Cuckold

by Kiran Nagarkar

  Rao Viramdev, Rao Ganga, Rao Udai Simha, Raja Puraji Kika are old hands and so are their troops. They know the tricks of the trade and they don’t get fazed easily. They have seen too many wars and there’s not much that surprises them. Perhaps our Rajput ancestors knew a thing or two about fighting the Afghan hordes who came down the Hindukush mountain passes which other Hindu rajas didn’t. Their antidote to the Muslim passion for jehad was to glorify death in war to the point where any other mode of dying was a lesser form of life and close to dishonourable.

  We fought well, all fifty thousand of our warriors. But on the enemy’s terms. By noon we had lost seven hundred and fifty men.

  It was then that I took the fateful decision which has put all the raos and the elders in such a dudgeon with me and earned me the obloquy of all our armed forces. Rao Viramdev refuses to speak to me while Rao Udai Simha can scarce restrain his contumely. Raja Puraji Kika tells me that the budding poets in the army are busy composing limericks about the cuckold and coward.

  I guess my first act and crime set the tone for what followed. I was not at the head of the troops at the outset and I did not lead the first charge. I wanted to but what I wanted more was to get a feel for how the different contingents from Mewar and its protectorates worked together and to observe Malik Ayaz’s game plan from some elevated place. The right time to have done this was halfway through the battle but that, as any urchin in the streets of Chittor will tell you, is inconceivable. The troops think you are mortally wounded if you disappear and there’s chaos and pandemonium leading, more often than not, to a rout. God knows I was unsure of myself but I decided to take my chances and I informed the War Council of my intentions. They were not pleased. They distrusted my new-fangled ideas. I was showing off, they didn’t say that, but implied it. This one time, however, they were willing to indulge me. Except for Raja Puraji Kika. ‘Don’t do it, Highness,’ he told me in front of the entire Council.

  Malik Ayaz, I discovered from my position on the hill, had arranged his armies with precision following proven classical strategies. He had chosen his ground well, so that the sun was behind his troops and straight in the eyes of our army. He was a meticulous man, yet not conservative as he had shown by his wily move to engage us on the heels of Father’s departure and while we were still getting our bearings. A man to respect and not take chances with. His elephant was tucked in an inconspicuous place and there was a clutch of twenty dispatch riders waiting at his side. They brought him news from the different divisions and he sent instructions to them as the battle progressed and the patterns of attack and defence changed.

  We were at the height of the melee now, two battering rams trying to crack the other’s defences. It looked like a deadlock, neither side willing to give an inch. If only we could continue to hold our ground, we could, in time, neutralize the Gujarat army’s advantage. But I knew even then that I was fantasizing. Mewar, Merta, Jodhpur, Banswara, Dungarpur were all putting up a terrific front but they were pulling in different directions because we were not one army but many different units ranged on the same side. True, we were united by common sympathies and loyalties. But when did sympathy win a war? I knew what my first task was going to be when we were through with this engagement. It would take months, perhaps years, but we had to forge our various forces into one great fighting machine whose actions were as cohesive and single-minded as its intentions.

  We were disintegrating imperceptibly like a sand wall. It was curious, now that the cracks were widening, the different divisions were no longer even pretending to be a single army. I raced downhill. The chances of my being able to stop the damage and reverse the tide were remote but I was going to give it a good try. I got hold of Raja Puraji Kika and told him to ask his forces to chant ‘Jai Maharaj Kumar’ vociferously so that our armies would know that I was in their midst. The cry was taken up none too enthusiastically and I could see in the distance soldiers standing in their stirrups to get a glimpse of their prince. I raised my sword and whirled it over my head and was about to yell ‘Jai Mewar’ when I realized that it was not just the Mewar armies which I was leading and changed my call to ‘Jai Rana Sanga’. That got a good response. I repeated Father’s name like a mantra. It seemed to revive everybody. The people around me were charged up now and we managed to break through the enemy’s ranks. We kept up the pressure and penetrated deeper and deeper. But our progress, it turned out, was not echoed in other sections. What we had on our hands was a disaster: a comparatively small band of Rajputs forming an island in an ocean of the Gujarat army. We suffered heavy losses all round and I got a few nicks and slashes, one of them rather deep to prove that I was my father’s son. I decided to call it a day.

  * * *

  We raised the white flag and sent Raja Puraji Kika with a brief message to Malik Ayaz:

  ‘To the Honourable Malik Ayaz, General of the Gujarat Forces.

  Greetings. His Highness, the Maharaj Kumar is seriously injured and wishes to sue for peace. Could he discuss the terms and conditions of surrender as soon as he has recovered?

  Yours truly, Raja Puraji Kika for H.H. Maharaj Kumar of Mewar.’

  Raja Puraji Kika had to do the honours because Rao Viramdev refused to put his signature to such a shameful document. He along with every commander, officer and soldier in our army felt that we could have fought at least another hour, if not two. It was true that our casualties were high but there was no need to panic. You never could tell, we might have yet turned the tables on Malik Ayaz and his hordes. At least, we would have proved our mettle. This was the first battle the troops were fighting under the Maharaj Kumar’s command. What kind of signal was the Rana’s eldest son sending to our armies and, more importantly, to the enemy? Who would ever take the Mewar armies seriously again? The Rana had spent a lifetime building a reputation which was the envy and awe of the most powerful kingdoms in the country. And now, with one thoughtless gesture, the heir apparent had brought down this carefully wrought edifice of determination and deterrence. Incidentally, the wounds the Maharaj Kumar had suffered were substantial but not really serious. And which territories was the Maharaj Kumar planning to cede to Gujarat as the price of peace?

  ‘Don’t go by his years’, Father had recommended me to our senior commanders in those cryptic words. They were coming true. I was proving to be as dependable as a flighty teenager. Flighty indeed, what an apt word. But neither Rao Viramdev nor his fellow-chieftains were in the mood for word play. By now, I had troubles coming to a boil in so many pots, I was having problems deciding which one to look into first. My brother-in-law, the insufferable Rao Raimul whose candidature Father must support for dubious reasons of policy and whose marriage into the family he must regret every time he thought of my poor sister, was busy canvassing support from heads of minor principalities, divisional commanders and the common soldiers for a petition to His Majesty informing him of my disgraceful conduct and asking him to replace me with Rao Viramdev.

  ‘Should I stop the rot, Prince,’ Raja Puraji asked me, ‘before he incites the army to mutiny?’

  ‘No, not at all. I’m interested in knowing how far he succeeds in his mission. That way we’ll get a good idea of the extent of the displeasure of our soldiery and how far it is willing to go. Keep a close eye on him, nevertheless. When the courier leaves with the letter tonight, I want him intercepted and relieved of it. Take the man into custody but make sure that no one learns of it.’

  ‘What game are you playing Maharaj Kumar?’ My good old friend Raja Puraji Kika asked me with the first smile of the day.

  ‘No game, Raja. I am in deadly earnest…’

  There was no question of my saying more. I could hear Tej baying for me.

  ‘Maharaj Kumar, come out. I publicly accuse you of collusion with the enemy and challenge you to a fight to the death. Let me warn all those assembled here that the Maharaj Kumar is about to hand over Idar and a great big chunk of Mewar to Muzaffar Shah. What pact have you made with Prince Bahadur
and his father to gain the throne of Mewar for yourself? You may as well confess for I will not let you leave except on a bier.’

  What now? Must I spill my cousin’s blood or be killed by a crazed young bull who could not accept the loss of his brother nor let go of the man who had prevented him from taking vengeance? What would you have me do, Lord Eklingji? Will you not still the torment of this young man and make him understand that he is twice as dear to me now that his brother is no more?

  ‘Come out, traitor. Or I’ll set your tent on fire and you’ll never walk out alive.’

  So be it. But by then he had already thrown the lit torch at the sloping roof of Father’s tent where I was staying. By the time Raja Puraji Kika and I had rescued the most important documents and run out, the fire was raging. Fortunately, it was a windless day and the rest of the tents were pitched at a distance from Father’s so the fire would not spread easily.

  Tej who was clearly impressed by his own handiwork, laughed theatrically and brandished his sword in the air.

  ‘See how the rats leave a sinking ship.’ I was not quite sure of the implications of his maritime imagery but I went across and spoke to him peremptorily. ‘Tej, hold these records for me.’ He stretched out his hands almost as a reflex action to pick up the pile of documents. The papers were in his hands, my knee had rammed his crotch and I hit him hard in the face. Tej was in a state of shock, not so much from the impact of my blows, which were vicious enough, as by the dastardliness of my act. I pursued my advantage and did not give him a chance to recover. Before I knocked him senseless with a chop on the back of his neck, I whispered to him, ‘I need you alive, you fool – not as my enemy but as my friend and colleague.’ He was too drunk with the bashing he had received to comprehend my words. He rolled over. I could see that even if I had not risen in the estimation of my soldiers and my royal peers, I had certainly made a lasting impression on them. They were dumbstruck by how low I could stoop.

  ‘Lock him up,’ I said to no one in particular but at least seven troopers rushed forward to carry out my orders. ‘Rao Viramdev, may I retire to your quarters for a little rest?’

  ‘I’ll vacate them instantly, Your Highness,’ he said dryly.

  ‘I cannot avail of your hospitality if you are not there to receive me.’ I was not about to let the Rao fob me off with cold courtesy when I needed to spend some time with him.

  ‘I will not fail my duties as a host, Your Highness.’

  ‘That is kind of you. Mangal put up another tent for me and fetch me when it’s done.’

  The Rao’s quarters were spartan and severe. He sat stiffly, unable or unwilling to make conversation. I was alienating people with such breathtaking speed, I would soon not have a single friend in the country. How was I going to make headway with the campaign – I found it difficult to persuade myself that it had already begun – without the active cooperation of leaders like Rao Viramdev?

  ‘I know that I haven’t done much so far to inspire your confidence but will you, in the privacy of these walls, grant that there was not much to be gained by continuing the battle this afternoon except escalate the casualties on our side?’ The Rao looked uncomfortable and tried to clear his throat but I had no desire to put him on the spot. ‘All that’s so much water under the bridge. Will you be patient with me and my occasionally unorthodox ways for a short while?’

  ‘I cannot answer your question unless I know what you have in mind.’

  ‘I would be less than candid with you if I told you that I had a plan of action.’ I was of course being less than candid. Right now I did not want to be pinned down. ‘Will you give me time to get my bearings and find my way? All the leaders and the soldiery will take their cue from you. I would too. If you believe in me, they will. And so will I.’

  ‘You are asking for a lot, Maharaj Kumar, and all of it on blind faith.’

  ‘When a newcomer goes looking for a job, he’s almost invariably told that they are looking for a man with experience. To labour the obvious, how is he to get experience if no one gives him a job?’

  ‘I too want to believe in you, Maharaj Kumar. It looks as if we’ll have to invent you by an act of faith,’ he smiled for the first time. His smile made my day. It was a passing thing but it lit his face up and it warmed my heart. I wanted to rise in the estimation of this fine old stalwart. He liked me but I knew that respect was a more mature and stable basis for a professional relationship. ‘What’s next on the agenda, Prince?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I was thinking of holding horse-races tomorrow, Your Highness, for our cavalry.’

  ‘For all twenty-three thousand of our cavalry?’ There was no surprise in his voice. He merely wanted to get the details right. The act of faith was firmly in place. It was my turn to smile.

  That night Mangal intercepted my brother-in-law’s letter and brought it to me. Rao Raimul had been hard at work; three thousand soldiers had put their thumbprints to the letter. I was a coward, and an incompetent. I had stayed away from the scene of battle and just when the Mewar forces seemed to be in sight of victory, I had waved a white flag and sued for peace. I was now planning to hand over two of our most prosperous provinces and of course, Idar itself, to Gujarat. The P.S. mentioned that I had tricked the brave Tej who had fought the enemy so valiantly this morning and had, out of spite, attacked him violently and set his tent on fire. The letter ended with a fervent and urgent plea to Father to replace his bloton-the-fair-name-of-Mewar son lest he do further and permanent damage to the interests of the kingdom.

  ‘Do you think anyone in the enemy forces might be interested in this letter?’

  ‘Who knows,’ Mangal kept a straight face, ‘they just might.’

  ‘Will you arrange to auction it to the highest bidder?’

  ‘I could try but I can’t guarantee a sale.’

  We both laughed. ‘Don’t sell me short, Mangal. And make sure I get the money. If I am going to be slandered, I might as well make some hard cash out of it.’

  ‘What happens then?’

  ‘Nothing. In due time, Sultan Muzaffar Shah will get a copy of it and Father will come by the original.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to risk the letter falling into His Majesty’s hands? Those three thousand fingerprints are difficult to ignore.’

  ‘That’s a risk I’ll have to take. But I cannot deprive Malik Ayaz of it. It will bring him great joy.’

  There was a good deal of criticism and resistance to the idea of the competitions on the first day. But there was plenty of food during the day and drinks at night, not to mention professional nautanki plays, and soon everybody was having a good time.

  It took four days of round-the-clock racing for the results to come in. There was a terrific festive air in the camp now. It was almost like the annual competitions at Chittor. Swimming, wrestling, archery, night maneouvres, target-oriented spear-throwing during the day and singing and tall-tale telling contests at night. The only variation we introduced was in hand-to-hand combats. Riders and foot soldiers charged headlong towards straw-filled dummies and hacked them. Each soldier got one chance and no more to sever the backbone of the dummy. It looked easy but there was a tough, four inch-thick wet bamboo inside the dummy which gave even the veterans a hard time. The results of all the contests were tabulated and the winners got prizes. We now had a record of who were our fastest riders and who our strongest and most vicious killers.

  I stayed inside my new tent all those long, boisterous days and worked without pause. On the third day Malik Ayaz sent his emissary Liaquat Ali to enquire after my wounds and ask when we could meet to finalize the terms of the surrender. Liaquat Ali was kept waiting for four hours during which time doctors went back and forth. He wondered what all the merriment was about when the Maharaj Kumar was so unwell.

  ‘Better a merry army than a mutinous one,’ Mangal said laconically and then informed him that the Maharaj Kumar would go over personally to meet the great general the moment he was in better h
ealth.

  ‘What kind of injury –?’

  ‘First the terrible blow to the head from one of your soldiers,’ Mangal explained to him, ‘and then the wound in the stomach which Tej Simha inflicted on him because the Maharaj Kumar sued for peace.’

  By the sixth day, I was getting impatient and ill with anxiety. The competitions were over. Liaquat Ali had been to see me again. I would perforce have to go and see Malik Ayaz soon, very soon. What terms was I going to propose to him? Would my brother-in-law Rao Raimul’s words come true? Would I be the instrument of Mewar’s dismemberment? The Rao had also been active on the rumour front. He was feeding our forces with scenarios of the end of Mewar and its allies thanks to their Maharaj Kumar. Morale was slipping once again. I had to put an end to the rot quickly but didn’t know how. Despite his gross insubordination, locking Tej behind bars had not gone down well with the soldiers. Locking up Rao Raimul for sedition was out of the question since he was the reason fifty thousand soldiers and I were here. Rao Viramdev was holding his tongue but I could see that I was trying his patience. Had he made a mistake putting his trust in me? Had I totally miscalculated the turn of events?

  My one serious error was that I had not made any contingency plans. It was time I became realistic. I sat down that night and wrote a letter to Father explaining our ignominious defeat and the territories I was proposing to surrender to Gujarat along with all claims to Idar. All our towns and villages were equally dear to us. Even the most barren lands were priceless because of emotional and historical ties. But if we hardened our hearts and looked at the matter in a cold-blooded way, then strategically, politically and economically, the most expendable – that ghastly term stuck in my throat – were Jarrole and Beechabair. Did Father agree with my choice? I tried to weave in an apology for my dismal performance but it was no use. My words sounded either abject and piteous or hollow and flatfooted. I decided to stick to the bare essentials and leave it to his imagination to understand my terrible humiliation.