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Happy Valentine's Day, readers! Hope you put your self-love and your love for reading right at the top when you celebrate today!
The night was eerie; the veil of stars shone in the clear sky, occasional clouds travelling with the wind, playing hide-and-seek with the crescent moon. The leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and somewhere in the forestland, the call of an animal broke the silence. Owls hooted somewhere, and in the darkness, one could see across the arid land, beyond the water of a lake, a fort wall was lit by the torches of the guards who were awake and alert. The sandstone castle in the middle of the small township was asleep. The corridors of the Mardana Mahal, where noblemen and princes were stationed, were heavily guarded tonight. The prince of Mewar was travelling through this small town, on one of his many campaigns.
The square-shaped palace had an inner courtyard for the ladies. Opposite the Mardana Mahal was the Andar Mahal, where the women resided. They shared rooms, chores, light-hearted conversations and idle times during the day, but at night, no sound of anklets or giggling of children could be heard. If one passed through the corridor rather quietly, they could hear the breathing of tired, sleepy souls. A staircase came down through the centre wing of the palace, to the front gate, and a similar one led from the back to the back of the palace, where the men practised weaponry. Beyond the wing of the Andar Mahal was the sight of the Mandakini Kund and Mahakal temples, just outside the fortified premises that remained closed for the night. After all, this small town marked the last settlement at the border of Mewar.
It was the darkest hour when she carefully opened the sandalwood door of her room ajar, scared of waking up her sisters who shared the room with her. She had discarded her anklets on her bed to make sure she did not alarm the guards. With the veil over her head, hiding her face, in the semi-transparent dupatta, she peeped out carefully at the empty corridor and heaved a sigh as she spotted no guards around. This hour of the night was designated for a change of guards, and sometimes, if one was observant enough, they could find a gap between the coming and going of guards to their designated posts in the Andar Mahal. After all, this castle was barely significant enough to be a target of any attack. The guards that came from the capital, along with the prince, were exceptions. They would never leave his side, even if he was not in the slightest danger. She eyed the dimly lit corridors of the Mardana Mahal, visible through the jharokha outside the room. As she stood in the corridor and the light and shadow danced with the flickering torches lit along the way, she could not see anyone around. Sighing to herself, she was shrouded in a sudden self-doubt and fear. What was she doing? If anyone told Ajbante Kanwar that she would sneak out in the middle of the night, lie to her sisters, her parents and her friends, just to obey his orders, she would not have ever believed it was possible. She was the most responsible one among her siblings, the one her mother relied on often to run the home and take care of their family. She wondered what excuses she could give if she were caught? Perhaps her stepmother would question her mother’s upbringing and hurt her? Ajbante Kanwar stopped in the corridor and turned back towards her room. She could not do this to her mother. She was not brave enough to face her father’s disappointment again. As she took two steps towards her room, his face came to mind. He would be angry, too. He would be disappointed, too. Had he ever been refused if he ordered someone to meet him? She brushed aside the sudden feeling in the pit of her stomach that said this was not a political order, it was a personal request to see him. She shook her head unmindfully and heard footsteps coming up the side staircase. Alarmed, she hid herself behind a large vase and watched as two guards, gossiping about an impending war, walked past her, unaware of her presence. She stood up and heaved a sigh, rubbing her hands together, reminding herself to gather her thoughts and make her way down the staircase to the arena.
He opened the door of his rather large guest chamber to find his guards standing alarmed.
“Do you need anything, Baojiraj Hukum?” The older one asked. He shook his head and wondered as he narrowed his eyes for a bit.
“Umm… I am just going to get some fresh air.” The guards were ready to follow him as he stopped them. “Alone. You stay here.”
“But…” They stared in confusion. “We have to follow you wherever you go.” He shook his head. “I am not stepping out of the premises. It is already heavily guarded. I can’t sleep. I need some time alone with my thoughts, without people breathing down my neck.” He was assertive, and it worked in his favour as they nodded. The older one asked him if he had a weapon with him. He nodded, showing the sheath of the Khanjar on his cummerband before he walked down the corridor briskly, leaving the guards exchanging confused glances.
She waited with bated breath, pacing her heart and the feeling in her stomach that refused to leave. As she positioned herself behind a pillar, careful enough not to be spotted by the wandering guards, she suddenly felt conscious of her appearance. Throughout the day, she remained the Rajkunwari of Bijoliya, a title she carried because of her birth in the dynasty that once ruled Mewar. In reality, she was much less than a princess, her father a chieftain of this small town that bordered Bundi. But attending to guests meant she had to keep up appearances, dress a certain way and conduct herself in a way very different from who she was. Behind closed doors, her opinions were strong in her head, unheard by others. She was restless in her mind, in stark contrast to the calmness she projected in her demeanour. She had to learn to be graceful. Attend grooming classes that told her how she should behave to be a good woman. Not laugh out loud, not smile at men, speak when spoken to, never voicing her opinion. But then he came along. Like a sudden sandstorm in the desert, her ideas were questioned. He sought opinions; he wanted her to ask questions and hear her thoughts. He made her smile. She was barely conscious that she was smiling. Yet, he had never seen her like this. In her most comfortable lehenga, without the jewellery or kohl, without her hair braided, just swept across her shoulder, open and swaying in the breeze. Should she have perhaps changed out of her clothes into better ones? She bit her lips, wondering.
As she stood still behind the pillar, making sure her shadow did not fall separate from it, exactly like he had taught her once, she wondered if he knew the implications of such meetings. He seemed rather oblivious to how society and social decorum worked. He had once tried to touch her mother’s feet instead of letting her bow to him. He stated how she was his mother’s age, disregarding their social standings. The Andar Mahal had a laugh about how naive he was, even after he had won his first battle and earned praise from the world. Suddenly, she was worried as her throat felt dry. Was she taking his actions as something more than what he took them to be? Perhaps it was political things he wanted to talk about. Perhaps he wanted her opinion on something concerning her hometown. Perhaps he did not see her as anything more than a friend he had during his tough times, one who wrote to him and enquired about his health and well-being. But would he send her letters under his pet name in unsealed scrolls if he thought it was not appropriate? Would he discreetly slip a request for this meeting into her hand while passing her in the corridor after dinner? Would he care to ask her about the proposals that had come her way since they last met?
Her thoughts were interrupted by very faint but distinct footsteps. She peeped from behind the pillar to watch a figure approach. Even in the darkness, she could tell it was him. He stopped at the empty arena and looked around uneasily. He looked up at the moon, as if to see what time it was. She smiled to herself, seeing him restless. He stared at the moon for a while, wondering if she did not understand his message or perhaps she could not escape her guarded chambers. It was then that he could sense someone moving. He glanced over his shoulder, his hand reaching the sheath of the dagger in a reflex as she showed herself from behind the shadow of the pillar. He exhaled, looking around carefully, one last time before walking up to her. With each step he took, her silhouette formed distinctive features he could recognise. Her hair looked different, reaching her waist in waves as she had undone her braid. She wore no jewellery, and he found himself staring at her neck briefly to notice a birthmark that he never knew existed behind her gaudy necklace. Conscious of his observation, he looked up at her face. She seemed a little perplexed. He expected that. He had not specified the need to see her. In all honesty, he did not have one. In the moment that he approached her, she forgot to put the dupatta over her head, as she watched him smile faintly at her. It was a subconscious choice, almost as if she was so comfortable around him that she did not need to hide her face from his glance. There were no onlookers, no maids to spy on her moves, no guards to report back to his father. For the first time, as he noticed her face without the veil between them, the mole on her nose, the way her lips parted, he approached her cautiously as if he did not want her to notice her forgetfulness to let the veil obstruct his view.
He had just arrived in her hometown on his way to have a political conference with his father’s ally in Bundi, and wondered where they stood on their stand against common enemies. His stay was supposed to be short. Yet, he found himself wanting to find excuses to linger a little longer around the familiar waterfalls, Math and Temples. In the forests he deeply knew and loved, he found a peace his palace could not provide him with. And then, there were these eyes. Innocent, timid, graceful and intelligent all at the same time. Every time he walked through the entrance of the fort, welcomed by its villagers, townsmen and the chieftain himself, his eyes always landed on the Jharokha where he knew a pair of eyes were looking at him, proud of his achievements and worried for his future. Every time he stole a glance, a glimpse of her under the veil of decorum that separated them in the daylight, he found her eyes looking away, her smile appearing to fade on the edge of her lips.
He was perhaps staring, for she cleared her throat. He looked away and sighed, his heart making a funny leap against his deep breath. Life was easier when he was here the first time, on the brink of his youth, still learning, still depending on his mother’s affirmations and validations. Until, for the first time, he found her almost as an accident of fate, in the temple at dawn, speaking to one of her stepmothers. He had overheard the conversation before he showed himself, her words firm and opinions strong on what it implies if the enemies were at their door and they were busy fighting themselves. It intrigued him enough to find out who she was. The eldest daughter of the chieftain was barely past her girlhood. It made him reach out to her. He wanted to know if she felt the same way he did about unnecessary wars and the importance of alliances against common enemies. She seemed reluctant at first. Her upbringing forbade her from interacting freely with a stranger, let alone a prince. He reminded her that she must speak, for the sake of saving her motherland. They found themselves exchanging letters, sharing their deepest thoughts and building a friendship very unlike his other ones. He found himself on the path to her hometown more frequently than not, finding excuses to visit his brother two towns down or visiting his friends across the border. Every time they met, he seemed to find something new in her, something he had yet to discover. Something that yet again impressed him. The battles recently had scarred him. He did not want them in the first place. Nobody seemed to understand this braveheart’s reluctance until they almost lost the battle and were forced to sign a treaty. Nobody except her agreed with him. Not because she had to, but because she believed in his cause. And yet again, after the battle was over, after he had met his mother, he found himself in the courtroom discussion, volunteering to visit the allies, close to her hometown. He needed to see her. The last time she wrote, she hinted at her mother, eager to find a groom for her firstborn, and something had stirred in him. Something that disturbed him to the core. His impulsiveness was not always praised by his close associates. He fought a strong urge to write back to her, letting her know that she was supposed to refuse any proposal firmly. But could he? With what right would he even order her to do that?
“Is something wrong?” Her soft, worried tone jolted him out of the thoughts he was gathering to speak up. He eyed her arched brows, the faded red dot on the middle of her forehead rippled, as she stared at him. He smiled faintly at her as he shook his head. “Then why did you ask me to come here?” Her question made his heart skip a beat. Did she judge him for his impulsiveness? Perhaps she was hurt by his audacity. Did she feel disrespected by his order? He tried to read her face, which appeared calm. Never had they met in the darkness of the night before. Even when he had conversations with her, it was either when they met at dawn, before the palace woke up or during afternoons when she would visit the waterfall and he would see her there, accompanied by her maids and his guards. Most of the time, he pretended that their meetings at temples, waterfalls and fairgrounds were accidental. Did she know it was not? Perhaps. But never had he explicitly told her to see him alone in this manner.
“I…” For the first time in his life, he was scared. The feeling was rather alien and awkward for him as she waited for his answer. “I… wanted to see you.” He eyed her carefully to see if she was upset. Her eyes widened a little, only to lower her gaze from his, and she rubbed her hands together as if she was cold. “Why?” It almost came out of her lips like a whisper. Her breath was heavy as he eyed her, holding on to her dupatta, waiting for his answer. Suddenly, the footsteps and whispered voices of guards alarmed them as he reacted immediately, pulling her by her hand, almost subconsciously, behind the pillar. She was startled at first, as his rough fingers brushed against her soft wrist, and her heart pounded as she realised he was holding her hand. Even when her back was against the pillar, he stood inches away from her, looking out for the guards who walked by. His other hand reached for his lips in a gesture to tell her to keep quiet. She nodded. A moment passed by as the footsteps receded. He heaved a sigh and suddenly realised his proximity to her as he stepped back, his eyes briefly wandering over her feminine features, not enough to make her uncomfortable, as he let go of her wrist. Her heart stopped racing as she composed herself, the sensation of his touch still tingling on her skin.
“Will Marwar attack again?” She asked. He looked up at her worried face with a faint smile as he shook his head. “No.” He mouthed as she looked relieved. “Why are you asking so many questions?” His brows shot up, a little amused. “You barely ask questions.”
“Because you look nervous.” She stared at him briefly, noticing the colour flush from his cheek as she lowered her gaze. “I…” She bit her lower lip out of habit. “Mean…”
“Did you tell anyone you are here?” He enquired. She shook her head. He raised his brows in an arc, surprised. “Not even Ratnawati?” She shook her head again, blushing slightly as she refused to look up at his scrutinising stare.
“Why?” he asked, as if to hear the answer he wanted to hear.
“She would have wanted to come along.” As soon as she said that, a smile formed on his lips, and she looked flustered. “I mean… I thought… you wanted…” She fumbled.
“To see you alone.” He blurted. She nodded, her head lowered slightly in embarrassment.
“But do you not find it unsafe to be alone here, all by yourself?” He folded his arms to his chest. Although he sounded intimidating, there was a slight hint of amusement in his voice that she did not miss. She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. “Do you not find it unsafe to come here without guards?” She asked in return.
“I have my Khanjar.” He showed her the sheath.
“I am safe then.” She shrugged. Almost in a reflex, as he stared at her admiringly.
“So you have faith that I can save you from dacoits or probable enemy spies with just my Khanjar?” he asked as she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Are you saying it is wrong for me to trust you, Kunwarsa?” She asked, almost like a challenge. He smiled. “I am saying it is wrong to trust anyone blindly, Rajkumariji.”
“Then I should leave.” She turned, annoyed at his teasing tone. Did he not know the kind of courage she mustered to just see him there? In a reflex, as if afraid to lose her, he held her back by her hand.
“Ajbante…” Her name escaped his lips, like a prayer. “Don’t go.” She glanced over her shoulder at his words. His voice was low, deeper, pleading. Her ears grew warm. “You… You never… umm…”
“Called you by name?” He asked as she nodded, eyes meeting briefly before she looked away. “Is that wrong? Do you not like it?” Although she had stopped, his hand refused to leave hers as she shook her head, and he stepped forward, decreasing the gap between them, forcing her to look up at him. “You know what I would like?” He said with a smile on the edge of his lips. She looked confused. “To be called by my name.” Her eyes widened at his words as her lips parted and quivered. His glance travelled from her eyes to the mole on her nose and rested on her quivering lips, hoping to hear her utter his name.
“I… can’t.” She watched the disappointment reflect in his eyes as his brows narrowed. “You are…” The Prince of Mewar!
“My mother calls me Partap, my friends call me Baojiraj Partap, the Bhils call me Kika, why can’t you?” There was a sense of right in his voice, with which he spoke. The right she never asked for, nor dared to dream of. The right he gave her in an unsaid, willing way. “Be…because…” She gulped, breathing in, realising she could now smell the jasmine ittr she had once gifted him, making her stop, alarmed. If anyone spotted them there, it would look to them like a tryst. Was it what this was? “I called you Ajbante, didn’t I?” His grip tightened on her hand, reassuringly. She licked her dry lip and breathed in. “I… I have been brave enough for one day.” She blurted as he chuckled, suddenly alarming her. What if somebody heard him?
“I never doubted you were brave.” He asserted, his hand travelling from her wrist to her palm, as Ajbante’s heart raced once again. She looked up at him, trying to understand what he was feeling. His palm rested against hers, warm, nervous, sweaty. His fingers slowly interlocked with her hand. Ajbante breathed in. With all the strength she thought she could muster, she held his hand back, interlocking her fingers in his as she lowered her gaze, too afraid to see his reaction to her act of bravery. He nudged at the interlocked fingers, forcing her to look up at him. “This is why I called you here.” She did not quite understand it. “To force me to say your name?” She blurted almost innocently. He smiled wider, more amused as he shook his head. “When have I forced you to do anything?” His voice was low, his head tilted slightly to catch a glimpse of her lowered, embarrassed face. “You made me come here.” She shook her head. “Did I…” He leaned in, forcing her to look up as he whispered, “Did I force you, Ajbante?” She shook her head in a no. He moved back, pleased by his intimidation. “You can say my name when you are ready.” He seemed to have surrendered his eccentricity, pleasing her. “I can see now why people are scared of you.” She said almost in a murmur of disbelief. He shook his head. “You mean I can force people if I want to?” His teasing tone caught her by surprise as his other hand travelled to find her cold one. “I can.”
“Kun… Kun…” Ajbante stopped as she fumbled.
“I just wanted to let you know, you can refuse those proposals coming your way.” He said assertively as she looked up at him.
“Who am I to accept or reject anyone?” She said almost with a gasp. “Women are not asked.” She could see it in his face that he was realising that for the first time. His brows arched, eyes narrowed as he contemplated. The moment passed by like an hour. Somewhere in the stables, a horse neighed. The gentle breeze swept Ajbante’s hair over her face, but her hands were locked in his; she could not sweep it away, too afraid to upset him by letting go of his hand first. His eyes fell on the locks of hair, disturbing her vision as she fluttered her eyelids. His left hand left hers, and before she could move, his fingers ran through her hair, tucking the rebelling locks behind her ear. It made her arms erupt in goosebumps. She was embarrassed, hoping he did not notice her reaction. There was an odd comfort, a sense of respect, care and familiarity at the gentleness of his touch on her soft skin. His fingers lingered briefly on her earlobes before finding their way to her fingers again.
“Fine then.” He said assertively. “What if they get a proposal they can’t refuse?” his challenging tone scared her. What was he saying? Was he saying what she thought he was, or was she just imagining it? Ajbante looked scared, perhaps because he smiled reassuringly. He let go of her hand, abruptly turning to leave when she called out to him. “Kunwarsa!” She cleared her throat. “No.” He stopped at her words. His heart dropped as he turned, frowning. “No?” He repeated as she looked away. His heart dropped as he asked, in an unsure voice. “ What do you mean, no?”
“I mean…” She cleared her throat. He walked back to face her as she looked away. He feared what she was about to say. “Are you…” He looked confused. “Are you saying you don’t want…”
That had never occurred to him in his wildest dream. That he could be facing rejection. He had never faced rejection in his life. Not when he was at competitions, not when he was at Gurukul, never at home, and he suddenly remembered how his brother often said that made him stubborn. Could he take a refusal? He stared at her in disbelief as she looked intimidated.
“I mean…” She sighed and tried to gather her thoughts. “You know I was reading about Bappa Rawal a few days ago. His story is rather interesting.” He narrowed his eyes cluelessly at her words as she rested her back on the pillar and moved her hand to tell a story. He let her, unable to comprehend why she was telling him what she read. A story of how a marriage to a Solanki princess made Bappa Rawal want to be king, how he promised her that every heir to the throne would take in a Solanki wife as his first, a tradition broken unexpectedly by Udai Singh by making her his second, but expected to be upheld by all heirs. She finished the story, unsurely, as he looked miffed.
“You want me to marry a Solanki princess?” His words were hurried and unminced. She forced a faint smile. “Mewar wants you to uphold traditions.”
“And then what? You marry whoever proposes next?” he almost rebuked. She looked away. “Is that what you really want, Ajbante?” He stepped forward, hoping, praying she would say what he wanted to hear.
“It does not matter what I want.” She shook her head calmly. “Do you not know we can’t do whatever we want?” She shrugged.
“I can marry whoever I want,” he said firmly.
Ajbante shook her head. “You can never disobey the Rana of Mewar.” She sounded fearful of the consequences. The impact of her words on her future, that of her family's reputation and on Bijoliya’s future. His eyes sparkled.
“You know I can, Ajbante.I will stand up for what I want, even against the king if it may so happen.” His calm decisiveness stirred her. Ajbante had never heard him speak in that manner, never even in his deepest thoughts had he probably imagined defying his father or his family traditions. Now he said it with so much ease and determination.
“Your first Kunwarani is not only your wife but the future queen of Mewar. Might I remind you what is expected from a…” She stopped for he had stepped forward, about to place his hand over her lip and stopped a few inches away from her face as she stopped talking.
“You are not going to do this…” He inhaled. “You can’t.” He shook his head. Her eyes glistened as she smiled back at his pleading voice and expectant stare.
“It doesn’t suit the Yuvaraja of Mewar to be selfish.” She reminded him, gently.
“It doesn’t suit you to be heartless, Ajbante.” There was a lump in his throat that alarmed her. “Unless this is what you truly want. But you have not said that… have you?” There was a hope that flickered like a lamp in a breeze in his heart, a hope that refused to die down.
“Listen to me.” She said in a calm, assertive voice.
“No.” He resisted. “I will not.” He stepped back. “If you don’t agree, Mewar’s Yuvaraja can force you to. If you have read Veer Gathas, I have, too. There was once a Prithviraja who eloped with the woman he chose.” She gasped as he turned to leave. Ajbante stood in shock, ascertaining she heard his intentions right. Was he threatening to kidnap her?
“Kunwar Partap!” Her words made him freeze in his spot as he thought he had misheard her. She bit her lip, looking away as she gulped. He glanced over his shoulder at her, “What did you say?”
“You are being irrational.” She blurted, as she suddenly felt overwhelmed by his stubbornness. He walked back to face her. “What Did You say?” His voice was pleading. She looked up at him. “You cannot jeopardise Bijoliya and Mewar’s relationship.” She spoke as he frowned. “You need to listen to me.”
“Is that your order, Ajbante?” She gasped at his words. “I… can never imagine ordering…” She stammered.
“Then you can think of me as a fool, but I refuse to hear your self-sacrificing preaching.”
“Hukum…” Ajbante stopped as he stepped closer to her, forcing her to look up at him.
“Kunwar Partap… say it. Say it the way you did, with the right you have to say it, Ajbante.” His voice was low but tone ordering as she sighed.
“Kunwar Partap, don’t…” Before she could react, he had pulled her into an embrace, making her stop, flabbergasted. She could feel the warmth of his body against her, as his hand rested on her waist over the sheer Dupatta around her bodice, and she could feel his breath on the nape of her neck. Kunwar Partap exhaled. He felt like all the battles he had fought, all the turmoil he had faced in the mere sixteen years of his life, culminated in this one moment, when he found solace in her arms, a home in her heart. He was not going to let it go. His mother had always taught him to fight for the right cause, and he would, for she was the most righteous cause he could ever find. He could never imagine losing her without a fight. It took Ajbante some time to sink into the feeling of being held and hugged the way she was. She could not remember the last time anyone broke a royal decorum and showed her any affection, neither her parents nor her siblings. Even when she was almost dying from a fever once, or when she was sad by the demeanour of her father, never had her mother never affectionately let her know things would get better. Ajbante had forgotten this feeling of being held and protected the way her wetnurse used to make her feel as an infant. She could never imagine getting the same feeling of overwhelming warmth from someone else, someone who was known to be a ruthless warrior, nevertheless. It took her all her strength to close her eyes, as if not to think of the consequences of this day, her actions and words as her hands travelled to the back of his angrakha, as he tightened the hug. She could hear his breath match hers, his heartbeat in her ears as she closed her eyes. The shrill call of a bat jolted her as she tried to free herself from his arms. He refused to let go as he lifted his head slightly to see her flustered face, and his arms locked behind her back. A smile formed on the edge of his lips as her hand travelled to his chest, where she placed it carefully, where his heart beat in his chest. She was coy, not meeting his gaze as she continued to stare at the embroidery of his angrakha. “Ajbante,” he lifted her chin with his right hand while his left hand did not leave the embrace. “I promise you.” She lifted her gaze to meet his, as her eyes shone in the starlight. “I will come back for you each time I leave.” A lone teardrop trickled down her eye and rested on her cheek as she inhaled. “You will always be my reason to come back home.” He used his thumb to wipe away the teardrop on her cheek. “I will always choose you over everyone else.” Ajbante found herself closing her eyes as he leaned in and kissed her forehead gently, over her faded Bindi. She could feel the warmth of his lips against her skin, and she held her breath in a strange anticipation and fear as he moved away, making her blush as his eyes did not leave hers. Somewhere in the night sky, a bird’s call made them realise it was almost dawn as he let her go, nodding at her as if to permit her to leave. Ajbante found herself dragging her feet as she stepped away from him with more difficulty than she anticipated. She had come here hoping he wanted to talk of another battle, but here they were, talking of a rebellion they had never imagined in their lives. Ajbante knew her parents would be upset, his perhaps even more, but she also had this unwavering faith in his promise. He was a man of his word. She knew that. She stopped on her way and glanced over his shoulder at him. He was still standing there, watching her leave. Just as she turned, he smiled like he knew she would turn back to see him once, before he left in the morning. She nodded at him, as a reassurance of unsaid words, an unexpected future and a promise. He nodded back, gesturing at her to go ahead and get back to her room safely before someone questioned her. As he watched her figure retreat, her silhouette fading into the dark corridor leading up to the Andar Mahal, Kunwar Partap stood there, letting out a contented sigh with a smile on his lips. It felt like he had won the biggest battle of his life, and with her by his side, he intended to win many more. She was his strength, his faith and hope, and soon to be his first rebellion.
Though not much is historically accounted for Maharana Pratap's personal life, it is widely believed in the streets of Bijoliya even today that the Maharani, the princess of Bijoliya, was his first rebellion. Bijoliya's people still talk fondly of this rebellion as if it were yesterday that this prince chose his bride and defined a quiet love in the midst of a turbulent life. Their story might not be as popularised as that of Prithviraj Samyogita or Padmini and Ratan Singh, because no Bards wrote of their struggles and sagas, devotion and faith, but in the quiet, successful marriage shrouded by uncertainties, Pratap and Ajabdeh showed a commitment to each other worth celebrating and remembering them for.
