Anandamath

Chapter VII

When Jivananda had left the hut Santi again took out the Sarang and began to sing softly:

In stormy oceans tempest tost
You do float
Like a boat
The Vedas in your self reposing
Effortless how dear enclosing.
Like a fish you take form
Keshava sweet!
Whilst, at your feet
Lord of the world! your praise we sing,
With praise of Hari the world doth ring.

When the sweet hymn of praise composed by the Goswami poet from the voice of Santi Devi clothed in the magic of musical notes and rhythmic cadence penetrated the infinite silence of the endless forest and came like the surge of waves of the blue ocean moved by the breezes of spring which breaks rhythmically on the shore, the sound became full and sweet; then she thus sang: —

Then compassionate to all creatures
As Buddha great
You do hate
Sacrificial rites of blood,
Creation with your love you flood.
Lord of the world your praise we sing,
With praise of Hari the world doth ring.

Then from outside some one sang in a voice deep as a roll of thunder,

“As Kalki incarnate you do come
The barbaric herd
With thy sword
Bright as a comet, Oh! to kill
The world with light how fair to fill.
Lord of the world your praise we sing,
With praise of Hari the world doth ring.

Santi full of devotion fell at the feet of Satyananda and took the dust of his feet. She said, “My Lord, for what good fortune is my home made sacred with the dust of your feet and why my eyes blessed with sight of you? Please tell me what I am to do. Saying this once more sweeping the cords of the Sarang with the bow she sang:

Lord your blessings no more delay,
As at your feet
Sacred sweet
For our welfare we do pray.

Satyananda said, “My daughter, good fortune will be yours.”

Santi: How can that be when your orders to me are to embrace widowhood.

Satyananda: I did not know you then — my daughter not realising the strength of the rope I pulled too hard. You are wiser than me, it is for you to find some way out. Do not tell Jivananda that I know everything. For your sake he can preserve his life. He is doing so till now. Then alone can my work be accomplished.

Over those flashing black eyes an angry glance played as the lightening plays in the dark summer clouds. Santi said, “How can that be, my lord! My husband and I are one soul. Whatever has passed between you and me I shall tell him all. If he is to die, he will die. It is no loss to me. I too shall die with him. If heaven be his reward do you think I too shall not go to heaven?

The Brahmacharin said, “I have never been defeated. Today I acknowledge defeat by you. My daughter, I am like your son. Have compassion on your child. Save Jivananda. Save your own life. Accomplish my work.”

Santi’s smile flashed out like lightening. “My husband’s religion is his own concern. Who am I to take him from the path of his religion? In this life, to a woman, her husband is a god, but in the life to come to us all, our religion is our God. To me my husband is great, but my religion is greater, but greater still than that is the religion of my husband. I can sacrifice my religion whenever I so desire. But shall I sacrifice my husband’s religion? At your command if my husband has to die let him die. I shall not ask him to live.”

The Brahmacharin sighed deeply and said, “My daughter, in this terrible vow sacrifice is essential. We must all offer ourselves as a sacrifice. I shall die. Jivananda, Bhavananda, each must die. Most probably you too will die. But my daughter, we must accomplish our work before death. To die without accomplishing our work, is that desirable? I have only called the country my mother. I acknowledge no other mother because except this well-watered fruitful Motherland we have no other mother. I call upon you as my mother. Be a mother and do the work of your child. Do that which will accomplish our work, save Jivananda’s life, save your own life.” Saying these words Satyananda chanting “O Hari! О Murari!” О Slayer of Madhu and Kaitava, left the place.