and its power. The purity of her own conscience gave her confidence that she should not be deserted.
She had not been long balancing the issues of life and death, when two female devotees, in the habit of attending upon the idol, and familiarized with scenes of the grossest vice, entered the vault, one of them bearing a lamp. They were dressed in the meretricious attire peculiar to their vocation, and employed all their arts of persuasion to induce the youthful widow to dismiss her absurd prejudices, as they termed her virtuous resistance, and submit to the will of their god, who, they assured her, was a tender and indulgent divinity. She repelled their arguments with lofty scorn. Finding that persuasion was lost upon her, one of them said—
“Well, use your own pleasure; but since you refuse the offers of your spiritual guardian, you must no longer pollute with your presence the secret sanctuary, where he condescends to visit those whom he honours with his preference. Follow us.”
“Whither would you lead me?”
“You will shortly know.”
“I shall not stir from this spot in such company.”
The women set up a loud laugh, and one of them, approaching the widow, said with a gesticulation of vulgar ferocity, “Follow us quietly, or, by the chackra[9]of Vishnoo, you will be dragged like a refractory beast. Think a moment before you determine to resist.”
The widow replied not, but by a movement of her hand signified her consent to follow. One of the women went before withthe light, and the other behind. They passed through a long narrow passage, vaulted overhead, and evidently underground. There was no outlet on either side. It was terminated by a straight staircase, so narrow that only one person could ascend at a time. Upon reaching the top, there was a small square landing-place, with two doors at opposite sides.
“Here you will enter,” said the foremost woman, pointing to one of the doors.
“Whither does it lead?”
“Into the bosom of the idol. There you will meet the god, there you will be advanced to endless honours, there one who adores you awaits your coming.”
“I am not to be deluded by these profane pretensions. Here let our conference end. Open, if I am to enter, and let me know at once the worst that is to befall me.”
A small silver bell was now rung by one of the women, when the door slid sideways through a groove and presented a narrow portal. The widow entered fearlessly and the door instantly closed behind her. She was at the bottom of a short flight of stone steps, at the top of which appeared a brilliant light. She ascended with desperate resolution, determined to ascertain at once the full extent of the mischief to which she was to become a victim. On gaining the top of the stairs, she entered a circular chamber, about six feet in diameter. The floor was covered with a beautiful Persian rug, and the light was so intense as for the moment to be extremely painful. It was reflected from an invisible source by means of reflectors composed of gems. The walls of the apartment were decorated with jewels of immense size and brilliancy, and gems were likewise strewed in heaps upon the floor. The treasure displayed was prodigious. It appeared like a scene of enchantment. The wealth of a universe seemed to be concentred in that one spot.
The widow had not long gazed upon the vast wealth before her, when a small door which she had not hitherto perceived, slowly opened and the old Brahmin entered. There was an expression of triumphant malignity in his deep dull eye. He closed the doorcarefully behind him. “Now,” said he, approaching his victim, “for the consummation at once of my pleasure and of my vengeance. Here resistance will be vain. My ministers are at hand. Those women who conducted you from the vault are within call, therefore be advised. Consent to be the bride of Somnat’s idol, in the bosom of which you now stand, and the wealth which you behold is at your disposal; refuse, and the idol’s curse will follow you through the world to the place of everlasting retribution.”
“You know not a woman’s resolution,” replied the young widow firmly; “I will never consent to the degradation you propose. Do your worst.”
“Be it so, then,” cried the Brahmin, and seizing a staff, he was about to strike a gong that hung from an iron bar which crossed the chamber about six feet from the floor, when a strange noise was heard without, and the image vibrated to its very foundation. The Brahmin trembled, and sank upon his knees. The beautiful Hindoo gazed on him in silence and without emotion. The noise increased, the walls of the chamber oscillated. With the calm confidence of speedy deliverance she looked forward to the result. Her companion was still upon his knees overcome by the stupefaction of terror.
Voices were now distinctly heard, and one smote on the widow’s ear like familiar music. It was Mahmood’s. He had entered the temple of Somnat just as the lovely widow had ascended into the hollow bosom of the image. Having seen his orders executed upon the colossal frame, a crowd of Brahmins, perceiving their god in jeopardy, rushed forward and besought the king’s attendants to intercede with their sovereign to spare it, offering Mahmood a large sum of money, to be instantly paid down, if he would desist from further mutilation. His officers endeavoured to persuade the king to accept the money, urging that as the destruction of one idol would not put an end to idolatry, it could not serve the cause of true religion entirely to destroy the image; but that the sum offered might be distributed among the faithful, which would be a meritorious act.
The monarch acknowledged there might be much truth in whatthey said, but, nevertheless, declared that he would not consent to a measure which would place him before posterity as Mahmood the “Idol-seller;” whereas it was the height of his ambition to be known as Mahmood “The Destroyer of Idols.”
Having finally delivered his determination, he ordered his troops to proceed with the work of destruction. The gigantic image tottered beneath their strokes. It was at length split; the next blow laid open its hollow body, and to the surprise of the king and his officers its immense wealth was exposed to view; but their astonishment was infinitely increased when upon enlarging the opening, the Hindoo widow appeared standing in the centre of the cavity with the aged Brahmin kneeling beside her. The king instantly recognized her. She rushed towards him and exclaiming, “My deliverer!” fell into his arms.
“You have saved me,” she cried hysterically, “from pollution and from death. Yonder is my persecutor. In another hour I should have been what I shudder to contemplate.”
The Brahmin was dragged from his den of infamy. He shrank from the gaze of the scornful Mahomedan. His own companions slank out of the temple and left him to his fate. He was instantly hanged from one of the pillars of the sanctuary which he had so frequently profaned. The beautiful widow became Mahmood’s favourite queen, which event immediately followed upon her unexpected deliverance from the “Idol of Somnat.”
FOOTNOTES:[9]A sort of missile discus, with which the divinity Vishnoo is always represented armed.
[9]A sort of missile discus, with which the divinity Vishnoo is always represented armed.
[9]A sort of missile discus, with which the divinity Vishnoo is always represented armed.