The Sorrow

“Every sacrifice has a greater reason.”

Maharani Ajbante Kanwar had stopped on her way to her chambers late at night. A flickering light from the room in the farthest corner of the corridor attracted her attention. She had walked up to it with questioning eyes. Kunwar Amar Singh sat shining his sword, staring at it admiringly. To most people, he had caused this impending tension and war situation. A sealed firman had arrived from Maan Singh, challenging them to war. Their Bhil spies had located Turkish army movements near Mandalgarh. They have marched up to Mohi, really close by. This prompted Rana Pratap to call for an emergency meeting, and they would be marching down to the forestland at dawn.

Ajbante Kanwar stared at the prince, lost in thought and walked up to his threshold. Her anklets attracted his attention, and he looked up at his mother’s calm face with a faint smile and uncertainty in his eyes.

“So are you prepared?” She asked, cupping his face. The seventeen-year-old prince nodded affirmatively.

“Remember one thing, Amar, if, in the war, you ever lose hope, know that a mother is waiting for her son to come back home. Fight for her.” Her eyes shone with proud tears as Kunwar Amar hugged her tightly. Ajbante Kanwar let out a sigh and kissed his forehead. “I am proud of you, my son.”

“I am proud to be your son, Maasa.” He smiled, “Champa gave me a rakhi today.” He showed his wrist to his mother, who smiled “She said Dadabhai, you won’t be home for the festivities, so here...” His voice trailed, “Do you remember the Rakhis we celebrated at Chittor Maasa?”

“Of course I do, Amar. You and Asha Bai kept running around.” She smiled.

“Is Daata Hukum actually thinking of Asha’s marriage, Maasa?” He frowned “But she is only a child.”

Ajbante Kanwar smiled at his perplexed face. “It all depends on the war, Amar, and she is not a child anymore. Neither are you. Once her wedding is done, we will find a bride for you.” He had blushed awkwardly at the idea of making Ajbante Baisa look adorably at her child. She had even thought of a bride. Princess Aart Bai Chauhan was a distant kin to Jasobai and her. The girl was somehow very similar to Ranima.

“Maasa!” Amar had sulked, “I don’t want alliances. There are wars to be fought.”

“And you need a reason to come back home.” They had both turned to see Rana Partap at the threshold as Amar acknowledged him, and Ajbante Baisa smiled. “Remember that.”

“Are you all not reason enough, Daata Hukum?” He had asked.

“No, we won’t be there forever, Amar, and when we won’t be there, we want to leave behind a reason for you.” His voice was unsure, and it made Ajbante Baisa shudder in a fear very familiar to her, every time he went to war.

Amar Singh had left the room, blushing and shaking his head, leaving his parents alone, surrounded by the array of weapons to be taken away at dawn. Ajbante Baisa was still staring at him with questioning eyes. He knew what she thought.

“It is going to be a tough battle, Ajab. It is a do-or-die situation. Are you sure you want to risk Mewar’s future by sending Kunwar Amar with me?” She had frowned.

“We have already discussed this once!” She spoke firmly, “Amar needs to accompany his father to war; that’s how he will learn. You were Mewar’s Senapati at his age.”

“What if...”

“If my son dies fighting for his motherland, I will be a proud mother.” He had stared at her speaking, not a fumble in her voice, “And Kunwar Chand can be the heir to the throne. My son was born to fight for his motherland, not to be just a king.” Rana Partap had held her cold, soft hands in his battle-scarred ones. Her hands reflected what her voice didn’t. They trembled slightly in his grip.

“Ajab.” He spoke in a proud voice, “Amar is lucky to have a mother like you.” She had blushed at his words.

“When do we meet again, Ranaji?” Her eyes shone as he hugged her. She could hear his heartbeat in the same rhythmic way it had been twenty years back.

“Soon.” He spoke with hope, “I am shifting your Ranimahal to Avadgarh, there will be some troops accompanying you, and take the minimum of things along. I have instructed Kunwar Chand on the details. He is such a bright child, wanted to take the responsibility.”

“Shifting?” Ajbante’s throat went dry. The last time they shifted, the results were hauntingly unpleasant.

“Yes, Kumbhalmer is not safe because of its close proximity to the troop movements. I have talked to the Chief of Avadgarh Rao Akhay Raj. He will welcome you to his home. I will meet you there, as soon as I can.” He spoke, kissing the palms of her hands, “I promise.”

“What is your instruction to me?” She had asked as he stared at her face with longing.

“Take care of the Maharani of Mewar; she is the key to my purpose of coming back home.” He had said. A lone tear escaped Ajbante Baisa’s eyes as all her fears came back like a turbulent storm.

“Are you crying?” He had asked, wiping away the wetness from her cheeks slowly.

“No.” She smiled, “I am just very proud. Of you.”

“When were you not?” He had narrowed his eyes, making her smile

“When you rejected me with that Letter!”

“Now, where did that come from, after so many years?” He frowned, making her smile. Her eyes fell on the trunks full of weapons around them.

“Are these enough, Ranaji? I mean our men...” She had stopped as he looked around.

“Ajab.” He smiled, “Wars are won with the mind more than they might. We will challenge their minds first.” She had nodded. Twenty years down the line, she was still learning things from him, about wars, life and perhaps love.

A soldier came and bowed before them with a soft “Hukum, the soldiers are ready to leave.” They had stared at each other in silence.

“I will get the children.” “I will get ready.” Their eyes met with longing.

Ajbante Kanwar watched him bid adieu to each child with separate instructions. The daughters had hugged him, and Amar Singh struggled with his composure. Ajbante noticed his eyes twinkle as Asha walked up to him, asking, “Dadabhai, can I do your Tilak?” The Maharani had done the ceremonial Ashwa Aarti and patted the war-ready Chetak, with a soft whisper in his ears, “Keep him safe, and protect his honour, Chetak.” He had neighed, making her smile and pat him gently.

She noticed Pur Baisa’s hands tremble as she handed the lamp and Kesar to the Maharani, and Rana Partap walked up to her, with all his queens lined up behind her, scared and uncertain. She stared at his armour, the sun of Mewar shining on his head, with admiring eyes. She did his Tilak, without any uncertainty in her body language. It was time to give him strength and be his strength. He smiled as he read her thoughts. He was about to leave when she bent down to touch his feet. In a reflex, he had held her by the shoulders and stopped her. She did not stop this time. She touched his feet and brushed her forehead slightly with the blessing.

“Take care.” He had said in a voice of decorum,” All of you.” His queens had nodded.

“And be alert.” She had nodded slightly at his words.

He was about to leave when he stopped, making her frown slightly. Gathering that the Rana may need some time alone with his Maharani, his queens had dispersed into the Ranimahal to prepare for their journey at midday. The children were taken away by Pur Baisa, who had smiled approvingly at the Rana. Kunwar Amar Singh touched his mother’s feet and walked away from his troops. The threshold of the Ranimahal was now empty, with Maharani Ajbante Baisa standing inside the threshold and Rana Partap Singh outside it.

“Is there something you want to say?” She had asked. He had nodded in silence. Taking the small pinch of vermilion from her plate, he had filled her hairline, making her heart skip a beat as colour flushed from her face.

“We will win this, Ranaji.” She had said, hoping to believe in it herself. “For Mewar.”

“Yes, Ajab, we will.” He smiled, “Jai Mewar!”

“Jai Mewar!” She had stood at her threshold, watching him mount Chetak. From the rooftop of the Ranimahal, everyone watched the troops leave in silence.

“Are we ready to leave?” As soon as the troops were out of sight, the voice of decorum of the Maharani was back, and the ladies nodded.

It had been months of waiting and praying patiently at Avadgarh for everyone. The Haldighati war had cost Chetak his life. Ajbante Kanwar feared what Rana Partap was going through, alone. He was struggling in the forests, trying to gain back what he had lost. The Turks were adamant, mostly Maan Singh. He had come home, brushed, but not broken, when she ran across the corridors to catch a glimpse of his procession. Amar Singh hugged his mother, making her cry. It was almost in the afternoon, after attending to Amar’s injuries, inspecting them herself, that Ajbante Baisa had left Amar, with his brothers and sisters, telling them every minute detail of the war.

She had walked into Rana’s restroom with authority and met his disturbed glances. He was sitting on the floor, his food untouched.

“How are you?” They had asked in unison and smiled faintly.

“Ajab...” He had looked dejected,” Chetak...”

“I know.” She had held his hand “Now what?”

“We are reforming the troops. Once they are ready, we will...”

“Fight again?” Her eyes were hopeful. He nodded.

“Bhahma Shah had given me hope again. I am indebted to him.”

“Can we shift with you?” She made him frown.

“Where?” He had asked, “The camps are in the jungle, we are on the move every other day and...”

“We have been on the move before.” She reminded him.

“Yes, but situations are grimmer now. There is a scarcity of food and water. And with the family...” He had stopped as Pur Baisa walked in with the refreshments, with his other queens in tow.

“Jija is speaking on all of our behalfs, Ranaji.” Pur Bai spoke, making Ajbante smile at her, “We cannot live in the peace and security of a palace while you toil in the heat in the forests; we are coming with you.”

“Yes, Ranaji and our children need to know and see the struggle.” Jasobai agreed.

“They need to see the cost of freedom.” Shahmati Bai added. Her child was barely two. “They need to understand and value it.”

Rana Partap had stared at them speechless for a moment. Then he nodded in approval, making them smile.

“So be it then, but if any of you complain ....” He had warned.

“We will never, Ranaji.” Rani Phool Bai Rathore spoke with a happy smile.

“I will go inform the children.” He had seen Champabai walk away.

A few days went by as Ajbante Baisa was busy preparing for the move. She dispersed most of the maids and packed a minimum of things. One night, Ajbante Baisa frowned slightly when she heard agitated voices that prompted her to walk to his chambers. Maan Bai stood before him, widowed in the battle of Haldighati, holding her crying five-year-old daughter in her arms. She had lost her husband at war, and her children as well. The Kunwarani of Gwalior was accusing her brother.

“You have caused this, Dadabhai, if not for your stubbornness and ego, Mewar would be at peace, and Kunwar Shallavan still alive. Now, what will become of my daughter? Her father, uncles, and brothers are all gone because of you.” Ajbante Baisa gasped at her tone, eyeing Rana Partap, who looked clearly hurt by her words.

“Maan Baisa.” Her words made him stare at her once “How are you talking to the Rana of Mewar?”

“No, Bhabhisa, I am here, talking to my Dadabhai, as his widowed sister. He is answerable to me.”

“He is not.” Maan Bai was taken aback by the tone in which Ajbante Kanwar spoke. She rarely raised her voice “Kunwar Shallavan went to the war willingly for his motherland, you should honour his decision. I understand you are concerned about your future, but this is no way to...”

“Yes, Bhabhisa, I am concerned about the future. What will happen to her?” Ajbante Kanwar held the scared child who was pushed towards her by her mother.

“You want justice?” Ranaji’s voice was hoarse “Tell me what you want and you shall have it.”

“I want my daughter to be married to the heir of Mewar.” Ajbante Kanwar had frowned at Maan Bai’s words.

“She is only a child, Maan Baisa!” Ajbante looked agitated.

“The marriage can wait.” The way Maan Bai shrugged took Ajbante Baisa back to how her mother Dheer Bai shrugged. Her throat went dry. As much as she felt sympathetic to the princess, she feared politics took the better of everyone.

“So be it.” She frowned at Ranaji’s words as Maan Bai wiped her tears and dragged the sobbing child away.

“How could you...” She spoke calmly, sitting beside Rana.

“What could I have done?” He looked irked “Tell me, Ajab?”

“I will arrange for Amar’s wedding immediately.” She looked perplexed. “There is no way Dheer Bai’s blood can be Mewar’s Maharani.” Rana Partap looked surprised at her words. Never before had she spoken of her dislike for the Bhattiyani queen in this manner.

“But, in this warlike...”

“The marriage can wait till after the war.” She got up to leave “I will write to...”

“Who do you have in mind?” He frowned.

“Chauhan Princess, Aarti Bai.” She spoke. “But I will ask Amar once. If he wants to...”

“Ask Amar?” He narrowed his eyes, “When were decisions taken, asking ...”

“Since his father decided to rebel for a marriage.” Ajbante Kanwar left Rana Partap in loss of shock.

Life in the forest was not new for Ajbante, but the concerns were. They could not light a fire in the evening as it could give away their positions; they had to look for caves and natural hideouts so that encampments were left to trails for the enemies, the food was scarce, and the queens had to cook for themselves. Most evenings, they were on the move. Ajbante knew not how many miles through the forests they had covered and how many water bodies they crossed. Months had turned into years. Troops were being rebuilt, and strategies were discussed. She often went through the markings on the maps and planned camps herself, making her husband admire her skills.

There were days when food resources were scarce. Mewar’s chieftains failed to supply rations to the forests every day, no matter how hard they tried. Some days, they would go without proper meals and eat whatever they found in the forest. Ajbante smiled proudly at her family. None of them complained aloud, no matter how harsh the conditions were or how hungry or thirsty they got. Even Rani Ashabai Rathore, the mother of an infant, rarely had complaints. Ajbante liked simple clothes, cooking together and doing their chores every day. It made her feel closer to these people she called family. The newly married Alemdeh Bai Chauhan was of great help. She admired how the children had matured over the past few years. Not only Amar, but Asha, Chand, Sahas, Rama and everyone else did their bit. The five-year-old Bhagwan Das helped feed the horses. He was kind-hearted and gentle by nature. Ajbante wondered at times if he could ever be a warrior. 

She often watched him talk to animals like his father. The princesses braided each other’s hair, dressing in jewellery made of wildflowers. They found happiness like Mewar. Ajbante was happy that they were learning to love their motherland and freedom that way.

One afternoon, the chieftains arrived after a long journey, with very few rations. Ajbante Baisa had ordered food to be prepared for them before the ladies ate. The princesses were given a loaf of bread each, while the queens skipped lunch. Bhagwan Das’s piece of bread was snatched by a wildcat. Ajbante Baisa firmly said he won’t get another. The child was crying when his sister, Champabai, fed him her bread willingly. Ajbante’s heart sank watching her children. She made sure that the news did not reach Rana. It would dishearten him.

It was almost evening when Ajbante Kanwar was making garlands out of wildflowers to offer to the gods when Pur Baisa came running.

“Jija, Jija!” She spoke in urgency, “Champa... she is unconscious.” A frown formed on Ajbante’s face as she left her flowers unattended. At first, everyone thought she had fainted from hunger. The medicine man was brought from the nearest village as soon as possible.

“It seems like the child had eaten poisonous berries. I am sorry, but it’s too late.”

Ajbante Baisa had stared blankly at her daughter’s face. It looked like she was sleeping. Beside her bed, the queens and princesses wept. Bhagwan Das was still holding her hand, calling between his sobs, “Jija? Jija!” Ajbante Kanwar could not move from her spot; she stood rooted, as though the whole world crumbled before her eyes. The day Champawati was born, Mewar hadn’t rejoiced with the girl child, but the mother did. She would dress her up in fancy dresses she made and jewellery of all kinds. She would watch her play and imitate her mother, making her miss Ratan Baisa. She knew this girl was special. Especially every time she spoke her mind, fearlessly. She had seen a glimpse of herself in her. But through the years, probably because Champa was there all the time, and Amar stayed away, her affection was shown more to the prince. Champa would often complain that she loved her Dadabhai more. Ajbante Baisa wished she could tell her child that that was not true. She was a part of Ajbante. She wished to hold Champa in her arms, one last time and feel her hug back. Ajbante Baisa sat down on the floor, letting out a wail of helplessness. Today, just for once, she did not want to be the Maharani of Mewar and hide her pain. She wanted to mourn her child; she was too young to leave.

Rana Partap had entered the tent, staring in disbelief at the lifeless body of his child. He had not even dared to look at Ajbante Baisa’s face as Pur Bai held her close. Amar had reacted like Bhagwan Das did. He had walked up to the body beside his mother and cried. He had held his mother’s hand, hoping to find solace. One last time, Maharani Ajbante Baisa had dressed Princess Champawati in wildflowers. She touched the cold face lovingly, with a sigh. She had wept to hold onto her things. Since the day Champawati was born, Ajbante had dreamt of her wedding. She would give away her own wedding lehenga to her child as an heirloom. She would decorate the wedding hall. Ajbante Baisa had watched her child being taken away to the Banas for cremation. She had sat down like a lost warrior.

Rana Partap saw the body burn to ashes before his eyes. Amar’s sobs haunted him. He had walked away. In an impulse, he had rebuked himself. He was responsible for this, for killing his child. Maybe Maan Bai was right. He was stubborn. He was egoistic. Maybe he should give in; he had already lost a war.

Two days later, Ajbante Kanwar was feeding a nagging Bhagwan Das, without a word, as Pur Bai looked disturbed. Ajbante noticed her stare as though she was about to say something.

“What is it?” Pur Bai was taken aback by her question.

“Jija... I... there is something you should know...”

Rana Partap had assembled his chiefs for an important meeting. The grapevines said he was going to surrender and accept the Turk supremacy. Rawat Krishnadas Chundawat, son of Rawat Saidas Chundawat, looked disturbed on his face. Everyone understood his reason, but no one dared to speak.

The Maharani had walked to the clearing with a very firm “I want to speak to Ranaji alone.” He had looked up at her face. The men dispersed. Ajbante felt like they had aged a lot in the last two days.

“What is it that I hear?” She frowned as he sat silently “You are thinking of quitting?”

“Yes, I...”

“Why?”

“You know why!” he looked hurt, and Ajbante Baisa inhaled.

“This is the father speaking, Ranaji, not the king.” Her words made him walk up to her.

“Maybe so, Ajbante, I can’t lose my children anymore.” His voice choked, “I can’t kill them.”

“You killed no one. If my sons can fight for martyrdom, why can’t my daughter?” Her eyes were teary, and he looked away. “She gave her life for Mewar, and you are giving up?”

“Ajbante Baisa, don’t fool yourself. She died because she was hungry; she died because her father could not provide for her.” He had sat down in tears as Ajbante Baisa knelt before him.

“Ranaji, what about those thousands of children across Mewar, who sleep soundly knowing their father is there to protect them from the Turks? Aren’t they your children, too? You want to sacrifice their rights to freedom for...” 

He had hugged her in tears. Ajbante Baisa wept, perhaps more freely than the last two days “Champa was always so proud of you; let her remain proud. Please.” She had whispered.

“We are attacking the Mughal camps and heading to Kumbhalmer.” His words made the chiefs look surprised. “Bahlol Khan has already encamped near Dewair; we do not have much time.” He had met the nod from the chiefs.

Some days later, Maharani Ajbante Baisa sat, running her hand through a dupatta belonging to her daughter, when Kunwar Amar Singh arrived to see her.

“You called on me, Maasa?”

“Yes, Amar, after the war, I want you to marry Aarti Bai. Do you have any objections?” Her question made him frown.

“Maasa.” He had looked confused.

“I am asking you your opinion since she will be your life partner.” Ajbante Kanwar smiled faintly “And right now, I can very well do with a daughter-in-law.”

Amar Singh had nodded at his mother understandingly and asked a little uncertainly, “Maasa, is it true that Daata Hukum fought for you?”

“He fights for everyone, Amar, that’s why he is a born warrior.” Amar Singh sighed, knowing his mother was not going to give him the answer that he wanted to hear.

“I will arrange for the wedding as soon as the war is over.”

“Maasa. How are you so positive about the war?” His words made her smile, “Last time...”

“Have you seen your Daata speak in court today?” She asked the clueless heir, “Have you noticed how his eyes shone? That is positive enough.”

“Maasa, I am worried about your health; you are not taking care of yourself. I know the sorrow, Maasa, I feel it too, but if something happens to you, Daata Hukum will be shattered.” She had smiled at her child.

“I am fine, Amar, nothing is happening to me, go and prepare for the war.” She spoke determinedly as he shook his head and left.

Maharani Ajbante Kanwar now understood the sorrow everyone faced. In the past few years, they had perhaps lost more than they could afford to, but watching Rana Partap Singh hold the red and gold flag of Mewar, high with pride, and Kunwar Amar Singh admiring him, she knew this freedom was dearer than anything else in the entire universe; their happiness, losses, and even their lives. Even before they dreamt of a life together, they had dreamt this dream together, and Maharani Ajbante Kanwar vowed, holding the dupatta that still smelled of Champawati, close to her heart, never to put her own self and interests before the dream, no matter what it cost.

In this chapter, I have compiled three different folktales, the one with the wildcat, Champa Bai’s sacrifice and Rana’s dilemma into one. The famous battle of Haldighati in 1576 was followed by the tough days that lasted almost five years and ended with the Battle of Dewair in 1581, where Rana Partap had cut the Mughal General Bahlol Khan into two. While Haldighati sang the glory of Chetak, the Tanwars of Gwalior, the Rathores of Marwar under Chandrasen and Hakim Khan Suri lost their kin and lives in this war as well. The Battle of Dewair was followed by the recapturing of Kumbhalmer and finally the retreat of the Mughal soldiers under Khan E Khana Abdur Rahim, in 1583. Around 1584, Chavand was declared the official capital of the Rana. It had acted as a hideout since 1581 and was made into a palace compound once the Mughal army retreated, except at Chittorgarh.