She Left...
The war was over, and so were the hopes of regaining Chittor. The Battle at Haldighati had robbed the Rana of all his wealth, and brave men, and bruised him for life. Trying to match up to Akbar's chief of arms, Raja Man Singh's army, with one-third its strength had cost dearly. He had lost his friend and companion in the loyal steed that had saved his life. He had brushed past death so nearly for the first time in a lifetime of battles. He had almost given up hope when Bhahma Shah came by like a god-sent messenger to help him. It took him a lot of strength to accept that he was helpless and had to ask for financial aid. It took more strength to assemble a troop once again and reach the battlefield of Dewair. It was eerily near Haldighati, and the Timurids seemed to be more prepared with their guerrilla tactics this time. He had to make sure they were introduced to newer techniques to surprise them. The only good thing that this war ensured was that Akbar accepted that he could not have Mewar, nor make it bow to his supremacy. The injury to his heir apparent, Salim, was a message enough for the Timurids to retreat their army. The country was at peace after almost two decades of war.
A heavy-hearted Rana Pratap Singh stood on the cliff that gave him a clear view of the palace in the making at Badroli. He had carefully chosen this spot for his capital. It was disguised well in the forestland of Aravallis, away from the Timurid eyes. The temple of Chamunda Mata stood with its triangular roof visible in the distance. The bells rang as he watched the birds fly over his head. It must be Ranisa in the temple, saying her daily prayers, thanking the Lord. An image of a young girl, with unsure eyes and an innocent smile, came to his mind. She who prayed religiously in the Mahakal temple at Bijoliya at the break of dawn. The Rani of Mewar was only a shadow of that girl now. She was stronger than him at times. Nobody else saw him break down in her arms when he lamented about a lost war or his royal steed. Nobody else saw her being strong for him, with reassuring smiles and firm affirmations when he was in doubt. He knew in those moments that all his rebellion, all his battles were worth it when it meant they led to her, his home and his peace. He was lost in his thoughts as he watched his eldest son, Kunwar Amar, instructing the workers as his younger brother, Kunwar Chand, looked on. "We used to be like this, Bhai Shakti and me." He sighed. He had lost most of his family for the seat of Mewar. His brothers hated him, and his stepmother wished he were dead. Last he heard, Kunwar Sagar, his half-brother, was sitting in the ruins of Chittorgarh, guarding it for Akbar. The people of Chittorgarh were rebelling against him. He briefly remembered his mother's words. Rebellions were like wildfire; they spread faster in spirit than in form, becoming fierce. He was to lead the way, show the world that the impossible could be achieved. He often wondered what life would have been like if he had not been such a kindred spirit. Perhaps he would have accepted Akbar's proposal and enjoyed a retreat worthy of the luxury of men who came before him as kings; he would have fought battles that were not for his cause. Most importantly, he would have married someone his father chose for him and stayed in a loveless alliance, like Ranima. The thought made him feel guilty. First, as a son who had promised his mother all the happiness in the world and has now seen her struggling in the forest with his family. Then, as a husband to the others except her, to whom he was responsible, yet could never commit to the way they perhaps wished from him. Perhaps he was no different from his father. He sighed as he turned away from the construction site towards the view of the Khejad Lake. The peace and serenity of nature were an odd contrast to his soul.
The sound of a procession attracted his attention as he noticed a palanquin moving up the ridge to his camp. " Ajabdeh..." he murmured, displeased. Before leaving for the day, he had clearly instructed her to stay and rest once her daily chores were done with. The Vaidji said she was very weak. He could not even tell the medicine man what he believed. That the pain she endured was more emotional than physical. Ever since Champawati passed after accidentally ingesting poisonous fruit, Ajabdeh had never quite been the same. She had been a shell of the person she was, her spirit dying slowly. He knew how much she doted on her daughter, how she wished to see her married someday, how her hopes and dreams were tied to teaching her everything her mother had once taught her. He had mourned as a father, but he had to be strong as a king. But somewhere, Ajabdeh had lost her will to live. As scared as he was to admit that, he had noticed the change in her. He noticed how reluctant she was to talk about the future, how every time he mentioned old age, she would just smile like she knew something dark was looming. Pratap tried to resist the idea that he was the reason for her lost will on life, the reason her daughter was no more. Did she secretly blame him for all of that? For the life she had, in odd contrast to what he once offered her? If she did, she would never let him know. Perhaps it ate away at her being as she grew frail. He had hence moved to settle in a palace, something he was otherwise reluctant to do. He decided this would be the capital where they would start life once again, in a house, with a family they built together. Maharani Ajabdeh was not a person to be tied down with an illness. Her ever-smiling face came out of the palanquin, a scared Jasobai in tow. The Chauhan Princess knew she was supposed to stop the Maharani and take care of her, but failed. She knew he would be disappointed in her.
"Rana Ji, Prasad." Ajabdeh's voice was low as she avoided his glance, and he opened his palm for her to give him the offerings. "And don't scold Jaso, I insisted I came here, see how far the construction has come." He eyed Jasobai briefly as she looked away from her husband's piercing glance, as he nodded at Ajabdeh with a slight frown.
" Ajabdeh, Vaidji..." He knew reminding her of her prolonged sickness was futile.
" I can't lie in there all day while all of you work." She shook her head. "How many books will I read? I feel suffocated."
" I know that Ajabdeh." He suddenly stared at her with a hint of guilt as she shrugged, "Are you too busy?" She asked, "Will you show us around?" She turned to Jasobai, "Or should we ask Chand to?"
He gave in, like he always did. Asking his son to take charge, he showed them around, where the rooms would be, where she could pray in the morning, and where they would have a view of the forest. Jasobai brought some snacks for the princes who sat down on a half-made wall and had their meal as she watched over them. She talked of their younger brother, her son, learning archery that day. Ajabdeh watched them briefly, sharing a light moment, reminiscing about their Gurukul days with their stepmother. She then walked up to the lake in view as he followed her in silence. She stopped at the edge of the water. The wind played with her slightly grey strands of hair, sticking out from behind the dupatta over her head. She smiled at the sight, faintly. He stood beside her and watched her take heavy breaths. She was tired from walking. The sun was scorching overhead as he looked worried.
"Do you want to sit down? Do you feel sick?" He seemed restless. "Do you need water?" Although she shook her head with a silent smile, she did sit down on the bank, not caring about her soiled clothes. Rana Pratap eyed the guards that had followed them there, standing at a distance, as he sat down beside her and heaved a sigh. The breeze was a welcome, pleasant feeling in the heat.
"When I die, would you do my last rites here?" He was jolted by her words.
"Ajabdeh." He gasped, "What are you saying?"
"What?" She raised her brows and eyed him, "We will all die someday."
"Amar is getting married soon, can we just... not..." He looked uncomfortable as she smiled. "I promise I will tell Amar to do yours, wherever you want..." Ajabdeh's smile faded as she said so, for she knew he wanted, deep down in his heart, to be put to rest in Chittorgarh. Perhaps it was not to be. She looked a little troubled as he smiled at her, reading her mind.
"I would like to rest, wherever you would be." She eyed him and looked away as a smile appeared on the edge of her lips.
"There is no getting rid of you, even after this life, is there, Rana Pratap Singhji?" She sounded amused.
"Not in your next seven lives, Ajabdeh Baisa. You vowed so." There was a hint of amusement in his voice.
"You are determined, aren't you?" She blushed slightly. If he asked, she would deny it.
"Regretting it, aren't you?" There was a sudden longing in his voice as he looked away from her at the water. His eyes sparkled as she turned to him, with narrowed brows.
"Have I ever?" She shook her head firmly. He shook his head. "You should have."
"Rana Ji, I am not here because I am the queen of Mewar. I am here because I chose to be your wife, and that means everything that comes with it; you are not getting rid of me either." She placed her head on his shoulder as he smiled at her gesture. Never had she publicly been affectionate, even when she feared losing him. Her affection was limited to her gestures, silent stares and letters. Perhaps they were getting old after all. He patted her head gently. Ajabdeh sighed. "Now, can we talk about Amar's wedding? I was thinking..." He smiled as she spoke of her vision. He remembered how she wanted a simple wedding once, but she could not have it because the crown prince of Mewar chose her. Was that the day her sacrifices started? When her dreams were buried in his quests?
Kunwar Amar's marriage to the princess of Bundi was just a month away, now that the palace was ready to be lived in. Ajabdeh was carefully inspecting every aspect of the traditions, as if her purpose in life was to get Amar married. Jaivanta had pointed it out; she was enthusiastic because she chose the bride. She remembered how she wanted Pratap's wedding to be perfect. Pratap sat in silence with his mother as she spoke of memories. He watched Ajabdeh walk down the corridor, towards Amar's room, to inspect his old wounds. He heard her worry for him.
" Kunwar Amar is not your little child anymore; he is getting married next month. Stop inspecting him like that!" He walked into the room as the prince stood up to greet him, and she frowned at his words.
" Daaji Raaj is right, Ranima." Kunwar Amar found an excuse to run away from the embarrassing concern she showed at times.
" No matter how big he becomes, I will always look after my child's wounds." Ajabdeh shook her head disapprovingly at her husband as he smiled.
" Then, who will look after mine, Ajabdeh?"
" Ranaji, you have so many wives; my son only has me." She knew very well how much he hated being reminded that she was not the only one.
" They are not you, Ajabdeh Baisa." He said firmly. Then he remembered a letter from the newly married daughter, which also had a bit written to her mother. "Where is Pur Bai?" He enquired. "She needs to read a letter."
" See, you are asking me about her when you can summon her yourself. Go on." She purposely turned away as if she were busy, about to leave him alone. But he didn't leave. Instead, he walked up to her and held her hand.
" Are you alright, Ajabdeh? Jaso Bai told me you fainted again... and..."
" I am all right; they are just worried more because you scare them with your concern about me." She sounded amused. He could see the tiredness on her face.
" They are not wrong. If anything happens to you..." He sounded concerned.
Ajabdeh shrugged his hand away, "There is so much to do, so little time."
" Ajabdeh, please rest a little." He reminded her.
The day after Ajabdeh had welcomed the new bride home, the royal family woke up to the musical voice of the Maharani singing a Bhajan. Aarti Bai sat beside her mother-in-law, mesmerised by her melodious voice. Ajabdeh's eyes were closed, yet she could feel his presence at the threshold of the temple. She felt a little uneasy, for Aarti Bai was new and could be uncomfortable at the Rana's presence. She knew she was intimidated when she first got married. Perhaps the worry was reflected in her singing as she missed a note. She heard him walk away at that. Ajabdeh felt a sense of overwhelming gratitude at how he understood her. No riches or palaces, luxuries or royalty could give her what he gave her, a love that made her feel like the queen of the world.
Days passed as the king watched his queen fade away slowly. Time was an enemy even the bravest warrior could not really fight. The day he feared had arrived. He felt her face turn pale as she fainted in his arms after her morning prayers. She was as light as a feather. The brave Rana Pratap looked puzzled as he stood there staring at her, while the other queens tried to rub her hands, call out to her and splash water on her face. Ajabdeh refused to wake up; her breath was slow, alarming. She was taken to the palace immediately for medical attention. The Vaidyas treated her day and night as she remained unconscious, her head burning with fever. The court remained unattended, and the administrative issues were taken over by Amar Singh in silence. He knew his father was not in a condition to think of anything beyond his mother. He had not left her chambers these few days. He made sure she was bathed, ate, and rested, but lost his appetite in his worry. He stayed awake for nights, watching her breathe in her sleep, her hand in his, her grip not as firm as it used to be. It was as if he could not miss a single beat of her heart, every breath accounted for somewhere up there by the almighty that wanted to rip him off the will to live. What worried him more was that she was not conscious of her surroundings. She opened her eyes to see him smile at her. She drank what he fed her, but she did not ask if he had eaten, and she did not worry that he had not slept. It was like he was slowly losing her, like sand slipping out of his tight grip.
On the fourth day, she could not recognise some faces and fumbled a few words. She could not recollect where she was or why he was there.
" Kunwar Pratap?" Her frail voice made his heart sink as he fought back his tears. After almost a week, she had called out to him. After a decade, she had addressed him with affection, not courtesy. He rushed to her side.
" Yes, Ajabdeh, I am here. You want something?" He sobbed, trying to hold back his tears in vain.
" Kunwar Pratap, you promise.... me..." Ajabdeh's smile faded as she coughed. He gave her water. She gulped it down hard as if something hurt her throat. She was gasping for breath. This was her longest conversation in a week.
" Anything for you ... tell me..." He looked pale.
" Marry Ratnavati...." She whispered, her voice barely audible. Pratap frowned at her words. "After Daata and Bhai Balwant, Bijoliya needs protection." She shook her head, agitated. "Ratan needs to be safe."
" Ajab, they are my family too.... You don't need to worry." He tried to reassure her in vain.
" Marry my sister, Kunwar Pratap." Her words were firm. For the first time in days, she did not look dazed. Like she knew what she was saying.
" I can't... Ajabdeh..." He blurted as he let out a sob and held her close to his chest.
" This is my last wish..." He feared these words. This felt like his worst nightmare was coming true... He felt as if the sky was falling on his head... Life without Ajabdeh? He had never imagined so since her painted hand was over his and the priests chanted mantras when he was just seventeen... He wished he fought less and stayed home with her more... He wished he had never had to marry for alliances and hurt her time and again... He wished he could give her the life of a queen and not a commoner in exile... Today, he wished he could give her his life.
" No, Ajabdeh, don't say that. Don't say that" He hugged her, feeling her frail hands hug him back as tears fell from her cheeks.
" I am sorry, Kunwar Pratap. I have to leave you like this. I feel helpless."
" No, Ajabdeh, I am sorry, I wish I could be with you more."
" You have always been the best husband, Kunwarsa."
" And you are the best companion I could ask for."
The Guard announced the arrival of their sons as he let her go from his hug. A sobbing Amar and Bhagwan Das came to hug their mother.
" Always listen to your father, never question him." She told them. " Amar, respect your wife the way your Daajiraaj does." She smiled at her sobbing sons before they left. She wanted to meet Solankini Bai and Phool Kanwar. She held the sobbing princesses and told them, " Take care of our children and him. He needs you."
" Jija, we are nothing without you, who will put our thoughts before Ranaji if not you?" Pur Bai sobbed, "You have to get better."
" I am going to see my Champa soon, Behena. Don't you see that?" Phool Kanwar stepped back at her words, and the calm smile she had on her face as she rushed back outside, where the others waited for her, and sank to the floor in tears.
That dawn was one of the darkest dawns of Pratap's life. Mewar cried for Maharani. She had loved them like her children, and she left peacefully, like she always was, full of grace, in her sleep, as she held his hand.
For the next few months, Amar Singh took over the administration as his father mourned his mother. He missed her concerns now. He knew how his father felt. She was his friend. They had grown up together. Nobody except Amar and his Daaji Raaj had this void in their lives, never to be filled again.
.png)