­
Skip to main content

Home

On the anniversary of the battle of Haldighati, I can't help but wonder what war did and meant for all those waiting for the soldiers to return home. So, after almost four years, here's presenting Praja, and how they have always been. 

Rainy Season, 1633 Vikram Samvat.

The palace of Avadgarh was eerily silent with the fear of impending doom. Nobody spoke of it, but everyone was aware of it, in their own silences and gloomy exchanges. The unspoken, uncertain future was here in reality now. She had never felt this unsure before when he had been at war. Something was not right that day. What was happening? How could she know? Was it the weather that made her feel suffocated? The sun too had failed to illuminate the room even when it was already an hour into the day. The clouds above Avadgarh were whirling grey, much like the state of her restless mind. These were signs of impending rain over the Aravallis. She had known these signs ever since the first time she had stepped into Kumbhalgarh, The rains looked beautiful over the green forestlands and forts back home as well, at her native place. But then, the rain looked a different kind of beauty over the palace Jharokhas of Chittorgarh when she was married there. It was raining that day when her fate was sealed with the vermillion he had dragged over her hairline. The rains always made her feel at home. It gave her a sense of belongingness. Like the warm embrace of her mother, it engulfed her unfamiliar surroundings as the aroma of petrichor gave a familiar feel to her vagabond soul. Perhaps it was her way of coping with the constant moving. Did she ever have a place called home?


She remembered his promise the day they faced defeat at Chittorgarh. No more Jauhars, Ajbante, I promise. His eyes were fiery that day. She was always so proud of his determination. But what would become of her if he didn’t return? What could become of the people? Of Mewar? Shuddering at her own thoughts she shook her head firmly. The goddess of knowledge resides in our minds and mouths Ajbante, her mother always said, she can hear our thoughts and grant them all saying Tathastu. Scared of the same, her hand trembled a little while lighting the lamp at the feet of the Lord. Whatever she thought of could become the truth. She had to control her fears and win them over like her mind was her battlefield. She sat staring at the flickering lamp at the foot of the stone-cold statue of the Lord. How she wished those eyes staring back kindly at her could speak reassuringly back to her? Answer her prayers. She suddenly remembered the legends of Meera Bai’s Lord who spoke to her and heard her speak. How lucky she was.  


The sound of anklets at her threshold made her compose herself. Being his queen demanded her bravery. Being the Maharani of Mewar demanded her command. It all came with a price. The price that had once ripped her off her innocence and now her human demand of being scared for the man she loved. She had to be the fearless queen of his people first. She half glanced over her shoulder at the woman who had arrived and bowed. Her face looked grim. Was it bad news? With great difficulty, she lifted herself up from the stone cold floor. Something heavy in her chest seemed to have tied her down to the floor. She nodded as the woman spoke. The battle was lost in a matter of hours, and Kumbhalgarh has perhaps fallen. She waited for the lady to finish. What about him? The lady shook her head in silence. Her heart skipped a beat and there was an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Where was he?


Miles away amidst the lap of Aravalli’s valleys on the other side, the clouds had gathered at midday. It was terribly hot and humid but the village life was otherwise unaffected by the feeling of discomfort that loomed in the valley. The remote village, otherwise unaware and away from the clutches of politics and war, had sheltered many displaced villagers throughout the past few months. War, which they had only heard of in the Veer Gathas of the land, was now a reality that meant losing their homes and farmland. The children were however still unaware of what a war could cause. All they knew was that only the bravest of the brave was chosen for this honour of fighting for their motherland. Wasn’t that what the legend of Hamir said? 


The children were playing with pebbles down the road, where the winding hillside had made a wider bend as if to create a viewing point for them. In front of their eyes spread the Aravalli peaks playing hide and seek in the clouds. The otherwise quiet afternoon was interrupted by echoes of horse hooves. A single one. The children lifted their eyes up eagerly, just in time to spot a rider on a horse galloping by like a flash of lightning. His silhouette quickly disappeared into the cloud that had climbed up the sides of the Aravallis and again reappeared in the winding roads at a distance. 

Neela Ghoda Ra Aswar!” one of them gasped. The legendary rider of the blue horse.

The others stood wide-eyed, deserting their pebbles and playing. Indeed he looked blue in the mist at a distance. Little did they know who he was, not a legend nor a myth but a man in flesh and blood. 


By the time he had managed to reach a safe cave they had marked on their way, his wounds were more open, and blood-soaked his white robe. He could see the stream trickling down his body onto the yellow soil, turning it red. Was the same red painting the battlefield he just escaped? He groaned as a man helped him lie down on the stone cold slab. He could now feel the pain. The pain of losing loved ones, oh his most faithful companion. His vision blurred with sweat and tears. He had perhaps successfully lost his home. His motherland. Was it even worth it? He closed his eyes as the man cleaned his wounds. Another rushed to bring medicines. But he was breathing, wasn’t he? Was it a punishment on the part of the Lord or a boon? A gift of life, a second chance to take back what was his? He couldn’t think anymore. It pained his entire being even to try and think straight. The moment he closed his eyes he could see her face. Teary, tensed, and perhaps still hopeful and praying. What had he managed to give her in this lifetime? Tears, insecurity and a lot of pain perhaps. If he died now what would she be left with? How did he even deserve a woman like her? She could have been married elsewhere and led a better life. What irony, that the life of the queen of Mewar was perhaps more dreadful than that of a commoner. What about their son? Was he alright? What if he wasn’t? Would she ever forgive him for abandoning the battlefield? He needed to live, to know the answers, but being alive seemed like a weighing sin on his soul today.


The news had spread like wildfire. The king was dead, killed by the mere foot soldiers of the rival army. Did anyone ever imagine such a braveheart to meet such a terrible end? The ladies gasped and wailed. What was to happen now? Where would they go? What would happen to Mewar? Avadgarh had turned into a crematorium of wailing loved ones by midnight. Like a statue, the queen sat alone on the floor in front of the Lord. Her eyes seemed to glitter in the light of the flickering lamp. Yet not a tear could be seen in her eyes. Did she not believe he could meet such a simple end? Or she was too numb to feel anything? She tried to stand up but suddenly felt a weight on her soul. As if she was being pulled back to the ground. She stumbled. It did not make any sense. She had hoped it would feel lighter, being lifted off the bodily being, the chains of attachment finally free if he was gone. But she didn’t feel any less restless. Where was he? When would she see him again?


The first time he caught a glimpse of the palace from his horse something felt terrible in the pit of his stomach. It seemed like the entire Avadgarh stood to catch a glimpse of the legend. Did he even deserve such a welcome after the terribly humiliating defeat? The people folded their hands, welcoming him with hopeful eyes as if he had risen from the dead. A Messiah whose purpose was yet unfulfilled. His eyes scanned the crowd of familiar worried faces. Some smiled back, relieved. Others worried about his injuries. His eyes stopped at hers. He had dreaded this moment. No defeat would be more painful than the defeat in her eyes. But there she was, in her usual calmness staring right back at him from behind the veil. Like always. She was proud. Prouder than all the hearts that had welcomed him back. How could he even loathe in self-doubt all this while when she trusted him so blindly? He felt a sudden guilt stab him deeper than the wound on his chest. He would rise again, as he always has. She knew he would. The sun can’t set on Mewar till its son was alive. His mother used to say that. He had felt the touch of her fingers on his forehead as she put the saffron tilak with glittering eyes, not leaving his face even for once. He was home. He had never lost it, had he? 


Ajbante’s restlessness faded as soon as she caught a glimpse of his weary injured face. His eyes glistened as he avoided the glance of everyone around him. Did he fear being judged by his own subjects? His eyes had stopped on hers. Ajbante was overwhelmed with relief. The feeling of unfamiliarity with the place and the people disappeared into the background as he stepped up to face her. With trembling hands, she put the Tilak on his forehead, fighting back her tears in a profound realisation. It didn’t matter where she was. Whether it was the carefree childhood of Bijoliya, the adolescence of Chittorgarh, the duties at Kumbhalgarh, the uncertainties of the Aravallis or the harsh life at Chawand, every place would be unfamiliar without him. The home was always in him.




Popular Posts

Touch of Reality

  “Baisa, there is a letter for you.” Kasturi, Rajkumari Ajbante Kanwar’s personal attendant, had a scroll in her hand as she frowned. The only people who wrote to her were her friend Saubhagyawati and Daata from war. Both of them were in Bijoliya. She took the scroll from Kasturi as a shiver ran down her spine.  Rao Ramrakh Punwar attended the celebration of Rajkumari Padmavati's grand wedding. He had come home and told stories of the grandeur. He had received a sweetmeat gift to take back home as well. As the children indulged in it, Ajbante Kanwar had thought that maybe the celebration had caught up with Kunwar Partap and he was unable to write the letter he had promised. But a week had passed since the Bidai entourage had left Bijoliya and she had not heard from him. Ajbante Kanwar cursed her expectations of taking his words literally and found herself in tears one night. She had been scared when she realised that the lack of communication hurt her. She attributed it to he...

Scrutiny of His Keen Eyes

Rao Ramrakh Punwar had walked into the camp tent upon the declaration of his arrival and bowed to the Rana of Mewar. Rana Udai Singh was sitting on a makeshift throne inside the tent with a spread of fresh fruits, wine and nuts on the carpet before him. He gestured at Rao Ramrakh as one of the servants offered him grapes that he politely refused. He eyed Rawat Chundawat, standing by the king, his hands folded across his chest, his face looking worried, the bushy brows narrowed and his long oiled and combed beard looking neat as he eyed Rao Ramrakh. Almost as if he could read his mind, the Samanth of Bijoliya knew that like himself the Rawat of Salumber did not quite agree to the need of this battle. Yet here they were. Rao Ramrakh realised they were probably waiting for the Senapati, Kunwar Partap as some soldiers came and spread some maps of the terrain as instructed by Rawat Chundawat. The guards declared the arrival of the prince of Bundi as Rana stood up to welcome his son-in-law. ...

Harsh Truths of Life

Ajbante Kanwar found herself by the Menal waterfall that made enough noise for her to not hear Kunwar Partap approaching with the horses. She was lost in thoughts.  After two days of playing host to the royals of Bundi, yesterday the king had informed her father that they would start their journey to Chittorgarh early in the morning. As she snuck out of the palace she saw the pompous procession of elephants decorated with gold ornaments and horses with golden quilts over their seat being led out by the Bundi soldiers. The palace was awake earlier than she anticipated and she had to squeeze in a little time and excuse herself for her “prayers”. But as she sat by the waterfall she was unsure whether he could come. She looked up at the sky clearing into dawn as she sighed and shook her head. He must be preparing to leave. Rajkumari Ajbante Kanwar stood up, brushing her lehenga as she turned to leave. If she wasted more time, Daata would scold her. She had not worn her warrior attire u...

Towards You

Kunwar Pratap and Ajabde were friends. He didn't feel awkward sharing his plans and thoughts with her anymore. She was more than happy to advise him on everything. She was happy he listened to her advice before taking or discarding them, be it on what to wear to Padmavati's Sagai or how to befriend the revolting Bhils. He loved the way Ajabde always used metaphors from Puranas and Ramayanas to explain the toughest things so easily. She expressed herself so well, so easily that it amazed him.   The Afghans were now led by Mehmood Shah. They have made secret territories in the forests and waited to attack. Rawatji and his spies had confirmed the news and Udai Singh had warned Mehmood Shah to withdraw his troops from Mewar in vain. Now, it was time they declared war. Mehmood Shah had limited resources in Mewar. And his spies clearly suggested that in no way could he win, especially with Kunwar Pratap leading his troops. He was having second thoughts about the war. One of his aides...

Reassuring Gift

 “I got these for you.”  Rajkumari Ajbante Kanwar had just made her way to the other side of the temple premises, with her dupatta hiding her face, while her guards, attendants and palanquin waited at the other end of the Math premises at Menal. The moment she spotted Kunwar Partap across the temple complex near the forest with Bijli he straightened himself and held out a bundle of glass bangles. Ajbante Kanwar looked perplexed at his reassuring nod. “Me?” She asked, unsure of what she heard. He nodded again. “Bhai Shakti dragged me to the fair yesterday and I brought green bangles for Ranima so I thought…” He cleared his throat looking unsurely at the Magenta bangles on his hand. “Why?” Her question interrupted his chain of thoughts as his smile faded. “Did you not like it?” He looked unsure. He had never bought anything for anyone before except for Ranima. Ranima never disliked anything he chose for her. While Kunwar Partap scanned the shop, looking for a perfect bangle for ...

See You Soon

Kunwar Partap entered the relatively quiet stable premises at the break of dawn checking on Bijli who was asleep, when he heard the sound of anklets near the cow shed. He walked up to the entrance of the stable, from where he could see her, her dupatta placed loosely over her wet hair, devoid of jewellery the way he never saw a royal lady, with a basket of flowers in one hand and a plate of sweets on the other. She was distributing sweets to the cow keepers, veterinarians and everyone who came by on the occasion of Lakshmi giving birth to her calf. “What will you name her, Hukum?” an old man asked. She smiled shyly, pressing her lips together. “Mandakini, Kakasa.” The old man smiled at her suggestion. “Like the kund? Very nice.” Kunwar Partap walked up to Lakshmi’s shed only after most people had dispersed to their work. Ajbante Kanwar heard footsteps behind her and turned with the plate that now had one sweetmeat left. Alarmed at his sight and at the lack of options she could offer fr...

Prologue: Impulsive Hearts

1576 CE. The dark clouds circled over the Haveli of the Chieftain at Avadgadh, one of the unimportant posts on the western borders of Mewar, Rajputana. It was the arrival of the rainy season, with occasional downpours over the green veil of the Aravallis on the horizon and the streams that often meandered around the hills now surged like rivers. The monotonous life in the little settlement was stirred by the arrival of guests in the Haveli. It was not usual for the old chieftain to receive so many guests, especially women and it sparked curiosity and rumours among the villagers. Who were these people? Some of them looked like royal ladies and some not. In the inner palace of Avadgadh, on a balustrade that was designed with Jali, nymphs adorning its pillars that looked over the Aravallis in a distance, covered with dark clouds, the gusty wind blew the new curtains almost toppling a vase kept by the window. She caught it, alarmed, almost out of the force of habit to be alert about her su...

Vows

Pratap was staring at the Havan Kund that was lit up for the wedding as he sat in the mandap doing the Ganesh Puja. Two days and so many rituals he had to do. All he knew was like an obedient and ideal son he had followed every ritual his mothers and the Panditji told him to do. They said he didn't understand the significance of many rituals now, he would later on. He didn't actually care. All he wanted was to get over the wedding really fast so that he could consider the other important things in life. Did I just think others are important? No, the most important. The Turk Invader was surely going to use his diversion for his own profit. Somehow he could read Akbar's mind too well. He had been teased beyond his imagination by Shakti as Chakrapani accidentally told him about the Mandir incident. He swore to make his friend pay once when he was back home.   " She is here." Hansa Bai's voice made him look up as people stared to his right. Ajabde's hands and...

Delicate

“I swear I don’t understand those uncles who wear pants, suits and shirts to weddings,” Ajabdeh spoke as she sorted the marigolds eyeing some of the uncles in the banquet while one of the other bridesmaids was breaking down the petals and another was making designs for a flower rangoli they wanted to surprise the bride with for her Mehendi ceremony. “Why?” one of the younger girls asked as Ajabdeh shrugged, “Well, you wear those every day, why not make some effort on another person’s special day and look good? Wear traditional?” “But if they wear suits and watches maybe our dupatta will get stuck to one of their watches or buttons.” Another one made all of them giggle as Ajabdeh shook her head amused.  “Well, Sherwanis also have buttons.” The one making the rangoli shrugged. Ajabdeh nodded in agreement, getting up from her spot and wiping some of the petals off her kameez. “The bottom line is unlike women, men don’t think they need to put an effort for things like these. Wearing a ...

My Everything

Kunwar Pratap stormed into the Mahal at Gogunda. Happy faces of the chieftains and soldiers welcomed him as Rao Ramrakh and Rawatji stopped the ongoing Raj tilak. A visibly scared Kunwar Jagmal looked clueless at a visibly angry Kunwar Pratap. Rani Dheerbai Bhattiyani hadn't expected this son of Mewar to show up that too twenty-one days after his father's death. He was not informed as per Dheerbai's instructions. She looked at Rawat Ji. He must have gone to Raoji at Bijolia. No one except them knew where Kunwar Pratap was staying. It was for the safety of his family. " What are you doing Chotima?" A disappointed voice came. She could stoop down so low? " We were about to inform you..." She spoke up in her defence. " When Dheerbai ji?" Maharani Jaivanta Bai, clad in white entered the hall as people bowed before her. " After your son's coronation?" " I did nothing Badima I swear!" A low voice came from Jagmal. " Maha...