British -- India -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction; Short stories
She repeated the same story to four police, who arrived at noon,
and bound her arms, and led her away to jail. She suffered it to be
believed that she had murdered the child in cold blood, and thrown
her down the well. Jasoda’s case was unusually simple; there was but
a brief trial. The culprit offered no defence, and had apparently no
friends. It was known that she had always hated Taramonnee and her
mother; she had found the former alone, had slain her,--and was glad.
Her own mouth destroyed her. The village was in a ferment. The court
was crowded; Jooplee and her people were ravening for revenge. As for
Jasoda’s kindred, they knew she must be hanged--which thing was worse
than suttee--disgrace instead of glory would cover them! When asked if
she had aught to say, Jasoda stood up before the judge, a beautiful
young creature, with the passionate dark eyes and the regular features
of her race, and the form of a Grecian nymph, and answered distinctly--
“No, my lord sahib, I care not for my life; and, if it is the will of
the sirkar, let them take it.” To herself she said, “Better this end
than the other; the river is low.”
As Jasoda lay under sentence of death, her venerable grandmother
bestirred herself to save her. She was a shrivelled, hideous old hag,
with a ragged red chuddah over her head, and she sat at the gate of the
judge’s compound daily, and cried for the space of two hours without
ceasing.
“Do hai! Do hai! Do hai!” _i.e._ “Mercy! mercy! mercy!” She then
adjourned to the cantonment magistrate’s abode, and shrieked the same
prayer outside his gates; and finally to the civil surgeon’s, who
was also the jail superintendent; and to him, for this reason, she
devoted one hour extra, and her voice never once failed. Thus much for
being the scold of the village! There was intense excitement in the
neighbourhood as the day of execution drew nigh, and lo! one evening,
when a great gallows was raised on the maidan, there were already
collected thousands of people, precisely as if it were some holy spot,
a scene of pilgrimage--all attracted by the same desire--to see a woman
hanged!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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