Cuckold

by Kiran Nagarkar

  We are face to face finally. He embraced me briefly and awkwardly; I was going to say reluctantly, but that would be incorrect. Awkwardness is what binds father and son together. For I am perhaps even more ill at ease with him than he is with me. I love him dearly and don’t know how to express it and so make all kinds of wisecracks about him to myself. I give him a short, succinct account of the major actions I have taken and the events which have overtaken me since his absence. I do not stint on the unpleasant bits, neither do I wallow in them. He listens impassively, but not irritably or with hostility. At the end of it I am none the wiser. I hope he is. Does he approve, disapprove or is he indifferent? Did I behave and act responsibly? How would he have responded had he been in my situation? What now? I need to have an answer to these and a few million other questions urgently, desperately. I know he’ll not let on, now or ever. He doesn’t disappoint me. What about Vikramaditya, what are his plans for him? Here, too, I can guess his game plan. He’ll play his cards close to his chest and I’ll know his mind and his moves only when the rest of Mewar discovers them.

  ‘We have been away for months on this campaign. On a couple of occasions we’ve given the Gujarat forces a drubbing. To what effect? Muzaffar Shah has changed the command of his armies from one general to another and our son-in-law, Rao Raimul’s morale has certainly taken a turn for the better. That’s about it. We can’t stay here forever. Neither can we post our armies here permanently. I want a decision. You are the one who has new ideas. Give us a decisive victory, son. Let Idar revert to its rightful owner and let us move on to other pressing matters.’

  I did not speak. ‘I like the work you have been doing on our water and sewer systems. I’ll go back and study the plans and then together, you and I will take a decision. So you have reservations about a decisive victory?’ I should have known better. He had diverted my attention only to get me into a corner. I had not uttered a word but he had interpreted my silence rightly. There was no point mincing matters now.

  ‘May I speak frankly, Father?’

  ‘Better be blunt now than when it’s too late to retrieve the situation.’

  ‘If you want to get a decision on Idar, you’ll have to take Gujarat first, Father.’

  ‘You mean take on Gujarat?’

  ‘No, Father. I said what I meant. We have been taking on Gujarat for years. And where’s it got us?’

  ‘You are serious about this, aren’t you?’ He was not posing that as a question.

  ‘I am not proposing that we attack Gujarat. I am merely clarifying the precondition for getting Idar for good.’

  ‘Supposing I agree with you, what would you propose?’

  ‘I would suggest we do our homework carefully. I’m taking it for granted for the time being that whatever the costs, we’ll win against Gujarat. But is Gujarat worth the trouble, expense and the death-count? Or, all things considered would it be less expensive, less trouble and far more profitable to attack the Delhi Sultanate which is in an advanced state of decay and decadence? Or are we missing something south and south-west of us? I am, as you are aware, talking of our other neighbour in Malwa, Mahmud Khalji. Muzaffar Shah of Gujarat is a strong, active and dynamic ruler. Mahmud Khalji is weak and vacillating and possessed of little beyond personal bravery. Besides, we could exploit his troubles with his Prime Minister, Medini Rai.’

  ‘And you think the time is ripe to strike?’

  ‘No, Father. It’s time to plan and form a strong and indivisible confederacy of Rajput and other like-minded interests under your leadership. The only reason the Sultan of Gujarat has not fought with and annexed Malwa is because it’s a Muslim kingdom. If we attempt to take Malwa, we must move with care and yet suddenly. We don’t want Gujarat joining hands with Malwa.’

  ‘I had forgotten how deep still waters run, son. I had not realized that your ambition had taken the form of such clear long-term planning.’

  ‘We are kings before we are warriors. Which is why it is our task to have a vision first. And then a policy to translate that vision into reality. Whatever ambitions I have, Your Majesty, are for Mewar.’

  Did he believe me?

  ‘Take back Idar. Talk to me when you return. You’ll have plenty of time to consider the various options and make your recommendations then.’ He rose and the brief meeting was at an end. I bent down and touched his feet. His hand brushed my head and in an uncharacteristic gesture, ruffled my hair. ‘May the blessings of Lord Eklingji be upon you.’

  ‘Is there anything special you wish me to bear in mind about the Gujarat army?’

  ‘The key to it is their commander, Malik Ayaz. He’s a Russian by birth and was taken into slavery by the Turks. Eventually he became the ward of a merchant who presented him to Muzaffar Shah’s grandfather, I think. He’s bright, ambitious and has a chip on his shoulder. He has had to work twice, if not thrice as hard to move up from being a slave to a free man and then to his current position as one of the most trusted generals of the Gujarat Sultan. He has more at stake than any other general in Gujarat, or Mewar for that matter. He needs to prove himself and the rightness of Sultan Muzaffar’s choice of him. The other generals look down upon him and would be only too happy to see him fall and may even help to trip him. Somewhat overeager, he has the recent convert’s excessive zealousness. A good commander.’

  Father is laconic beyond words. He would literally eschew words if he could. He had said more to me today than he had spoken in all these years put together. He has a knack of zeroing in on the pivotal issue in any discussion. Having thrown a brief beam of light on a subject, it is his policy to withdraw.

  There was one more occasion when we met. It was the march-past on the morning he left. He and I together took the salute and then he officially handed over charge of the command to me. The minor and major raos and rajas and rawals including my brother-in-law Raimul, the Rao of Idar, were all gathered at the farewell breakfast. Father was about to bite into a samosa when he lowered it. It was one of his quaint or deliberate quirks, no one knew which, that everybody was familiar with. It suggested in the most polite and indirect of ways that he had something on his mind and it might be well worth everybody’s time and effort to listen carefully to him.

  ‘Almost everybody here,’ he said in his hoarse whisper, ‘is older and wiser than my son. You have seen more monsoons and seasons, more wars and have far more experience than him. All this will be invaluable to him. I advise him to make use of these resources. I have one thought to share about him with you and then I’ll leave. Don’t go by his years. You are in good hands. Jai Eklingji.’

  * * *

  I spent the day conferring with the elders and the heads of state whose advice Father had asked me to take. Some I was meeting for the first time, others I knew well from childhood or had worked under on other campaigns. But I was the commander-in-chief now and like the Gujarat commander, Malik Ayaz, I too had to prove myself twice over. I introduced them to my Bhil friend, King Puraji Kika and to my cousin, Tej. Bringing Tej along with me was a politic move. As Rajendra’s brother, his presence did not fail to impress them. But both Puraji and I knew that he was my biggest gamble. It was not his loyalty to Mewar that was in doubt, his opinion of me was. He thought I was a coward and a blackguard. We had a little under fifty thousand cavalry and infantry with us. Rao Ganga of Jodhpur had brought a contingent of seven thousand and my wife’s uncle, Rao Viramdev of Merta, one of Father’s closest associates, had come at the head of five thousand. Rawal Udai Simha of the state of Dungarpur and Ashwin Simha, the ruler of Banswara were both fighting under Mewar’s standard with small armies of their own. Even without the hundred-odd elephants, we were not an unimpressive force and were well matched with the Gujarat troops which according to Rao Viramdeo were in the region of sixty thousand.

  Malik Ayaz had four deputies under him, all of them seasoned commanders who had fought our armies on several occasions. I asked Rao Ganga if he could compile detailed profiles of them, along with Mal
ik Ayaz’s, especially their previous battles and the strategies they had used. He was not sure what purpose they would serve but he was willing to oblige me.

  ‘How many Mussalmans in our armies?’

  ‘Under seven hundred, not counting the fifty you brought with you,’ Rao Viramdev informed me. ‘They are good fighters and loyal to us, I assure you.’

  ‘That is not the reason for my question. Is it possible to augment their numbers without compromising our security and safety?’

  ‘How many would you want?’

  ‘Five thousand would be a good number. For the time being two thousand will do.’

  ‘We are better off without them.’ That was Tej’s first remark of the session.

  ‘If I could, I would get Adinathji’s Jains to fight with us. Fortunately our Muslim citizens are not pacifists. They’ll only be too happy to do their bit for their country.’ Tej could barely conceal his contempt for me. ‘But there is another reason. We would like to avoid, if possible, Malik Ayaz or his sovereign, Muzaffar Shah converting this war into a jehad against the infidels. They may do it regardless, but it will be difficult to sustain their case if we had a substantial number of Muslims fighting on our side.’

  As a matter of fact, I, too, had my doubts. Was having more Muslims in our forces really going to scotch the fanatical and incredibly effective appeal of Muzaffar Shah or any Muslim potentate to go after the kafir? I had spent sleepless nights in the past wondering how to combat such a potent call to arms. The truth is, I know of nothing in our scriptures which could compare with the motivation and power of Islam. We, too, could and do fight holy wars but there’s no mechanism for conversion in our religion. The urge to convert is, definitely, one of the driving forces of Islam.

  Our greatest call to war is the Bhagavad Gita. And what does the Gita say? Fight the war or perform the duties of your vocation, whatever they may be, but without thinking of the fruits and consequences of your actions. Compare this with what Islam codifies and spells out in the most precise and factual manner. If you die fighting for your God, you go directly to heaven where houris and other vividly-described indescribable pleasures await you.

  What is the afterlife the Gita offers? For the great mass of us unenlightened souls, there’s nothing but an endless cycle of reincarnation. Unless we deliver certainties in the afterlife and be specific about the preternatural joys which await those who fulfil their duties, I doubt if we will be able to match a Muslim’s zeal or commitment. It is a wonder then that Hindus win as many wars as they do.

  I sent for Shafi Khan, our Muslim strategist from the military academy. He entered hesitantly. His first encounter with me had not gone well and it was obviously still on his mind. He did adaab to me, then to the rest of the Council and stood wondering how he had fallen foul of me now. I pulled out my sword suddenly. The sound of unsheathing would have jangled a dead man’s nerves. I pointed the sword at Shafi Khan and switched it from hand to hand.

  ‘We plan to kill you now, Shafi,’ I said softly to him. ‘How would you run?’

  ‘For what offence, sire?’ He was shaking.

  ‘Because I don’t like your face.’ I raised the sword. ‘Answer me.’

  ‘You expect me to retreat and leave by the regular parting in the shamiana from where I came in,’ he was on to the game I was playing. ‘Instead I’ll run to my right, kill Rawal Udai Simha and Tej Simha if they come in my way, but only if they force me to. I’ll then tear open the side of the tent and flee.’

  ‘Why not to your left?’

  ‘It would be risky to take on Rao Viramdev and Rao Ganga.’

  ‘And you think I’ll be easy to get rid of?’ Tej was incensed. ‘Try me.’

  ‘You have a bad temper. I’m counting on it to help you make mistakes. As to Rawal Udai Simha, I would never venture against him when he’s on horseback. Standing, he has a wooden leg. It’s a weakness I’ll exploit to my advantage.’

  ‘How far has your treatise on the science of retreat come, Shafi Khan?’

  ‘Halfway, Maharaj Kumar.’

  I needed to enlighten my companions about our private conversation.

  ‘Shafi Khan has spent the last fifteen years studying and innovating war strategies. I believe Father used one of them in the last battle he fought here. I have set a different task for Shafi Khan. To work out strategies of retreat.’

  Rao Viramdev was, as almost always, the first to get my drift. ‘That makes a lot of sense. We lose more men while falling back than while fighting.’

  ‘Extend your right thumb, Shafi Khan.’ I passed the blade of my sword over it. I dipped my thumb in the large bead of blood that had welled up and put a red tilak on his forehead and then on mine. ‘I hereby appoint you member of the War Council for this campaign. Do you, Shafi Khan, on pain of death, swear to total secrecy and allegiance to the kingdom of Mewar and none other?’

  ‘I do, your Highness.’

  After lunch Raja Puraji Kika, Tej, Shafi Khan and I went with Rao Raimul to get a feel of the lay of the land. We were about seventy miles north-west of Idar. While it was mostly hilly, some of it was densely wooded. The ground rose and fell steeply. One last treacherous dip in the land and we were on a plain that stretched for a couple of miles to the north.

  ‘What’s at the edge of the flatland?’ I asked Rao Raimul.

  ‘Valleys, hills and forests. To the west, the country is mostly deceptive quagmires and marshes. They are a legacy of the earthquake which churned up and displaced the inland seas three years ago.’

  ‘Let’s go west and then skirt around the sands.’

  The Rao and I rode ahead. Puraji Kika and the other two followed.

  ‘You don’t think Idar is worth fighting for, I believe,’ my brother-in-law, the displaced Rao of Idar said bitterly. ‘When do you plan to abandon the pretense and give up on Idar?’

  ‘The trouble with appointing stupid spies to do a job, Rao Raimul, is not that they misinform you but that you trust them.’ I was curt and cutting with the Rao. ‘So that’s what made you sulky and silent this morning. If you were not married to my sister and if this war wasn’t being fought on your behalf, I would have you suspended from the War Council for eavesdropping on His Majesty. What I said to the Rana is none of your concern but I will tell you what the Rana said to me in the hope that you may behave a little more responsibly. He said, “Win Idar and then come back”.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Maharaj Kumar. I beg you not to hold it against me. You know how much I respect you. I would never do anything to upset you. I’ll sack that spy as soon as I return. I’ll have him whipped for slandering you.’

  ‘Restrain yourself, Rao Raimul. Your apologies are worse than your accusations against me. And before you whip your eavesdropper, ask yourself who gave him the assignment.’

  I slowed down and waited for the others to join us. I did not wish to hear any more of the Rao’s talk. The hills and valleys proved to be almost a replica of the land we had traversed when we started out. We changed course quickly and rode towards the quagmires. They stretched for at least a mile and a half and, but for the Rao’s warnings, we would have blithely entered them. Raja Puraji Kika and I dragged a heavy branch weighing as much as a normal man and threw it as far in as we could. It fell about eight feet from us. In a few moments, it had been sucked out of sight.

  The next morning, I rode before sunrise to the tallest hillock nearby to get a panoramic view of the bits and pieces we had seen yesterday. For ten minutes the sealed ball of the night would not let in the light except at the razor-thin line of the horizon. Then the sun broke through and flooded the undulating land. Violet and purple were the colours of the sun’s waters and they rose in the sky in alternate bands. Soon the waters had commingled and deep red wine lapped at the edge of the earth. I looked to my right. Malik Ayaz’s armies were falling into place on the plain. Oh, what a sight it is to see a disciplined army do its work with precision. Malik Ayaz, you didn’t waste any time. The only way
to greet the enemy is to catch him napping. I swept down into our camp and asked Mangal to have the leaders of the War Council in my tent in five minutes. What would have happened if I had not been atop that knoll this morning? I’m not talking about a stationary and unprepared army being an easy target for a massacre. Quite the contrary. My question is very different: what if we had not turned up to face the Gujarat armies? Would Malik Ayaz have waited four hours and then gone back in disgust? Would he have advanced? Would he have sent a message to us asking us whether we planned to join him in battle? Would he have assumed that Gujarat had won an unconditional victory? Would he have been confused and irritable and his armies bored and hungry and dispirited after a pointless wait? What is the secret and unspoken covenant between warring armies? It’s not as if they have decided to meet at an appointed time like trysting lovers or duelists meeting to settle matters of personal honour. Who decides the time? Why do both armies range themselves against each other? What if one or both of them decided they don’t want to fight that day because the general has got a cold or because the niece of one of the soldiers has eloped with a brigand and she needs to be brought back and brought to her senses? What if one of the parties does not care for the site or the angle of the sun in their eyes? Why do we feel honour-bound to fight that very day at that very time? What would have been the outcome of the great decisive wars if one of the armies had stayed put in its camp or chosen to wait at a different site of its own choosing?