Rana Pratap rose to prominence as the new hope for Mewar after his coronation on Holi, 1st March, 1572. His subjects and chiefs had a lot of faith in his ability to remove the Timurid influence from Rajputana. In the year 1573, in February, June and November, Raja Man Singh, his father Bhagwan Das and Todal Mal came to persuade the Rana on alliances respectively. Although he received the fellow Rajputs cordially, their purpose remained unsolved. These frequent visits to his court from alliances of Akbar made Gogunda vulnerable as a capital. He decided to move to a small village at Girwa, about 8 miles from Haldighati. Not being able to reach him anymore, Akbar's chieftains were forced to prepare for war against the Rana. Under the leadership of Man Singh, Akbar's army reached Haldighati, the chosen battlefield on the banks of the Banas River. The brave Rajputs, having only half the army's strength, fought bravely, and an injured Rana was taken to safety by his favourite horse Chetak before the horse died of the injury. After the battle, Pratap was devastated at the loss of Chetak and many of his loyal chieftains and decided to concentrate on regaining several parts of his empire from the smaller outposts of the Timurids. He had vowed not to sleep in luxury, have anything except grass mixed Rotis and not live in a fort before he could make sure Mewar was free from the Timurids. In the years 1577 and 1588, while rumours in the Timurid camp said he was dead, he managed to take back four major Timurid outposts near Kumbhalgarh, forcing the Timurids to retreat. However, Akbar decided to send his Shahbaz Khan to Kumbhalgarh. On the midnight of 3rd April 1578, Pratap and his family abandoned the permanency of palaces for a life of exile, away from Timurid eyes. They had rebuilt their army by 1581, and on October 1582, giving the rumours one final blow, he led an army to attack Kumbhalgarh and win it back. The armies met at Dewair, where he famously slaint Bahlol Khan. But Pratap and his family spend six uncertain years in the forest, aided by Bhils, to hide and protect themselves and regroup. These were known as the toughest times of his life, and only after the win in 1582 did he establish a new permanent capital at Chawand.
Danger lurked in every corner of the Aravallis and forestlands, and the moving family had to stay on alert. Moving in smaller groups was easier. They had some foot soldiers with them to avoid detection by enemy camps. The royal jewellery and gaudy dresses were packed in trunks to make the travel less prone to dacoit attacks. They were now at Dholan, a small settlement near Banas. Amar, who was a nineteen-year-old youth now, kept a strict eye on his younger brothers Chand Singh, Bhagwan Das and his sisters. Ajabdeh Bai, Solankini Bai, Champa Bai, Jaso Bai and Phool Kanwar Bai looked after the family and a few maids and soldiers who accompanied them assisted with cooking and putting up tents. Ajabdeh was the protective elder sister to all of them, making sure they were comfortable and their difficulties did not disappoint the Rana or stir him away from his mission in guilt of not being responsible for his family.
She taught the children the Veer Gatha of their forefathers. Rana Pratap was busy meeting his chieftains in the dense forest. They brought them a supply of Bajra and vegetables. Sometimes the supply would run low, and the family would not get enough food. Although people adjusted with less, Ajabdeh starved silently, not letting the Rana know, fearing he would change his mind and surrender. One day, the family gathered to eat the day's meal. Rana Pratap sat with his elder son by his side, his children surrounding them. He could not help but notice how Ajabdeh's health was deteriorating over the months. He was indeed worried. Suddenly, something struck his mind.
" You people have your meal, I am not hungry today, I will go see how the army is getting along with the day's exercises." He ordered his wives and stepped out. Two rotis each and a plate of vegetables are not what any princess desires. He knew some of them secretly resented marrying him. Ajabdeh happily spread the food for her sister-wives.
" You won't eat with us, Jija?" Phool asked her, holding the empty leaf plate meant for Ajabde.
" I will eat later, Behena, after I do the puja. " She stepped out of the tent. Away from their sight, she went into the bushes looking for wild fruits. They did not have enough Bajra, her thoughts trailed.
" What are you doing here?" She got shocked as she put a berry in her mouth. It was him.
" I..." She stammered. " What are you doing here?"
" I knew you were hiding something, I just knew it." He sounded disappointed. She could not look him in the eyes.
" You remember, Ajabdeh..." He continued looking at her. " You and I had a deal; whatever happens, we will be in it together, no matter how tough."
" But..."
" No, you are going to listen to me, I know you won't eat without giving enough to your children and sisters." He sounded angry.
" We don't have enough resources, Ranaji." Her voice was reasonably calm.
" Now we are talking. You should not starve. Ajabdeh, what if you fall ill?" His voice filled with concern as she looked at him, his eyes moist." I can't lose you."
" Pratap, I can..." She said firmly, trying to make her husband stop before his voice attracted attention.
" Here..." He took out a roti from his hand, " From today, we will have one each."
" When did you...?" She looked confused.
" I saved mine. I am your husband, I can do this." He smiled at her.
That day, in the clearing, Rana Pratap and Ajabdeh shared the heartiest meal they ever had together, taking a bite each from the Bajra Roti they shared.
Days passed by, and the supplies reduced; they had to look for alternatives in the wild. Leaves and fruits that were edible were cooked and served. One day, as Ajabdeh was making Roti, she gave two to the youngest princes. The prince was happy to get two rotis after so long, ate one and kept the other for later. However, as he left it unattended, a wild animal came and stole it. The prince cried for his roti as his mother consoled him.
The sight filled Pratap with regret. He remembered how luxurious his life was at their age and how he could not provide even two rotis for his children. He walked away from the scene. Ajabdeh followed him into his tent. He knew she would come.
" I am thinking of surrendering." He spoke abruptly.
" No, Ranaji, why ..." She shook her head firmly.
" You saw what happened. He is a child; he should have the life she deserves. You know how luxurious my days in Chittor were; I could not give them anything."
" Rana Pratap Singh, they are children of a royal family who should always be ready to sacrifice everything for their motherland. Our Veer Gathas teach us that. He is a child; he does not understand the cause yet. You are not only his father. There is a country full of people who believe you will free them from Timurid dominance. You need to think of them, too." He stared at her determined face as she nodded at him reassuringly.
" Ajabdeh, whenever you talk like this, it makes me admire you even more. " She looked away from his glance and blushed. "I am just being the Rani of Mewar, over my children's mother, you should remember that."
"I do. I remember it every minute in the forest." Guilt filled his voice as she stepped forward to console him.
There were sounds in the clearing, and Amar came out to the clearing where his parents stood. " Daajiraj, I feel the same way Rani Ma does; we can not surrender to the Timurids no matter what." His parents looked at him with pride. He had the nature of his mother and the bravery of his father. They could not be prouder.
Akbar's spy had seen what had happened, and he immediately left for Agra with the news that Pratap was thinking of surrendering. Akbar waited for this news for so long that he rewarded the spy and let him go. One such alliance of Akbar, present in court that day, was Prithviraj Rathore, a poet and royal Rajput, first cousin to Pratap. (His mother's sister was Prithviraj's mother.) He was shocked to hear this. Away from the hawk eyes of the Timurids, he wrote to his cousin:
"Patal Sun Badshah, Bole Mukh Hunta Bayan,
Mihir Picham Dis Mann, Ughe Kasabh Rao Uth,
Patakun Munchiyan Paan, Ke Patakun Nijh Taan Karad,
Dije Likh Deewan, In Do Mahali Baak Ikh."
It means,
" The mouth of Pratap has begun to say Badshah,
Oh, Rao, has the sun started rising in the West as well?
Should I keep my hands over my moustache,
or should my body fall with my own hands?
O Deewan, write an answer and choose between the two."
Pratap promptly replied to his cousin with a poem in return:
"Turak Kahasi Turakado, Inn Mukh Sunn Ikling
Uga Jiya Hi Ugasi, Prachi Bichh Patang,
Khushi Hunn Pithal Kamadh, Patako Muchiyan Paan,
Jeete Hain Pachatan Patto, Kilama Siir Kewaan"
It means,
"Lord Eklingji will always make my mouth call him a Turk,
The sun will always rise in the East, always.
Be happy and put your hand on your moustache,
Till Pratap stands on his feet,
His sword will keep hovering over the Invaders."
Prithviraj was very happy to get this response from his cousin, knowing he was the last hope of Rajputana, and later letters between the two further indicated how even some of Akbar's Rajput allies and Hindu kings had their hope resting on Pratap's hands to liberate the Rajputs from Timurid influence.
Champawati was in her teens. As the uncertain future of Mewar loomed over their heads, life in the forest was getting difficult every day. She watched her mother silently, being the bravest woman she had ever seen. She was the Maharani of Mewar; the weight of that title loomed on her head. She watched her sisters being married; being the youngest princess of the four meant that she would be last. She heard her mother lament how different the weddings would have been had they been in Chittorgarh's Sringar Chauri. Champawati was tired and hungry as she roamed the forest in the afternoon. One Bajra Roti was never enough for her, but she knew the soldiers needed to be fed first. Champawati often wondered if anyone else loved the motherland as much as her father did. She watched him from afar, a little intimidated at his scarred face and bruised arms as he tried to be as gentle as he could be with her. She remembered days in Kumbhalgarh, before they had to leave, when he would offer her fruits from his basket every time she visited him. Champa's stomach churned as the images of the fruits became vivid in her imagination. Her eyes fell on the bushes in the forest. There were red berries on it, much like those berries they imported when things were better. Champawati wondered if the same berries grew in the wild forestland, and they did not even know of it. She tried one, it was a little bitter and sour, different in taste from what she remembered them to be. Hunger took the better of her as she tried another one.
The camp was in chaos. There were screams and wails as Rana Pratap stepped out of his tent, wondering if they were under attack. It was then that he spotted Bhagwan Das, sobbing as he ran out of the princess's tent.
"What happened?" He interjected a soldier who did not respond. "I asked what happened?" His first thought travelled to his Maharani. She looked weak and frail. If something happened... Amar appeared behind him, making him stare at his son, scared of the worst.
"It's Champawati." He managed, "The vaid can't revive her."
"What do you mean?" Rana Pratap scolded his firstborn. "What do you mean they can't revive...?" His words died in his mouth as Amar Singh fell to his knees. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't protect..." He walked away from his son's numbing words towards the tent. The queens surrounded the bed, in tears and sobs. The princess lay there, blue around her lips. Poison? He was suddenly enraged. Did the enemies dare to attack his family that way? He would graze them to the ground. He tightened his fist as he heard the vaid talk of the poison fruits she had consumed. There were too many to pump out of her. His heart skipped a beat as he dared to stare at her mother, sitting by her feet, staring still at her face. It looked to her like her daughter was asleep. It wasn't even last week that she had spoken to Champawati about looking for a groom for her. She was melancholy at the thought of letting her daughter go. She always wanted a daughter. Little did Ajabde know she had to let go, in a different way. Solankini Bai was the first to spot the Rana as Phool Kanwar whispered the obvious: she must have been hungry. She stopped the queen as she walked up to the king silently. The Vaid asked, "I beg your Pardon, but could it be that she... took the poison fruits knowingly?" A gasp escaped everyone's lips at the implications. The mother shook her head. No words escaped her lips as she kept staring at her child, but she was firm enough to end the speculations. Her children would never...
"Ranaji." Solankini managed not to tremble. " Should we take care of the... rituals?" He looked past her as the Maharani glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were wet, her lips trembling, her face pale. Suddenly, all the decorum and the people did not matter as he stepped up towards her and she stood up, briefly, only to fall on her knees as he grabbed her shoulder.
"Ajabdeh." He whispered as she let out a wail, burying her face in her hands, as he hugged her. The others in the room mourned watching them. Solankini Bai stood frozen in her spot, staring in disbelief as, for the first time in her life, she witnessed the king and queen of Mewar, as helpless parents, mourning the loss of their child. Solankini knew that for her Jija to break like this, she must be in immense pain. She wondered what it meant for Mewar.
On the 13th day of mourning, Amar Singh dared to step into his father's camp and ask the question that loomed over them. What next?
"How is your Ranima?" The question was duly avoided as Amar lowered his gaze. He had not seen his mother leave her bed or speak to anyone since that day. The Rana stood up. "Tell her I want to see her." He made his firstborn look up. "Pardon me, Daajiraj Hukum. I don't think she is ready to see any of us yet," he cleared his throat. "She hasn't spoken to anyone except her maid since..." He watched his father restlessly walk past him toward his wife's tent. She once shared it with her daughter. Solankini Bai stood up, alarmed as he entered, and the maid bowed. Ajabdeh was half sitting on the bed as Solankini Bai fed her. She eyed her husband and told the maid to follow her out. Rana Pratap nodded at his queen before turning his attention to his wife.
"Have you eaten?" He eyed the half-abandoned Roti. She did not respond. He sat down by her bedside. This was the same bed where... how could she stay here? He eyed her pale face, staring blankly at the flickering lamp. "We will need to move soon." He reminded her. She just nodded. "Can you come stay with me?" He blurted. "At the Khema?"
"That's not safe." Her voice sounded hoarse. It sounded different and distant. That was the first sentence she had spoken to anyone in these days. He gulped. He knew his guards hovered inside the tent when he slept. Taking her there would mean they would be stationed outside, and the chiefs would object to such safety measures for his sake. "Then let me stay here?" He pleaded. She turned to face him. As soon as she saw his face, she realised she had not seen him in a long time. He had some grey hair, he had a few wrinkles around his eyes, and the sun tanned his scars even more. He looked tired. He looked defeated.
"How is the army coming along?" She asked, lowering her gaze from his. He felt a lump in his throat.
"I don't think we should..." He was unsure.
"Promise me something, Ranaji." She held out her hand as it trembled, and he held her cold hand between his rough ones. He did not know what she was asking yet, but he wanted to give her everything she wanted. "Promise me, my Champa's sacrifice won't go in vain." Her eyes were moist as he gasped at her words.
"Ajabdeh?" He shook his head. "I am not sure..."
"She gave her life for Mewar, Ranaji. Should we not be proud of her?" Her voice choked as he hugged her, resting his head on her shoulder like he did as a child with his mother. He exalled as she cried, hugging him. He held her closer, reassuring her with pats on her head and back. "Should we not be proud?" She kept murmuring.
"Yes," he spoke at last, cupping her face in his hands. "We are proud. We can't be prouder. She is the bravest of our children." He wiped away her tears. "I promise you, Mewar will not forget her sacrifice. We will win." He made her smile faintly as she held on to him. They spend the night, in silence, holding on to each other, crying, healing and reminding themselves to be each other's strength in tough times.
Life in exile was one of the most important parts of his life, with Ajab Deh and his life as a king. Although historical records have no proof of this letter, most of Rajputana's folktales are found as Veer Gathas of Kings and queens, and this letter is very popular among them. The next few years showed great success for Pratap as he regained Kumbhalgarh and a few other prominent places with the help of Amar Singh, and finally, in 1585 AD, the Timurids decided to leave Mewar, keeping an outpost at Chittorgarh, and peace was restored in Mewar once again.
