by Ranjit Desai
Both the trees stood in the same place. Saibai chuckled and looked askance at Maa saheb who said, ‘Nanu Ustaad! Please explain what our Raje has done.’
Nanu Ustaad moved forward and pushed the trees. They both fell down, having been cut right through the middle. Unable to contain her surprise, Saibai, covering her face with her dupatta shyly, muttered, ‘That was unbelievable!’
Jijabai hugged Saibai and, taking everyone around by surprise, asked, ‘Sai, how would you like to have Raje as your husband?’
Saibai looked at Maa saheb once and then at Shivaji, who was busy sheathing his swords, and said loudly to no one in particular, ‘Yes, he will do for a husband!’
Impressed by her innocent yet candid reply, Jijabai hugged her again and said in a gentle chiding tone, ‘You silly girl! One never agrees so readily!’
Everyone laughed aloud. There was no formality in the air that evening.
Dadoji said, ‘Maa saheb!’
‘Yes, Dadoji?’
‘Now that the matter is being discussed openly, I think we should formalize it. Raje is ten years old now. The pair of them would look beautiful together.’
‘Nanu Ustaad, what do you say?’ Jijabai asked.
Nanu nodded. ‘I agree. A bride would add to the glory of this palace.’
Jijabai smiled in agreement. ‘Should we not take the opinion of Nimbalkar mama? After all, she is his daughter,’ she said, turning towards Mudhoji.
‘Don’t say that, Maa saheb. After all, she is yours. We owe our life to Maharaj—if you accept our daughter into your family, we would feel blessed to have returned a part of our debt.’
‘If Jagdamba so wishes, then let it be so! It is our good fortune to continue with the old ties. Dadoji, send a message to Bengaluru at the earliest. Once we get Maharaj’s formal approval, we shall start planning the wedding.’
Everyone saluted as Maa saheb stood up and left with Saibai holding her hand. Mudhoji sat there, watching them leave through tear-filled eyes.
The next day, two horsemen were dispatched at the crack of dawn towards Bengaluru, and Mudhoji returned to Phaltan with his son and daughter. In a week, the messenger returned, putting an end to an anxious wait. Dadoji reverently touched the bag containing the message to his forehead before opening it. He scanned the message quickly and his face lit up.
‘Maharaj saheb has agreed to the alliance! Not only that, he has also given us permission to spend lavishly for the wedding. He has asked for the date so that he may be present for the festivities.’
‘Pant, please inform Mudhojirao—we don’t have much time now.’
Things began to move at a rapid pace. Shivaji’s and Sai’s horoscopes were well matched, clearing the niggling doubts Jijabai had in her mind! The priest chose an auspicious date. As the days went by, Pant had no time as each moment was earmarked for some task or the other. Seeing the activities around, Jijabai asked him, ‘Pant! The scale of this wedding seems to be huge. Are we being extravagant?’
‘Maa saheb, don’t worry about the expenses. Helping a community financially alone does not make them feel like a part of the jagir. This is an opportunity to make the community into a family.’
Mudhoji was under a bit of stress. He had been recently made the Jagirdar of Phaltan. After making initial preparations, he returned to Pune to discuss the arrangements. He shuffled nervously as he stood near Jijabai and wondered how he should propose the topic of dowry. He said, clearing his throat once, ‘Maa saheb, we have discussed the dates and other arrangements but we have not spoken about what we should be offering you.’
‘Such discussions suit business dealings, Mudhoji, and this is a matter of blood relations. You are giving your daughter to us. What more can we ask for? However, you have to give just one more thing.’
‘Ask, Maa saheb!’ Mudhoji said happily.
‘Give them your blessings and everything else will be fine.’
Mudhoji could not hold back his tears. ‘Maa saheb, by accepting our daughter, you have redeemed our debt to you of the last seven generations. Allow us to do something so that we feel we too have contributed.’
‘I only want you to ensure that all of Phaltan is here for the festivities.’
Jijabai had not exaggerated. The scale of activities was such that everyone could be accommodated. The kitchen had moved to the open courtyard, and a variety of items were being prepared. The palace was being decorated with new curtains and chandeliers and expert jewellers were working under Dadoji’s supervision.
In the meantime, the news had arrived that Shahaji Raje would not be able to attend since he was busy with a military campaign. However, the wedding was to be carried out as per plan. Jijabai was depressed because Shahaji Raje’s absence meant that Sambhaji too would not attend. It had been eleven years since she had seen her elder son. In anticipation, Jijabai had gotten clothes and jewellery made for him, but putting her sadness away with a sigh, she went back to the work at hand.
The marriage activities formally began with an invitation to the gods. Mudhojirao entered Pune with his people to the entire city reverberating with the sound of drums and trumpets. Everyday more than a thousand meals were being prepared for guests. The ceremony took place in the Lal Mahal which was filled with the auspicious chanting of the mangala ashtakas and at the right time, thousands of hands showered the couple with the auspicious blessings of raw rice.
Shivaji, wearing a lovely embroidered turban and a matching kurta, walked towards the palace. A large sandalwood tilak adorned his forehead and a sword hung from his waist. Saibai walked a step behind him. A shawl tied both of them together and the knot hung in middle swaying a little as they moved. As Raje touched Dadoji’s feet, the old man could not hold back his tears. His whole body was shaking as he hugged Shivaji without a word.
The party moved ahead by the light of hundreds of marshals and lanterns. Dadoji, Mudhoji, Hanumante, Shastri, Korde and others walked in the front while different groups displaying their antics with swords and other weapons went ahead of them. The procession moved at a snail’s pace and Sai dozed off, waking up intermittently to the sound of the crackers. Entering the Bhosale household in traditional fashion, she pushed a rice container placed at the threshold with her feet and crossed over as the rice spilled out.
#
The rains had now ended and Shahaji Raje sent a message to Dadoji Konddev to accompany Jijabai and Shivaji to Bengaluru. It was a long journey and Saibai was sent to her father’s house in Phaltan. The horses and palanquins were made ready while an advance party ensured their comfort along the way. Shivaji was eagerly waiting to meet his father, while Jijabai could not contain her excitement at the prospect of seeing not just her husband but also Sambhaji.
On an auspicious day, the entourage left for Bengaluru with great fanfare. As they entered Karnatak, Shivaji was astonished by the change in topography, huge boulders on mountain tops. A cool breeze blew as they reached the outskirts of Bengaluru and messengers were dispatched to inform Shahaji Raje of their arrival.
The next day, Shivaji entered the city of Bengaluru. Adil Shah’s flag fluttered on the huge and heavily guarded entrance. Sambhaji stood waiting to receive Dadoji, and when Dadoji signalled to Shivaji, they both got off their horses and walked a few steps. Shivaji saluted Sambhaji, bending low in mujra. Seeing his younger brother’s formal approach, Sambhaji hugged him with great affection.
‘Shivaji, we have all been eagerly waiting for you. Maharaj saheb has not been himself for the past two days because of his excitement.’
The palanquin arrived and Shambhu Raje stepped forward. The curtain was moved and Jijabai looked at Shambhu Raje with surprise and affection. He was wearing a churidar and carried a sword at his waist. He resembled his father and a faint moustache sprouted above his lips, his broad forehead smeared with white ash. He stepped forward and touched Maa saheb’s feet. Jijabai could not hold herself back and hugged him, kissing him on his cheeks. Sambhaji extricated himself out of her embra
ce and said, ‘Maharaj saheb is waiting for you.’
Sambhaji, Shivaji and Dadoji mounted their horses again and the procession moved into the city. There were huge palaces all around and Shivaji was struck by the beautiful architecture. Their way of dressing, their language—everything was different and impressive. The horses moved at a slow trot as they crossed a large ground in front of the palace. Servants, wearing bronze coloured clothing, stood at attention in the entrance. As Shivaji reached the steps, he looked up to see a tall, powerful personality standing there. His long hair reached his neck and his full beard gave him an aura of prestige. Sambhaji nudged his brother gently and performed an elaborate mujra to his father. But Shivaji was too busy staring at his father and did not bend in salute.
Shahaji Raje said, ‘Welcome, Raje.’
Shivaji moved forward and sat on his knees. Touching the ground with both hands, he put his head on his father’s feet.
Shahaji Raje lifted him and said, as he hugged him, ‘Dadoji, perhaps the young Raje does not know how to perform a mujra?’
‘I know, Aba saheb, but Maa saheb has taught me to touch the feet of my elders.’
‘Oh, I see … Raje, I see you ride without a saddle. It is difficult to ride bare back, isn’t it?’
‘It is not, Aba saheb. You just need strong thighs.’
‘Wah, Raje! I am impressed!’
At that moment the palanquin carrying Jijabai arrived. She entered the palace escorted by the ladies and was surprised at its size, which was difficult to estimate from the outside. As she entered the second courtyard, Tukabai came forward to touch her feet.
‘Younger Rani saheb, you need not do that.’
‘You are elder to me. But how did you recognize me?’
‘Who would not recognize the Lakshmi of the house? Where is Chotte Raje? I am keen to see him.’
At that moment, Ekoji Raje came in with his brothers and touched Jijabai’s feet.
‘It is so nice to have the entire family together after so many years!’ Tukabai said.
‘It was like the twelve-year-wait for Ram and Sita,’ Jijabai said, smiling.
And so, time passed in Bengaluru. It had been a month since they had arrived in Bengaluru. One afternoon, Shahaji Raje summoned Shivaji. He went into the office to find two British traders there and weapons spread out on a table.
Shahaji Raje asked, pointing towards them, ‘Raje, would you like a firangi gun?’
Shivaji’s eyes were fixed on a gun with a long, narrow muzzle.
‘Do you know how to fire one?’ Shahaji asked.
‘I don’t, but I am sure I can learn.’
‘Shabbash! Then we shall buy you one.’
The traders immediately held the firearm for Shivaji to hold and it was surprisingly light despite its long muzzle. They stepped out of the office into the courtyard where, at a distance, a coconut was kept on a wooden post. Shahaji Raje crouched on one knee, adjusting the gun in his hand and then, taking aim, fired. The coconut shattered into small pieces. He said, fondling the gun, ‘This gun is very good, with hardly any recoil. It is yours now. Keep it as a memento from me. I will instruct the shikar havaldar to teach you how to fire it tomorrow.’
There was a deep bond between father and son and Shahaji Raje used to love Shivaji’s company. He would introduce him to all the important sardars saying, ‘You know, his birth heralded prosperity and ended our sorrows!’
Shivaji never tired of asking questions which Shahaji would try answering as best as possible.
One day, Shahaji Raje went into the inner quarters where Jijabai and Tukabai sat chatting. Joining the conversation, Shahaji said ‘I was very keen to attend Shivaji’s wedding but could not.’
‘Then let us get him married again?’ Tukabai suggested.
‘What a good idea! After all, what’s a marriage without my presence? But who do you have in mind for the bride?’
‘I have already identified one. Have you seen Mohite’s girl? What a beauty!’ Tukabai said excitedly.
‘I agree. Let us fix the marriage then!’ said Shahaji Raje excitedly and left the room.
Jijabai was not happy with such quick decisions. ‘It has only been a short while since we got him married … ’
‘It suits a raja to have many wives.’
There is a saying that the king’s wish is really a command. The arrangements were made within no time and the marriage took place with great fanfare. The bride and bridegroom were taken around in a golden palanquin and the entire city reverberated with gun and cannon fire. Shahaji Raje’s wish had been fulfilled.
Shahaji Raje’s life was one of richness and pomp. Days would pass by in elaborate morning rituals, baths, pujas, and discussions on poetry, dance and other arts. The palace would wake up to the chants of the priests and sleep to the sounds of dance. People would arrive on horseback and in palanquins. For some, their arrival would be announced by a messenger and for others, the trumpets would be sounded.
Shivaji found all of this very new, and, one afternoon, he was sitting with Jijabai and Tukabai. Suddenly, he said, ‘Aai, people used to visit us every day in Pune. But I don’t see such people here. Why is that so?’
‘Don’t you see so many sardars and other visitors?’
‘I am not talking about them. What about the Patils, farmers and other villagers?’
Tukabai laughed sarcastically. ‘Shivaji Raje, this is the palace of a maharaj. How can such people visit him? It is appropriate that only a raja meet a raja.’
‘If the common folk are scared of visiting and meeting him, what kind of raja is he? When Ram left for the forest, his entire city came to see him off. A fisherman hugged him. Isn’t that king a real one, Aai?’ asked Shivaji.
Tukabai’s face turned grave and she did not reply.
#
Bengaluru was now becoming boring for Shivaji. The novelty had worn off, making him want to return to Pune and be with the peasant folk. A few days later, he went to meet his father to find him inspecting a couple of horses. The moment Shivaji arrived, Maharaj said to him, ‘I am going to test you now. Tell me which one is the better horse.’
Both the horses were almost identical in height. Shivaji looked at them with an expert eye while his father looked at him with pride. He moved closer to one horse and touched its lips.
‘Careful, Raje! He may bite.’
‘He won’t. He is a good horse.’
Mohammed, the syce, was surprised and exclaimed, ‘Al-hum-dullilah! He may be young but he has a good eye.’
‘How did the Raje identify the better horse?’ The syce asked.
‘He spends a lot of time in the stables and has great love for animals,’ Dadoji explained.
‘That is the true sign of a king in the making. Look at our Shambhu Raje! He knows Sanskrit very well, writes poetry in it, but he does not have these traits. He has become more of a Brahmin because of his involvement in the shastras,’ Shahaji added.
Sambhaji blushed while Shahaji hugged his younger son and said, ‘I am impressed. This horse is now yours.’ And then looking at Pant he said, ‘Have a ritual done to ward off evil eyes from him. I am afraid I myself may cast it upon him!’
That night, Ekoji made a fuss with his mother, demanding a horse for himself. She hugged him and, looking at Jijabai, said, ‘How can you get one? Shivaji is dear to your father and you are the youngest and not that lucky.’
Tukabai’s words pierced Jijabai’s heart like an arrow but she did not utter a word.
After dinner, Tukabai and Jijabai came to their bedroom to find both Shivaji’s and Sambhaji’s beds empty. It was quite late in the night and she wondered where the boys could be at that hour. She sent the servants in search of them and when they were found, they came in looking guilty. Jijabai asked, ‘Where were they?’
‘They were in the dance mahal.’
‘In the dance mahal?’
‘Not inside. They were hiding behind a curtain, watching from the outside.’
&n
bsp; ‘All right. You may go,’ she said dismissing the servant.
Jijabai looked at both of them and asked in a harsh tone, ‘Raje, is this true?’
Shivaji was quiet.
‘Whose permission did you take before going there? Were you not told not to step out of the palace after dusk?’
Shivaji was now on the verge of tears and said, ‘Dada Maharaj insisted. He wanted to have some fun.’
‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’
Tukabai came in and saw Shivaji crying. She hugged him and said, ‘Rani saheb, it is just a dance. What is wrong with that? If Raje’s sons don’t see the dance, who else will?’
‘Bai, you may be younger than me but I am requesting you not to interfere.’
‘Why make a fuss of such small things? These things happen.’
‘It may be fine with you but I cannot tolerate such things. The children will be spoilt.’
Tukabai was furious and retorted, ‘If you are so concerned about their behaviour, then instead of scolding them, you should be questioning him.’ Jijabai knew she was referring to Shahaji.
‘Yes, I will do that,’ Jijabai said firmly. ‘Elders need to set an example for the way they want their children to behave.’
Tukabai left the room fuming. Shivaji cried himself to sleep but Jijabai did not try to pacify him.
The next morning, Shahaji Raje came to the quarters where his entire family sat chatting. Sensing an opportunity, Tukabai said, ‘Rani saheb does not like the lack of discipline in this household. She is afraid Shivaji will get spoilt here.’ Waving a hand towards Jijabai, she continued, ‘She says you need to change your habits if you want Shivaji to stay here.’
Shahaji Raje raised an eyebrow questioningly.
‘It seems Shivaji Raje was watching the dances last night.’
‘So?’
‘Rani saheb insists they must be stopped immediately.’