What Amulya then told me was indeed extraordinary.
The manager had just finished his supper and was
on the verandah rinsing out his mouth. The place
was somewhat dark. Amulya had a revolver in
each pocket, one loaded with blank cartridges, the
other with ball. He had a mask over his face.
He flashed a bull’s-eye lantern in the manager’s
face and fired a blank shot. The man swooned
away. Some of the guards, who were off duty,
came running up, but when Amulya fired another blank
shot at them they lost no time in taking cover.
Then Kasim, who was on duty, came up whirling a quarterstaff.
This time Amulya aimed a bullet at his legs, and
finding himself hit, Kasim collapsed on the floor.
Amulya then made the trembling manager, who had come
to his senses, open the safe and deliver up six thousand
rupees. Finally, he took one of the estate horses
and galloped off a few miles, there let the animal
loose, and quietly walked up here, to our place.
“What made you do all this, Amulya?”
I asked.
“There was a grave reason, Maharaja,”
he replied.
“But why, then, did you try to return the money?”
“Let her come, at whose command I did so.
In her presence I shall make a clean breast of it.”
“And who may ‘she’ be?”
“My sister, the Chota Rani!”
I sent for Bimala. She came hesitatingly, barefoot,
with a white shawl over her head. I had never
seen my Bimal like this before. She seemed to
have wrapped herself in a morning light.
Amulya prostrated himself in salutation and took the
dust of her feet. Then, as he rose, he said:
“Your command has been executed, sister.
The money is returned.”
“You have saved me, my little brother,”
said Bimal.
“With your image in my mind, I have not uttered
a single lie,” Amulya continued. “My
watchword __Bande Mataram__ has been cast away at
your feet for good. I have also received my reward,
your __prasad__, as soon as I came to the palace.”
Bimal looked at him blankly, unable to follow his
last words. Amulya brought out his handkerchief,
and untying it showed her the cakes put away inside.
“I did not eat them all,” he said.
“I have kept these to eat after you have helped
me with your own hands.”
I could see that I was not wanted here. I went
out of the room. I could only preach and preach,
so I mused, and get my effigy burnt for my pains.
I had not yet been able to bring back a single soul
from the path of death. They who have the power,
can do so by a mere sign. My words have not
that ineffable meaning. I am not a flame, only
a black coal, which has gone out. I can light
no lamp. That is what the story of my life shows—my
row of lamps has remained unlit.
------
30. Sitting on the bare floor is a sign of mourning,
and so, by association of ideas, of an abject attitude
of mind. [Trans.].
