The forests were thick, and nearby, a stream meandered silently. If one were to be very still, the water splashing against the rocky bed could be heard. The leaves rustled in the wind as clouds floated in the valley of the Aravallis. It had rained in the valley two days ago. The monkeys chirped on the branches, the birds chirping in the cool midday breeze of the summer afternoon. A herd of Sambar deer walked up to the creek by the stream, their silent hooves leaving imprints on the forest floor. Suddenly, they stopped drinking water and were alerted by an unusual sound. The monkeys chirped in the branches, and the herd dashed away into the thick foliage. The sound of horse hooves echoed on the floor of the forestland. Not one or two, an entire troop of horses. Soon, a few soldiers with their swords tucked in their waist and lances ready to charge, could be seen, getting off their horses and washing their hands and faces on the cold running water. The horses were left to graze as they opened leafy plates of food they had packed from a distant home and ate their fill.
“Is it true that the Rana ordered the burning of the fields?” One of them was the first to speak. The others looked up at him.
“I heard so myself.” Another man, perched on a rock, eating a stiff roti he had brought from home, spoke. “I was there when the Bhil Sardar came by.”
“Who knew our king would seek advice from Bhils to run Mewar?” There was a hint of disappointment in the voice of the first soldier. “When we chose him, we thought he would be different from his father, but…” His voice died as the oldest man, probably the leader of the troop, choked on his dry roti. One soldier patted his back as he coughed, and another ran to fetch some water in his container.
“Don’t be naive.” The old man rebuked after a drink of water. “You may be born yesterday, but I have seen enough to know what he is doing is right.”
“Right?” The soldier raised his brows. “You are old now. You have perhaps lost your mind, Chacha.”
The others stared at him, horrified as he bit his lip and appeared remorseful. “I’m…”
“If you can’t be loyal to your king and his cause, go ahead and join them. Join the troops that invaded Chittor.” The old man rebuked as the younger man hung his head in shame. He belonged to a small province in Kelwa, and his father had lost his life in Chittorgarh a few years back. The family were proud soldiers who had served Mewar for generations. He wondered what his dead ancestors would think of his audacity to question the king. But was he the only one disappointed with him seeking advice from Bhils? Was the only one who thought scorching the fertile land so that the enemy starved a dreadful sin for the future of the land? He sat down on the rock and ate silently. In two days, they were to travel to all the villages that fell on the pathway from Kumbhalgarh to Udaipur and let every farmer know that they were supposed to follow royal orders and scorch their fertile lands this season. They were supposed to do well with what was in store at the granary and not sell their crops. For the sake of the motherland. The soldier expected resistance, protest and even anger. It would all be justified, but his job was to follow royal orders even if he thought them to be wrong. His job was to force the commoners to obey the lords of the land. The older man straightened himself as he cleaned up in the water of the stream and walked up to the young man, lost in his thoughts.
“Have you heard stories of Guha being aided by the Bhils?” The old man placed his hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “How, after he was saved from the war, the Bhils had helped him take back the throne of Mewar?”
“I also heard of his son being killed by the Bhils.” The soldier shook his head, “Can they be trusted?”
“Nagaditya attacked them and wanted to make them bow to him. For centuries, the Bhils had their own set of rules in the forest and their own leader. Nagaditya was not happy with that. But then you see, how Bappa Rawal was coronated by the Bhil leader himself?” The old man smiled. “You need to trust the king we chose more. Know that he is not following the Bhil Punja’s words blindly but has a mind of his own?”
“But what good would killing crops do?” The soldier looked sceptical. Back home in the village, he had grown up among farmers. Some of his old friends were farmers. The thought of destroying their lands and starving with their families haunted him.
“Everyone needs to do their bit for the sake of the motherland. We need to free Chittorgarh. Have we not sacrificed our family life, peace and stability too?” The old man eyed his lance. “I can see that your weapon is a family heirloom. Your family has been sacrificing for the motherland for years.”
“Yes, we choose to but the farmers and their families…” He closed his eyes and shook his head firmly. The old man smiled faintly.
“Tell me what is better: starving and surviving a season or being plundered and violated by enemies?” His words made the soldier look up at the man, horrified.
“When Man Singh’s army makes its way through these paths to attack us, they will not leave any village or granary alone. They will loot them all for their ration and kill innocent people who resist, take women along and…” The old man sighed. “You are yet to see the harsh realities of war.”
“And not farming the land will help? How?” The soldier looked confused.
“From what I can understand, the order says to move to safety, abandon the villages and lands, and place thorn bushes on the way to Kumbhalgarh. That would slow them down. This is our land. Not theirs. They have to make their way to us with difficulty. Running low on food and water would make their soldiers doubt themselves. Perhaps even question authority. Not getting to plunder villages, abandoned and empty, would frustrate them. It's a strategy.”
“People will die of starvation.” The soldier gasped. “Where will they go? Which part of the state is safe?”
“People will die no matter what. Be it war or starvation. It's what they choose, to either serve the motherland or betray it.” The old man’s jaws tightened. “For as long as I have known Mewar and its people, they would do anything to save the motherland.”
“Chacha, what if… we lose?” The soldier lowered his voice lest the others around him hear him. They would rather kill a doubtful seed than breed a future betrayal.
“What if we win?” The old man’s eyes sparkled. “We will drive them out once and for all, Mewar will be peaceful after such a long time… and most importantly… All those innocent people massacred and violated would be avenged.”
“Can… Rana Pratap do it?” The soldier’s eyes sparkled at the thought of his father’s soul finally getting liberated.
“If anyone can, it's him. Believe me.” The old man spoke. “From the outside, places like Marwar and Bundi may look more stable and economically benefited than us, but they do not have the free will to rule their own lands or call it their own. See how Man Singh is fighting someone else’s battles. Would you much rather not fight your own than be told to fight for a land and person not yours to defend?” The soldier nodded at his words firmly. One of the men said it was time to move again.
“Going to the fields is not safe for any of you.”
“Clear the granary, ration your food and move out to safer places.”
“The enemy is on their way. Save yourselves from loot and plunder.”
“Do not engage in any kind of confrontation and retaliation.”
The villagers were attracted by drumrolls and announcements. The scars of the siege, the invasion of the enemy on all major forts of the state and the aftermath of a massacre had deeply scarred the Mewaris. They were scared.
“Father, is it another war we will not survive?” Rajani, a teenager about to be married, asked her father, who looked troubled.
“How would I pay for your dowry if I do not yield the fields this season?” He looked worried as her mother wiped her tears.
“But we must follow what Ranaji told us to do.” The girl shook her head. “Motherland comes before us, doesn’t she?” The man nodded silently at his daughter. Perhaps she was naive, swept away in her emotions, to know the ground reality of rationing and destroying fertile land.
“Why would he order us to do something like that?” her mother gasped. “The Rawat’s wife has said anyone who doesn’t follow protocol will be punished.”
“It is perhaps not that important.” The farmer wondered. “We must move at once to your sister’s place near Bundi and come back when the war is over.”
“What if we do not come back?” The wife asked. “They have fields there. We can work in their fields and…” The man gasped audibly.
“Leave our land and people in their worst times?” The farmer shook his head. “Where is your loyalty?”
“Would you prefer dying of starvation or being killed by sudden enemy attacks?” the wife asked. The farmer had a faint smile on the edge of his lips. “We are sacrificing today so that we don’t see that day tomorrow. Do you not understand?”
Villagers had gathered in a secluded part of the fort, which was now their home till the war. Soldiers guarded the walls and the makeshift camp of the villagers as the people of the fort welcomed them with food and aid. But the state had ordered the rationing of food. That meant not having extra meals, not distinguishing between the meals of a poor farmer and the overlord. Unfortunately, reality was different. The money-lending businessmen, the family of the chieftain, had all stocked food in their private homes. They still held feasts and made merry before the war, as the villagers stood in line and ate a roti per day. The farmers were losing patience. Anger was seeping into their veins. They did not understand why this needed to be done, when their misery would end or when they could go back home. They heard the Rana and his family had abandoned the capital at Kumbhalgarh. They wondered if the Rana was abandoning them, just the way his father did in Chittor. They were wondering when the war would happen. Every day as the soldiers walked out of the fort and came back from vigilance in the evening, with no report of enemy movement, the fort would be shrouded in doubt. What were they doing for the past two months?
“How can the soldiers and the king stop us from ploughing our land?” One of the men looked irked. There was a council of men, holding secret meetings and discussing an uncertain future, away from the prying eyes of the soldiers.
“My land is just outside the fort walls, and they are not allowing me in.” Another rebuked. “You think they will allow you to go back to your village?”
“We are prisoners in our own homes.” Another agreed. “Would bowing to the Timurid not be better?” The room fell silent as he looked around at the lack of support for his statement. He quickly cleared his throat. “I meant we are not free either way.”
“But even Ranaji had to leave his home.” Another man reasoned. “I heard his family is in the forestland, travelling in disguise too.”
“That worries me more. Remember the last time our king abandoned a fort?” A farmer asked.
“But he is different from his father. If not for him, we would have lost badly to Shams Khan, and not been able to save our grace at Dungarpur or Marwar…”
“Maybe he is a better person than his father was. But… do any of us know what is truly happening out there?” Another asked.
“All I know is that I have the right to plough my field. The soldiers can suggest safety measures, but they can’t stop me from working in my field. It's my right. And destroying the fertile land with scorching?” He gasped. “Do they even know how long it takes to make a land fertile here?”
“What do you suggest?” They turned to an older man.
“We can… try to not obey the orders.” One of the men suggested to the old man. “What will they do? Kill us?”
The courtroom was being held in a cave near Loh Karan. It had a narrow entrance camouflaged carefully by shrubs and bushes. Inside, there was a big space, enough for the Rana to sit with his chieftains and make plans. The Bhils stood guard over the cliff, and any sign of movement without a Mewari flag was alerted by animal sounds. The soldier rushed in, interrupting a meeting, as he bowed to the Rana.
“There are a few soldiers with a prisoner, making their way uphill.”
“Are you sure they are ours?” The crown prince asked. The man nodded. “I saw the flag, Hukum, and also the insignia on the man’s armour. The doubtful prince nodded.
“Bring them near the Banyan tree outside.” He said before his father could. “We can’t risk exposing the hideout to anyone.” He eyed his father for approval.
The farmer was on his knees, chained and bruised. He had been caught by Mewari soldiers in vigil under disguise when he tried to plough his field at dawn. When asked, he insisted he had the right to do that. He was defying the orders of the Rana, and soon there would be many more like him who would rebel. The soldiers were alarmed at his words. Clearly, the man knew more than he was letting on. He was chained and taken prisoner inside the fort. The soldiers tried to torture information out of him. All he said was that he was not alone who thought of this idea of disobeying the Rana. The soldiers tried to reason with him that they would let him go if he could make the others understand the greater cause. The man refused stubbornly. So the Senapati ordered him to be taken to the king. He could decide the punishment for disobeying his orders.
The man looked up as a group of men appeared before him. They all appeared to be dressed like chieftains, and he could not understand why he was here. One of the men took a seat under the Banyan tree as the others stood around him. His thick moustache, broad shoulders and round eyes sparkling made the farmer realise he was indeed the Rana. The man he had only heard about. He dressed like his men. He could not tell them apart. Maybe a soldier could be by the way he wore the Royal Turban or insignia or carried the sword of Bappa Rawal or the Staff of Mewar. The man folded his hands in prayer. “Please, I swear on Eklingji.” He said. “I will not disobey the orders again. Let me go.”
The king appeared somewhat disturbed by his crying or perhaps by his frail appearance. He looked up at the soldier, who bowed and told him what had transpired. The chieftains were angry.
“How dare you disobey our king and try to rebel when Mewar is on the verge of a war?” Someone rebuked him.
“The audacity to ask for mercy after rebelling.” Another spoke. “Do you know the consequences of your actions?”
“Mewar cannot afford an internal rebellion because of fools like you who refuse to understand the situation.”
The king raised his hand, in a gesture that made them stop. His jaws tightened. The man before him was not just a farmer ploughing his rightful land. He was a traitor. He could very well be a spy of the enemy. He could very well help Man Singh. Nothing and nobody was above scrutiny.
“Do you know what will happen if you continue ploughing the fields?” His baritone made the man look up only briefly to see the king visibly angry. “Answer me.”
“I… Hukum… I…”
“They would take your field, plunder the fort you put at risk by sneaking outside it, abuse your children, take your women and kill you.” He was not mincing his words. “If you do not believe me, which you have the right to, ask them.” He indicated to the soldiers. “Ask what happened in Chittorgarh.”
The man fell on the ground, his face hitting the dusty yellow soil that smelled parched due to lack of rain in the area.
“This needs to be a lesson for the people.” Rawat Krishna Das suggested. “If they don’t understand why we ordered them to follow the protocol, they might as well fear our orders enough not to deceive us,” he suggested. The chiefs agreed. The crown prince stared at his father’s unreadable face. He continued to stare at the man pleading before him, tears streaming down his cheek.
“Execute him.” The crown prince stared in disbelief at his father’s order. “Make it a public event so that the villagers get the message that we will not spare any betrayals.”
“Please, My Lord. I beg you for my life. I have an ailing mother at home, please.” The courtiers watched the man being dragged away. An awkward silence filled the place briefly as the Banyan tree rustled and its aerial roots swayed. Rana Pratap was awfully quiet, and that prompted the courtiers to leave him alone.
The villagers woke up to the screams of a man being whipped in chains as he was led down the main road of the fort through the marketplace to the public execution point. People gasped and shuddered as the soldier read out his sentence.
“When Mewar is at war, and our security is at stake, every betrayal will be considered as Raj Droh and punished accordingly. If anyone dares to disobey the order of the king, this will be his end. May his case be a warning to all citizens of Mewar.”
“I am scared, Daata.” The girl hid her face in horror in the crowd as his father sighed. “The stakes are that high, my child.” His voice drowned as the crowd cheered the execution of a traitor.
In the valley of Avadgarh, where the grey clouds had accumulated as a sign of the coming monsoon, she stood on the Jharokha looking over the vast, endless forestland of the Aravallis in a soothing green hue before her eyes. The shadow of the hills in the distance looked blue, almost one with the sky. She sighed as she tried to do away with the overwhelming feeling of restlessness. Something was not right. The silence from the other side was unsettling. Her mind was shrouded with all kinds of possibilities. That was when she saw the dust unsettled in the pathway leading up to the humble gateways of the fort. It was a messenger holding the sun disk flag of the land. It must be his letter. She called the maid-in-waiting and asked her to bring news from the messenger who had arrived at the gateway. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the maid arrived at her threshold, bowing, with a scroll sealed with his insignia in her trembling hand.
“What does it say?” She asked, in a voice of authority as she assumed the chieftain in charge of the fort, or perhaps her stepson Chand would have already read it. The maid shook her head. “It is addressed to you, Maharanisa.” Her heart skipped a beat. Was it bad news he could not share with anyone else yet? Maharani Ajabdeh Punwar tried hard so that her hand did not tremble as she took the scroll and dismissed the maid.
“I do not know how to share my guilt, Ajabdeh. Whom do I share my flaws with if not you? How do I accept it when people reassure me that my sins are excused for the sake of the greater good of the motherland? How do I tell you I cannot sleep at night because the thought of what I did haunts me?” She narrowed her brows at the letter. What was he talking about? “I did what I never imagined I would do, Ajabdeh, I killed a Mewari man. An innocent farmer, nonetheless.” She gasped audibly, unable to believe the words he had written. “Just because he was not following my orders.” She shook her head. He must be over exaggerating something. It was unlike him to punish an innocent man. “I, who once dared not follow my father’s orders when he was Rana, and expected to be understood for my freedom of thought, decided to execute a man for his. Am I so crippled with fear of consequences that I can trust not my kin, not my people and subjects or anyone for that matter? Will a day come when I would not trust Amar or you? Or perhaps this is a mirror Shree Eklingnathji is showing me, to remind me that I do not trust myself. I do not trust my abilities to save Mewar after what happened to our subjects at Chittor, or perhaps I, their king and father, with so many responsibilities of their safety and future in my hand, am perhaps incapable, like my father or perhaps selfish for my own needs? I do not know how not to feel guilty, Ajabdeh. He said his mother was ailing, and I still executed the man. I instilled a fear of approach in my subjects.
I went out riding yesterday with Amar and Chundawatji. We went past the abandoned villages nearby. They feel like homes waiting for their family to come by any moment now. People have left behind their roots, shelters, savings and memories of a lifetime for us. They trust us with their everything, Ajabdeh. I felt overwhelmed. As we approached a fort to see if the ration was being used wisely, everyone came out in the main street and bowed. Ajabdeh, I can’t explain to you how, for the first time, I felt fear in their eyes instead of love and respect for me. I know any good king would say fear of authority is needed, and a good sign that I have things in control. But Ajabdeh, I felt distanced from my people. I felt compelled to do things I do not agree with for the sake of Mewar. Only if they understood why we need to make Mewar unlivable and undesirable for the enemies. Bhil Punja was right. They needed to be driven out not only by war and weapons but also by strategy and the nature of our gifted motherland. But why do I feel this way, Ajabdeh? I feel torn between my heart and mind for quite some time now. I miss asking for your reassurance and advice. Be safe and keep the women and children informed. Some movement has been seen around Gogunda a day or two ago. They may be nearer than we anticipated. Do not write back, for I have moved from the place from where I sent the messenger your way.”
The Maharani wiped away her tears, and a faint smile appeared on the edge of her lips. She was restless because of him. She wiped away the teardrops that had blurred her vision and looked up at the threshold where Pur Bai stood with bated breath for news.
“There has been some movement, so he asked us to be alert.” She managed as the queen sighed and rushed to inform the other queens and children. Ajabdeh eyed the letter once again, wondering, when she read the Veer Gatha of the great kings and warriors, queens and veeranganas as a child, mesmerised by their bravery, she never knew the other side of it all, the cost of it. She did not know him yet. She lit the lamp quietly in the Triyambakeshwar temple premises in the evening and sat down, hands folded in prayer.
“My Lord, I have prayed all my life to you, and you listened. You listened when I told you to keep him safe. You listened when I said let Daata not suffer in death. You listened when I wanted Amar to be safe. You heard all my prayers, and today I kneel in front of you, hands folded in a prayer bigger than them all. Give him the faith to fight his battles, and me the hope to be his strength. May those who come after us see not only his stern decree and command in the darkest hours of Mewar, but also understand the necessity of the harshness born out of the unavoidable war. If he has ever sinned unbefitting a king, let me carry his burden of punishment; but spare Ranaji, Mewar and its people the burden of its consequences.” She prayed. “Jai Eklingji.”
