=Napuji.=—Napuji, a name of no small note in the chronicles of Haravati, succeeded Samarsi. Napuji had married a daughter of the Solanki, chief of Toda,[10.2.6] the lineal descendant of the ancient kings of Anhilwara. While on a visit to Toda, a slab of beautiful marble attracted the regard of the Hara Rao, who desired his bride to ask it of her father. His delicacy was offended, and he replied, “he supposed the Hara would next ask him for his wife”; and desired him to depart. Napuji was incensed, and visited his anger upon his wife, whom he treated with neglect and even banished from his bed. She complained to her father. On the Kajri Tij, the joyous third of the [462] month Sawan, when a Rajput must visit his wife, the vassals of Bundi were dismissed to their homes to keep the festival sacred to ‘the mother of births.’ The Toda Rao, taking advantage of the unguarded state of Bundi, obtained admittance by stealth, and drove his lance through the head of the Hara Rao. He retired without observation, and was relating to his attendants the success of his revenge, when, at this moment, they passed one of the Bundi vassals, who, seated in a hollow taking his _amal-pani_ (opium-water), was meditating on the folly of going home, where no endearing caresses awaited him from his wife, who was deranged, and had determined to return to Bundi. While thus absorbed in gloomy reflections, the trampling of horses met his ear, and soon was heard the indecent mirth of the Toda Rao’s party, at the Hara Rao dismissing his vassals and remaining unattended. The Chauhan guessed the rest, and as the Toda Rao passed close to him, he levelled a blow, which severed his right arm from his body and brought him from his horse. The Solanki’s attendants took to flight, and the Chauhan put the severed limb, on which was the golden bracelet, in his scarf, and proceeded back to Bundi. Here all was confusion and sorrow. The Solanki queen, true to her faith, determined to mount the pyre with the murdered body of her lord; yet equally true to the line whence she sprung, was praising the vigour of her brother’s arm, “which had made so many mouths,[10.2.7] that she wanted hands to present a pan to each.” At the moment she was apostrophizing the dead body of her lord, his faithful vassal entered, and undoing the scarf presented to her the dissevered arm, saying, “Perhaps this may aid you.” She recognized the bracelet, and though, as a Sati, she had done with this world, and should die in peace with all mankind, she could not forget, even at that dread moment, that “to revenge a feud” was the first of all duties. She called for pen and ink, and before mounting the pyre wrote to her brother, that if he did not wipe off that disgrace, his seed would be stigmatized as the issue of “the one-handed Solanki.” When he perused the dying words of his Sati sister, he was stung to the soul, and being incapable of revenge, immediately dashed out his brains against a pillar of the hall.