Shivaji

by Ranjit Desai

  And so, many days and nights passed devoted to the love and care of the baby. Soon it was time for the monsoon again and westerly winds started blowing. Clouds moved far above but were not in a mood to stop by, and the hot earth seemed to be sighing in the sun. Vishwasrao, fearing harder times ahead, moved the grain store in the fort to a safer, more fortified place.

  One evening, Vishwasrao came to meet Jijabai in her private quarters. She was busy stitching something while Shivaji played with a toy.

  ‘Rani saheb, we have good news! Raje saheb and his men are fast approaching the fort.’

  ‘When are they likely to reach?’ Jijabai asked excitedly.

  ‘Any moment now!’

  A fresh sitting arrangement was laid out in the inner courtyard with carpets, bolsters, pillows and dhurries. Jijabai changed her clothes hurriedly, putting on her jewellery. The sound of the trumpets announced the arrival of the visitors and Vishwasrao rushed to receive them as he adjusted his turban.

  Everyone bent in an elaborate salute as Shahaji Raje entered the fort. He hugged Vishwasrao who said, ‘We received the news very late. I apologize for not receiving you at the base of the fort.’

  ‘I am not bothered about such formalities. Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, Raje.’

  Everyone entered the palace. There was frantic activity as the servants rushed around. Shahaji Raje washed his hands and feet and all the other men followed suit. They all went to the inner courtyard to sit down. Vishwasrao asked, ‘I hope the journey was not difficult?’

  ‘Vishwasrao, we have got so used to running and horse riding that we spend nights sleeping on horseback as well.’

  Everyone burst out laughing and then stopped suddenly. Shivaji had come crawling out of the inner door. Everyone stared at the cute boy.

  Raje said looking at him, ‘Chotte Raje! I have come here just to see you.’

  Shivaji looked at everyone once and he gave a sweet smile and ran towards Shahaji Raje.

  Shastri said, ‘Blood can always identify its own.’

  Shahaji Raje picked up Shivaji affectionately, showering kisses on him and put him on his lap. Shivaji was now playing with his father’s beard.

  Vishwasrao smiled and said, ‘He must be the first to dare touch your beard.’

  ‘No, he’s the second, I believe! But I understand that Chotte Raje has come here with a command.’

  ‘Command?’

  ‘I must visit the inner quarters.’

  Shahaji Raje stood up and moved into the inner quarters with Shivaji. He was about to sit on the couch when Jijabai said smilingly, ‘Sasubai is waiting for you.’

  ‘Oh my god! I am so sorry. Please take me to her.’

  Shahaji Raje took his mother’s blessings. When finally Jijabai and Shahaji Raje got a chance to be alone, he asked, ‘Jija, is everything all right?’

  Jijabai’s tears, held back for so long, now flowed freely and a deep sob escaped her.

  ‘Rani saheb, I understand. Mama saheb being murdered in such a manner is a deep sorrow for me too. We may have had our enmity but I cannot tolerate such a dastardly act. I have left the Nizam Shahi court and have now taken a job under Mohammad Adil Shah now.’

  ‘How long can this go on?’

  ‘I don’t know! Do you think I don’t feel like staying with my family? But Rani saheb, I am sure with Shivba’s good fortune, our bad days are numbered. I will settle down somewhere soon.’

  Shahaji Raje stayed on for another week at the fort, until summons from the Mughal Badshah arrived. Shahaji Raje’s eyes scanned the summons and let out a deep sigh, and said, ‘Vishwasrao, our days of rest are over.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’

  ‘The Badshah is coming on a tour of the south. The troops are stationed in Burhanpur and I have been asked to report there. I will have to leave tomorrow itself.’

  Raje took leave from Jijabai, kissed Shivaji and, leaving everything under Vishwasrao’s supervision, left for Burhanpur to report to Emperor Shah Jahan.

  #

  Bal Shivaji was now a year old and the famine had become brutal. Villages were being orphaned and animals, left alone to graze, were seen roaming all over. Villagers had left their villages in search for better prospects. Gold had no value, being replaced by food grains as currency. Wherever one went, one could see groups of people waiting at the roadside to loot travellers. People, struggling for a handful of rice, did not hesitate to commit heinous crimes. Eagles and vultures were constantly circling in the sky and not a single healthy soul was visible—all one could see were dead animals and people. The surviving villages were being subjugated by the Mughal dynasty and soon, nearly the whole of the Deccan was under their control.

  Vishwasrao maintained a strict vigil on the Shivneri Fort. The doors of the fort were always closed and nobody was allowed inside without proper enquiry. The water tanks were half-empty while the grain store was heavily guarded. Thus, one more year passed. The winter ended, giving way to the hot summer and everyone waited for the rains, praying fervently. One afternoon, a line of clouds was visible in the eastern sky as soft winds blew and clouds were rising. Bright lightning flashed across the sky and there was a low rumble in the distance. Shivaji stood with the others at the edge of the fort, watching the clouds. A mini tornado played with the dust and cold easterly winds started blowing.

  Soon, lightning covered the sky accompanied by loud bursts of thunder. Shivaji clung to his mother in fear and Jijabai took him inside as a curtain of rain approached the fort. There was a hailstorm and everyone ran to protect themselves while Shivaji watched with wide-eyed curiosity. The hailstorm was followed by a torrential downpour and nullahs started filling to the brim. There was water everywhere but nobody complained. The sweet aroma of the wet soil permeated the air. There was an air of celebration as people welcomed the showers with relief.

  Everyone came out the moment the rain stopped. A single shower had changed the landscape completely and a brilliant rainbow could be seen across the eastern sky. Shivaji pointed towards it and said, ‘Aai, look!’

  Jijabai remarked to Vishwasrao, who had just stepped into the courtyard, ‘The danger seems over. I think the next year will bring good rains.’

  ‘It seems so,’ he said, sounding dejected.

  Jijabai looked askance when Vishwasrao clarified, ‘Rani saheb, we have rains but no people in the village to till the land.’

  ‘Half the Junnar village is here in the fort itself.’

  ‘I don’t understand!’

  ‘We have enough men here to give us a helping hand. Is it not our responsibility to ensure that the land is tilled and houses repaired before the villagers return? Let us all go down.’

  The whole fort reverberated with enthusiasm. The dry grass growing on the village huts brought tears to Jijabai’s eyes. The fort blacksmith, who till now had only forged weapons, was busy making agricultural implements. And one day after the bhoomi puja, the ceremonial prayers before tilling, the work began in earnest. The sowing was soon completed and within no time, the fields were green again. The forest on the hills looked dense and one could see the milky-white waterfalls on the Lenyadri and neighbouring mountain ranges. Soon, the villagers began to return and they could not contain their happiness seeing the green fields.

  Whenever Vishwasrao stepped out, Shivaji would insist on accompanying him, come rain or shine. He loved the sight of green fields.

  ‘It seems he is going to be a farmer,’ Jijabai commented.

  ‘And what is wrong with that? There are lords; then why not a farmer who is a lord?’

  Jijabai laughed with deep satisfaction.

  #

  A year had passed since Shahaji Raje had left Adil Shah of Bijapur to join the Nizam. The Mughals had overrun Daulatabad but Shahaji Raje was not disappointed. He took the new Shah to Mauli. Adil Shah of Bijapur and the Mughals joined hands and it was not easy to fight them. The Nizam Shahi dynasty collapsed but Shahaji formed his own troops and atta
cked the Mughals. It was very rare for a Jagirdar to raise an army and face the might of the Mughals. Within two years, the stronger Mughal army had routed Shahaji’s men, and Shahaji had to accept employment under the patronage of the Bijapurkars. Another six years would go by before he managed to move to a more prestigious position.

  In the meanwhile, Shivaji was growing up at the Shivneri Fort. He had turned six now. He would watch the Lenyadri and surrounding provinces from the fort. Shastribua had started teaching him the script now. A year after Shahaji’s new appointment, a messenger arrived from Bijapur. Soon, horsemen followed along with royal palanquins and a couple of bullock carts.

  Jijabai read the message: Shahaji Raje had been awarded the jagir of Pune. He had sent his trustworthy and wise lieutenant Dadoji Konddev with the order to move to Pune. Dadoji was a fair-complexioned man, wearing a smart turban, long tunic and a crisp dhoti. His bearing was enhanced by a broad forehead and piercing eyes. He bent low on seeing Jijabai and she asked Shivaji, ‘Raje, did you salute Dadoji?’

  Shivaji Raje saluted as Dadoji replied, ‘Rani saheb, it is we who are supposed to salute, not Raje.’

  ‘There is a difference between you and the others. Don’t you think I understand that? The person sent to take care of us must be someone who is extremely trustworthy.’

  ‘Rani saheb, when shall we leave?’

  ‘Whenever you say. Where is my lord these days?’

  ‘Raje is busy on a campaign in Karnatak. Had he been free, he would have come himself.’

  ‘He finally had to find employment under the same person who sacked his jagir.’

  ‘Rani saheb, politics is not one-sided—it has many facets, and it changes with the times. The same Murar Jagdev, who burnt Pune, became a close friend of Shahaji Raje. Politics turned its tables again and Murar Jagdev was killed by Adil Shah ruthlessly.’

  ‘And my lord?’

  ‘Raje is treated with great honour in Adil Shah’s durbar. He has a mansab of twelve thousand and has earned the title of Raja. He has the jagir of Pune and the neighbouring villages. He is enjoying his stay with honour and dignity in Bengaluru. Karnatak today is proud of him.’

  Jijabai was ready to leave in the next two days. During the six years that she had stayed at the Shivneri Fort, every one there had become like family, and she was pained to leave close confidantes like Vishwasrao and Lakshmibai. With a heavy heart, Jijabai, along with Shivaji, had darshan of Shivai Devi before leaving.

  #

  By late afternoon, they had entered the devastated landscape of Pune. Shivaji felt as if he were entering some old, dilapidated town. The broken walls of ruined forts seemed to tell a story of a grandeur gone by. All one could see were collapsed structures everywhere with wild shrubs growing amok. The only sign of life was a few stray blossoms. People settled at the banks of the river looked with surprise, and a little trepidation, at the approaching caravan. Dadoji Konddev, alias Pant, raised his hand to signal the caravan to stop. The men unloaded the luggage from the bullock cart as Shivaji looked curiously at the ruins.

  ‘Maa saheb, is this Pune?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t see anyone here other than us.’

  ‘They will come when you call them.’

  ‘Where will we live? Where is the palace?’

  ‘One doesn’t always live in a readymade palace, Raje. Kings have palaces built for themselves!’

  At a flat piece of ground near the banks, a shamiana was raised and small camps were set around it. The waters of the confluence of the Mula–Mutha Rivers shone in the light of the setting sun. The heir to the jagir had lit his first lamp in the ruins! In the days that followed, Shivaji would walk around with Dadoji observing the surroundings, and Dadoji Konddev could visualize the Pune of the future.

  A few days later, Shivaji came in running shouting, ‘Maa saheb, Pant has found an idol of a god.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Near the river.’

  Pant seemed excited. They had cleared the rubble around to expose a hidden Ganesha idol. It was a beautiful, unbroken statue. Jijabai folded her hands in reverence when Pant said, ‘Maa saheb, it is an auspicious beginning.’

  ‘Yes, Pant. Let us build a beautiful temple here.’

  Pant readily agreed and said, ‘Maa saheb, we still haven’t decided the location for the palace.’

  ‘Let the palace be near the temple.’

  The markings for the palace were made and after the bhoomi puja, Dadoji dug the ground first in a ceremonial gesture. Dadoji was not content that there was just one palace for the family. He decided to build another palace and the work began in earnest.

  The palace construction was in full swing. Wells were being dug in search of water. Hundreds of people were involved in the work and hearing of the same, many craftsmen rushed to find employment there. The Pune palace had two large courtyards and a huge hall for audiences with the people of the city. There was a private hall and another set of private quarters for the queen, kitchen and a beautiful puja room, apart from stables and cowsheds. Dadoji named the palace Lal Mahal, adjacent to which was a ganapati temple.

  Soon, the villagers started settling down. One day, Pant asked Jijabai, ‘Maa saheb, may I take Raje to Shivapur?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I have decided to plant a mango orchard there. I want the first sapling to be planted by Raje.’

  ‘It seems that you don’t tell me everything these days!’

  Dadoji was taken aback and said, ‘What haven’t I told you?’

  Jijabai smiled and said, ‘My lord has a younger wife now but I was not told of it; and that Tukabai Rani saheb has delivered a baby boy?’

  ‘I must have forgotten in the rush of things here …’ muttered Dadoji, embarrassed.

  #

  Dadoji busied himself with the administration of the jagir and he extended monetary support to people to come and settle there. Villagers thronged the palace each day and Jijabai would listen to the sad tales of the women.

  Shivaji absorbed everything as he grew up, watching the jagir take shape. Dadoji was teaching him archery, sword fighting and wrestling. Tough games were played out in the courtyard each evening and the peasant folk’s children would participate along with Shivaji.

  One day in the summers, Dadoji came in to announce the arrival of Mudhojirao Nimbalkar, an old confidante of Shahaji’s. Jijabai had heard that Mudhoji’s jagir had been captured by Bijapurkars and that he had been kept under arrest in Satara. When Jijabai met him, she saw that he had come with his son Bajaji and daughter Saibai.

  Bajaji bent low in mujra seeing Mudhoji salute Jijabai. Jijabai hugged Saibai as she touched her feet and asked, ‘When did you all arrive?’

  ‘We were released from jail thanks to Shahaji Raje. Now that we got our jagir at Phaltan back, we wanted to pay you a visit.’

  ‘Having you around will be great help and support.’

  ‘Maa saheb, you have brought Pune back to life—that is a great achievement.’

  ‘I have done nothing! It is people like Dadoji who create the magic.’

  ‘Doers will do but one needs the blessings of Devi to make things happen,’ Mudhoji exclaimed, raising his hands upwards in prayer.

  Pointing at Saibai, Maa saheb asked, ‘What is her name?’

  ‘Sai; and this is my son, Bajaji.’

  The young Saibai, barely seven or eight years old, looked at Jijabai wide-eyed. She had a wheatish complexion and her sweet face was highlighted by a sharp nose, lovely lips, jet-black eyes and a slim neck.

  Maa saheb requested the Nimbalkars to stay in Pune for a while and they agreed. Sai clung to Maa saheb like a shadow while Bajaji made friends with Shivaji. One evening, the courtyard was busy with the usual evening games when Shivaji and the instructor began their sword practice. Sai, watching from the balcony, came running in to Maa saheb’s quarters where she sat chatting with Mudhoji.

  ‘Maa saheb, there is a great fight going on outside!�
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  ‘Mudhoji, let us go and watch them practice. I haven’t seen the games in quite a while now.’

  Four pairs of men were practising sword fighting. Maa saheb asked the ustaad when he saluted, ‘Nanu Ustaad, what is Raje learning these days?’

  Nanu, despite his age, had the strong physique of an instructor. He said, ‘Raje, pick up a lathi!’

  Picking up a lathi, Shivaji started circling it around his head and showed his prowess with it. As it moved over his head, they could all hear the whirling sound.

  Nanu Ustaad spat on his palms as he picked up his stick and took his position. Raje followed suit.

  ‘Raje! Attack!’

  Shivaji lifted the stick and started attacking vigorously. Nanu defended himself deftly taking a few steps back as he handled the hammering blows. Everyone looked at the fight wide-eyed and suddenly Nanu shouted, ‘Raje … careful now!’

  Jijabai was worried seeing Raje defend himself, moving back with each attack. After a while, unable to defend a hard blow, Raje’s stick fell out of his hands. Maa saheb said, sighing deeply, ‘Nanu, be careful. You seem to forget he is just a child.’

  ‘No, Maa saheb. There is no age barrier in this game. The one who attacks first wins. Raje’s arms are not yet strong enough. But this is the only way to learn.’

  A tall banana tree was placed on a hook in the middle of the courtyard. Raja was given a spear which was a few feet taller than him. A few silver rings shone where the metal joined the wood. Raje took a few steps back and waited for the instructions when Nanu shouted, ‘Raje, move!’

  Lunging forward in long leaps, Shivaji threw the spear deftly, piercing the tree right through the middle. Everyone cheered and Saibai sat there looking at Shivaji with great admiration.

  A little further on the field, two banana trees were placed a few feet away from each other. Shivaji held two thin swords in his hand, waving them in the air with focused attention while a casual smile played on his lips. Then, in a flash, as he stood between the trees, he made his move. Nothing seemed to have happened. He saluted, looking at Maa saheb and Dadoji.