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Broken

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She woke to the empty, restless feeling that refused to go. She checked if her pillow was still wet from the tears. No? She put it aside and folded her hands, thankful for another day. Another day to breathe, smile and live in. For everyone. She stepped out of the four-posted beds in the east wing of the small palace of Bijolia. Home? No. The home was where he was, or so she had vowed ten days back. A smile filled her lips. Irony. Who knew she would be here now? Fate. Maybe.

Her payal alerted the daasi, who stepped in to help her get dressed. The jewellery. The royal lehenga. The signs of marriage. She was braiding her long hair neatly in silence. She wished the Daasis would speak to her. Perhaps they were unsure of what to say.

What would she tell a girl who was thrown out of her Sasural three days after her marriage? Clueless about her mistakes. Humiliated by the King and his Queen. What would she have told a girl whose husband abandoned her, for the mother she had loved like her own? The mother she wished to meet. What could they tell her, after her father died, because of her??? 

She closed her eyes to remain composed. It was disgraceful of a princess to cry like that. Disgraceful of a Rajputani, Mewar’s Kunwarani. His wife.

“Ajabdeh…” Her mother’s feeble voice made her turn. 
In the last week, she had aged a thousand years, yet smiled for her child. What an ungrateful child have I been to her? Ajabdeh wondered.
“Ji Maa?”
“ Puja ki thaal taiyyar hai.” She had said, reminding her again of two things. 
That her father was no more, her mother, a widow, was waiting for his last rites to be done. And that, although she was here, she was not a Punwar anymore; her rituals had ended on the third day after his death, and she could go back to her bhajans. Her mother, of all people, knew how important it was that Ajabde found solace in her God.

“Ji, Hum aate hai.” 
She waited for everyone to disperse. Then, from one of the many boxes, she took out a small silver box filled with vermilion. She didn’t know why, ever since the fateful day, she had always hidden this box away from everyone and had filled her hairline in solitude time and again. Was she guilty of her mother? Or felt uneasy after he had “left” her? She didn’t know.

Filling her hairline with the vermilion of his name, she hid it under the maangtika carefully. With a fake smile that still contradicted her heart, she stepped into the Puja room. Little Balwant was playing in the corridor outside as she stepped out of her room.

“Ajabdeh.” The familiar voice made her turn as Saubhagyawati stepped into the room, her puja thali in hand.
“Hum ne socha aj apse Krishna katha sunn lete hai, islie puja apke saath karne aa gaye.” She smiled an innocent smile.
“Aapko kal bhi Sita ka katha sunna tha na?” Ajabde’s smiling question made Saubhagyawati’s smile disappear.
“Ji… woh… hum…” She looked away as Ajabde held her hand in hers,
“Hum e pata hai aapko lagta hai hum akele hai, aap islie aati hai. Aapko hamesha humare chinta karne ki avashakta nahi hai, hum theek hai saach.” She smiled a convincing smile.
“Nahi nahi Ajabdeh, hum toh… sach mein… dekhie, puja ka samay ja rahi hai apke inn vyarth baton se.” She sat down with her thaali. “Chaliye katha aur bhajan sunayiye.”
“Acha theek hai.” Ajabde settled down at the feet of Kanha and his Radha.

“Oooo Tum hi toh ho bas tum hi toh ho… Dhaara gagan mein tum hi toh ho….” She took the marigold garland and placed it on the idol.
“Wriday nayan mein tum hi toh ho… Mann mein ho tum har shann mein ho tum mere…. Kann kann mein ho tum….” She looked at the idols as her eyes twinkled. 
Although she sang for Kanha, Kanha knew her heart’s secrets.
“Kanha bolte… Main hi toh hoon bas main hi toh hoon, paas tumhare main hi toh hoon, saath tumhare main hi toh hoon, aas mein main, aur saas mein main, vishwas mein main hi hoon.” She placed the Prasad that Saubhagyawati had made. Her friend smiled.
“ Antarmann ki chah yehi tum ho jaha meri rah wahi…” She smiled, adding “Aise Radha bolti.”
“Jo hai mera sab arpaan tumko, vyakul naina hai darshan ko…” She blinked her eyes to control the tears.
“Vhau mein swar mein tum hi toh ho aathon peher mein tum hi toh ho.” 
She did the aarti and took the Jalkalash and walked silently through the corridors to the Tulsi manch.  Saubhagyawati followed.
“Radha ka prem… unka tapasya… Kanha ko har baar untak laati thi…” The palace again filled with her melodious voice as she watered the Tulsi plant.
“Wreet preet ki sadiyon Puraani, mitt gayi lekin haar na maani…” She smiled as she folded her hands.
“ Radha kehti… itna hi baas tumse kahungi… Jeet ke hi main tumko rahungi….” 
She placed the diya at the Tulsi manch, and her eyes travelled to the Fort gates that were shut.
“Hoke vivash phir aoge tum, chod ke phir na jaoge tum…”

“Ajabdeh?” Her friend’s voice startled her.
“Ji?” She looked lost.
“Woh hum keh rahe thee ke aap kyun na humare yaha aake baccho ko Ramayana gyaan padhati? Usse aapka samay bhi…”
“Nahi Saubhagyawati hum e… bohot kaam karne hai…” She looked determined, while Saubhagyawati looked clueless with a frown.
“Kaisa kaam?”
“Balwant abhi chote hai, unke jagah hum e aur ma ko samhalna hai Bijolia ko. Samant hone ke naate yeh humara uttar dwaittwa hai, ke Mewar nath ko hum koi shikayat ka mauka…” She stopped and gulped.
“Ha lekin Kakisa aur Senapati samhal rahe honge na…”
“ Maa ko main sabhi uttardwaitya se mukt karvana chahti hoon.” Ajabdeh walked away before Saubhagyawati could ask more.

“ Baisa aapne hum e yaad kia?” The soldier stood before her.
“Ji haan… humara palki prastut kijiye, hum kahi ja rahe hai.”
“Ji. Ranisa ko suchna…?” The soldier froze at her stare. In his long service here, never in his wildest dream could Baisa give such a stare. But he knew things had changed; the once loved and much welcomed Royals of Chittorgarh were now looked down upon by most of Bijolia, who loved their Baisa.

“Ajabdeh. Aap kaha jaa rahi hai, jo apne hum e batana bhi avasyak na samjha?” Her mother stopped wide-eyed as she had adorned a warrior’s white attire and pagri.
“Yeh aap kya…?”
“Maa, hum kisiko diya hua ek vachan nibha rahe hai. Aapko hum pareshan nahi karna chahte…”
“Kaisa Vachan?” Her mother frowned.
“Ke hum, humare praja ko, humare praja ke prati apne uttwardwaito ko nibhaenge aur koi hum aur humare ….”
“Ajabdeh…” Her mother held her hands, making her stop. Both were stone cold. She cupped her child’s face.
“Aapko yeh karne ki zarurat nahi…”
“Maa.” She smiled, patting her mother’s hand reassuringly. 
Hansa Bai had welcomed her girl home again, scared of how she would be doing. Today she watched the woman leave in her palki as she shook her head, saying a soft prayer.

Guru Raghavendra Rathore’s ashram was at the farthest corner of Bhilwara, a long way from Bijolia.
“Bijolia ki Rajkumari?” He raised his eyebrows in wonder. “Bhejo andar.”
The stares around had made Ajabdeh realise she should not have given her real identity in front of everyone, but she knew that Guruji didn’t meet all and sundry. She was unsure if he would meet her as well.
“Andar jaiye.” Made her nod in approval.

Her heart was scared. Her mind said she needed to do what was to be done.
“Khamma Ghani Kunwarani Ajabdeh baisa.” The man in front of her folded his hands in a gesture. She could make out that he didn’t expect her in this attire. She stepped forward and touched his feet.
“Sada suhagaan…” He stopped as she smiled, inhaling.
“Batayiye hum apka kaise…”
“Kun… umm… humne apke baare mein bohot suna hai Guruvaar. Hum… apke paas ek nivedaan leke aye hai…” She folded her hands.
“Baisa… Kisi aur ko pata ho na ho hum … lajjit hai … Kunwar Pratap se hum e aise apeksha na thi…”
“Nahi nahi guruvaar hum… hum chahte hai…” She rubbed her hands restlessly.
“Ji kahiye”
“Hum… talwarbaazi, teerandazi, sab seekhna chahte hai guruvar.” 
Her request made him look up at her face, 
“Humare matribhoomi, humari Bijolia ko humara avashakta hai.” 

Raghavendra Rathore froze in his spot. He remembered the day Kunwar Pratap had come and told him he saw his own reflection in Ajabdeh. He had then smiled at the young man in love. Today, he could see her as his shadow. A deep regret filled his heart. Did Kunwar Pratap even know what he lost?

“Aap kal brahmamuhurat se ashram aa jaiega.” His words made her smile hopefully.
“Dhanyavaad, hai eklingji apka koti koti dhanyavaad.” Her smile faded. “Aur woh…”
“Apko chinta karne ki koi avashakta nahi hai, koi bhi kal se apko nahi pehchanega yaha, aap akeli sikhengi alag se aur… kal se aap yaha Baisa Ajabdeh nahi, Baijilal hai.”
“Baijilal? Dhanya vaag humara ke aapne hum e ek naam dene ka yogya samjha guruvaar.” She touched his feet again before she left. Watching her go, the man shook his head.

As dusk gave way to darkness, Ajabde had just finished her sandhi puja and joined her mother in the peace prayers for her father. She lit the lamps of the palace. Her father always hated darkness. Now, all that she embraced seemed dark. The flickering light of the lamp she placed made her smile in memories. Memories of that first day, the first feeling of being watched by him while she lit the lamps.

Once the room wore a melancholy, light shadow flickering look, she sat down at the desk, taking the Ramayana out. As soon as the sky fell dark, her heart grew more lonely than ever. She read till a daasi knocked and announced dinner.

The Katori of Kheer made her vision blur. She kept it aside and walked away in silence. Dignified till she closed her door behind her.
“Kitni baar bole hum apko ke unko kheer aur ghevar maat parosiye.” 
She heard her mother scream at the poor, clueless daasi.

She could let the tears flow freely now. One by one, she opened the jewellery she wore to disguise her happiness successfully. Another day had passed without him. She stared at the now visible vermilion on her head. Another day in his name. She closed her eyes and let the tears flow for a while as she felt like screaming, “ Ek baar bas ek baar, humari baat sunn toh lete…” 

She sat on the floor. She needn’t pretend to wear that mask of self-independent, strong Baisa in her own room. The walls of grace and dignity and judgment could be broken. Here, alone, she was just his Ajabdeh, praying every moment of her life to hear his horse come and his voice call his name. Here she was, his Ajabdeh waiting to be taken home.

“Kunwar Pratap.” She took his name like it healed her pain a little.
Several miles away, in another dark chamber, in the Kumbha Palace, he looked around, alarmed. It seemed like someone was calling out to him. Ranima? His eyes teared up. He missed Ranima. But this heartache was different. He knew it but denied it. Like his heart questioned more than once, could Ajabdeh do this to Ranima? His mind chose to believe Chotima. Chotima was never wrong, was she?

“Kunwar Pr… Pratap!” She sobbed. “Pr..Pr…Pratap!”
He sat up on his bed and looked restless. He had water, yet something seemed stuck in his throat. He closed his eyes. He could hear her voice, her giggle, her presence. Restless, he shut his ears with his palm.
“Bas kijiye Ajabdeh. Bas kijiye, kyun aati hai aap aise khayalo mein? Kyun bhula nahi jata? Aap … doshi hai Ranima ke… Ajabdeh.”

Slowly, she picked herself up and wiped off the tears. She stared at the moonlight coming from the jharokha and moved closer, running to it. Her eyes twinkled as she stared at the moon. The soft wind blew her unbraided hair, let loose. She closed her eyes and breathed in.

“Apne … hum e pukara?” She questioned, staring at the moon. “Apne hum e yaad kiya Kunwarsa?” Her eyes lit up, teary still with a smile that faded instantly. “Kaisi murkh hai aap Ajabdeh? Murkta ki haad e na rahi? Bhala woh kyun ap ko…” She shook her head and closed her eyes. She rested her head on her pillow as it began to get wet with the trickling tears.

She should better rest, she had a long time of learning ahead, learning to survive and struggle like a warrior. She had a long wait for him ahead; it's only been days. Months and years of waiting lay ahead for her, yet her hope won’t die. She had promised herself that. She was his Ajabdeh. More, he was hers. She hoped for miracles and believed in prayers.

Broken, but not shattered.



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