by Ranjit Desai
‘Is that so?’ he asked, staring at Jijabai.
Jijabai chose to remain silent and Tukabai smiled victoriously. Shahaji Raje stood up suddenly and said, ‘It is not possible for me to change my habits—I am too old now. If Rani saheb is afraid that my habits will spoil Shivaji Raje, then she is free to go whenever she wishes to.’ He turned and left abruptly, leaving Jijabai in tears.
Jijabai could sense the bitterness in their relationship increase every day. She decided to move back to Pune rather than allow things to fester further. She steeled her heart and informed Shahaji Raje of her decision. The news of Shivaji going back to Pune spread like wildfire across the palace. In the period of a year and a half, father and son had grown close to each other and the separation would be hard. When Shivaji came to take Shahaji’s blessings in the morning, he asked, ‘I am told you are going back to Pune. Would you remember me?’
‘Aba saheb!’ Shivaji exclaimed and hugged him, tears in his eyes.
‘No, Raje! Men don’t cry,’ Shahaji Raje said in voice choked with emotion. ‘I will come to Pune soon.’
‘Do you promise?’ asked Shivaji, smiling.
‘Absolutely! You are now the Jagirdar. Your wish is my command.’
‘Where do I have a jagir?’ asked Shivaji
Shahaji smiled. Looking at Dadoji, he said, ‘Pant, why do we give our children horses to play with—guns, swords and other things? So that they may grow up and be men, isn’t it? I have allocated thirty-six villages from my jagir in Shivaji’s name. You may start the process and formalize it. Raje! Take care of your jagir now.’
Pant said, ‘Raje! Touch your father’s feet—you are very lucky to have such a father.’
Shivaji put his head on his father’s feet. Shahaji Raje hugged him tightly and said, ‘Pant, how will I manage when he goes away tomorrow? He is such a darling. You have taken very good care of him. I can now retire in peace.’
Pant could not hold back his tears of satisfaction and pride.
The next day, all documents regarding the jagir were readied. Shamrao Nilkanth was made Peshwa while Balkrishnapant, Naropant Dikshit’s cousin, was made the deputy. Dadojipant was made the trustee of the jagir. The preparations for the return had begun in earnest.
Jijabai asked Shahaji Raje, hoping against hope, ‘Shall I take Sambhaji with me for a few days?’
‘No, Rani saheb. Sambhaji has grown up with me in a different world. Leave him here.’
‘I hope you have forgiven me …’
‘I am not angry with you. That is why I am sending Shivaji Raje back with you. I shall take care of Shambhu Raje and you take care of Shivaji Raje.’ He added with a smile, ‘Let us see who does a better job!’
As Shivaji touched Shahaji’s feet while leaving, Shahaji said, ‘Pant! Take care of Raje. Make a man out of him. I am leaving my precious treasure in your hands—guard him with your life.’
Sambhaji Raje escorted them till the first stop on their journey. The next day, the caravan moved towards Pune and Sambhaji returned with his men to Bengaluru.
#
The news of Shivaji’s arrival in Pune spread fast. Everyone rushed to meet Shivaji Raje, who seemed grown up now. The office of the Jagirdar had acquired a stature, since apart from the clerks, there were now the Peshwa and other officials. Dadoji took stock of everything that had occurred while they were in Bengaluru from Narhekar. He was helping Shivaji learn the ropes of the office including writing letters and documents.
A few days later, Mudhojirao Nimbalkar arrived.
‘Welcome, Raje! How was your stay in Bengaluru?’ asked Mudhojirao as he entered the private quarters.
Jijabai immediately asked, ‘Where is our daughter-in-law?’
‘There! We can see her palanquin arriving,’ he said, pointing towards the courtyard. Dadoji got down the steps, adjusting his turban and tunic. Saibai entered the courtyard, after washing her feet. Her gait had changed as she now wore a sari. Despite her youth, she had acquired a grace in her gait. She looked at the maids and accepted their mujras as she walked.
Pulling her cheeks affectionately, Jijabai said, ‘You have grown so much! Haven’t you forgotten to touch the feet of your husband?’
Saibai lost all her controlled poise, chuckled and hugged Jijabai.
‘Now you seem more yourself! But don’t try to pretend to be someone else. Raje has acquired another wife in Bengaluru.’
‘Let him!’
‘She is better looking than you and much fairer.’
‘Let her be! She will be my playmate.’
Mudhojirao said then, ‘She knows how to behave like an elder queen.’
Navratri was approaching fast and these were days of celebration. All the swords, knives and other metal weapons were cleaned with salt and tamarind for the shastra puja. The lamps in the inner temple burned brightly, lighting up the statue of the goddess with eight hands. Each evening the courtyard would resound with chants of ‘Jay Ambe! Jay Ambe!’ and crowds would gather to see the festivities.
On Navami, the ceremonial horse arrived at the palace with much fanfare. The goat sacrifice was made, after which the horse crossed the thin stream of flowing blood and entered the courtyard. Shivaji took a sword, kept especially in the puja room for the past nine days, and touched it to his forehead reverently.
That evening as he paid his respects to Jijabai, who, putting a black mark on his cheeks to ward off evil, said, ‘You are supposed to step out of the house on this day for victory. Destroy the enemy and come back with riches.’
A horse, decorated with finery, stood at the door. Shivaji saddled the horse and mounted, while his trusted soldiers followed. Shivaji reached the auspicious shami tree, the leaves of which had been traditionally worshipped since the Pandavas had hidden their weapons there during the Mahabharata war. It had a religious significance especially on Dussehra—the leaves were treated like gold on Dussehra and as per tradition, Raje was supposed to return home with these riches. As per ritual, Raje cut the leaves with his sword and he entered the palace rich with the booty.
Jijabai said, ‘Raje, now without looking back, hit the threshold with your sword.’
Jijabai held a tray with a gold ring in it among rice grains. She picked up the ring and touched his forehead with it.
Raje asked, ‘Maa saheb, what is this ring for?’
‘This is not merely a ring, Raje. This is Lakshmi. You brought home riches and she came along with them. But you are not supposed to see her. After crossing the threshold, you are supposed to break her leg.’
‘Break her leg?’
‘Yes. Once you break her leg, she cannot leave the house!’
Raje smiled.
Jijabai said, ‘Raje, you are an adult now. Remember—Lakshmi is never happy if you run after her. She follows people who do their duty. Always keep her behind you while you face calamities boldly. Never forget this. Dadoji must be waiting; go and pay your regards to him.’
Raje bowed to Jijabai and went in.
Shivaji donated a gold coin to each of the Brahmins as a token of charity. The office managers came next, followed by the stable managers, servants, household staff and others. Raje put his head on Dadoji’s feet when Jijabai asked, ‘Raje, did you not give a coin to Dadoji?’
Hugging Shivaji, Dadoji said, ‘Maa saheb, this coin is my most precious one. What better gift can I ask for?’
#
Shivaji would usually accompany Dadoji as he went on inspection tours. He would also watch how Jijabai solved legal issues of people who approached her. The palace would be full of people singing bhajans and Raje would get engrossed listening to them. His body would tingle with pride and delight listening to the patriotic songs.
One morning Dadoji told him, ‘Raje we need to go the Nane village.’
‘When will you return?’ Jijabai asked.
‘We’ll be away at least five or six days—there are a lot of accounts to be audited.’
Noticing Shivaji’s long face, Dado
ji said, ‘Raje! This is your jagir. You took it from the elder Raje with lot of excitement. If you are bored of running it, let me know. I will inform Maharaj saheb accordingly.’
Such reprimands would always work on the young man and he would mount his horse quickly! While riding around the countryside, he would notice the tall forts which seemed to be kissing the skies. He would ask Pant, ‘Whose forts are these?’
‘Adil Shah’s.’
‘The jagir is ours. Then why are the forts his?’
‘Raje, the jagir is not ours. We have been given the right to collect the taxes. But the ownership is Adil Shah’s.’
Shivaji Raje was very popular in the jagir. Everyone would bow their heads on seeing Shahaji Raje’s son arrive. The ryots would share their joys and sorrows with Dadoji, while Shivaji observed how Dadoji would use his discretion to solve their problems.
One evening, Raje sat alone in the courtyard, lost in his thoughts. He did not see Jijabai arrive.
She asked, ‘Raje, what are you looking at with such intensity?’
‘Maa saheb, I am watching an insect being taken away by the tiny ants.’
‘What about it?’
‘Look at the size of the insect! The insect is alive and struggling to get away but is unable to do anything with the ants that have surrounded it.’
Jijabai did not reply and when Raje turned back, he saw that she had left. He then turned to look at the door as he heard someone enter. It was a man with a fair and handsome face. He had a broad chest and was wearing a dhoti which covered his knees. He wore a coarse vest which was torn in many places. His shoulder seemed injured and the blood, which had oozed down to his palms, had dried. But there was no sign of any pain on his face. He walked swinging a heavy stick in his hand.
He looked around in the courtyard and seeing Shivaji, he bowed in mujra.
‘Ram, Ram! Is this Shivaji’s palace?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘I would like to speak with him.’
‘Sit down.’
‘But … ’
‘I said sit!’ Seeing a servant nearby, Shivaji shouted, ‘Go and fetch a doctor immediately.’ Turning towards the man, he asked, ‘What is your name?’
‘Bhima. I am an ironsmith,’ and then quickly added, ‘Sarkar.’
Dadoji had arrived by then and Raje asked Bhima, ‘What work did you have here?’
‘I don’t know how to put it. I am from Satara. There is a famine there and I had left my village to join the Mughals. As I was crossing a forest, they attacked me.’
‘Who?’
‘Those bloody wolves … oh, sorry, Sarkar,’ he said, realizing his use of profanity.
‘Then …?’
‘There were three of them. I was alone with just a stick in that dense jungle. I swung my stick and hit hard. They backed a bit but one of them jumped and ripped my shoulder. I was furious and hit him so hard that he never got up.’
‘And what about the others?’
‘They ran away scared.’
Shivaji was amused by the story. ‘What brings you here?’
‘Oh, I forgot! I brought the tail of the wolf as proof of the battle. I was told I would get a reward if I showed up with one,’ he said, smiling as he unhooked the tail tied to his belt.
Dadoji had started this practice to ward off the trouble created by the wolves. The physician arrived in the meantime and put a lotion on the wound. He was dressing the wound when Bhima asked, ‘Are you Shivaji Raje?’
‘Yes. Why do you ask?’
‘I have heard a lot about you.’
Dadoji said, ‘Kulkarni, take him to the office and give him his reward.’
‘Wait,’ said Raje and went inside. He came back carrying a sword and giving it to Bhima said, ‘You were lucky to manage with just a lathi. Keep this sword with you.’
Bhima observed the sword carefully and moving his finger on the sharp edge, he said, ‘This looks like a Rampuri.’
‘You do know something about swords,’ Raje remarked.
‘Of course! This is what I do for a living—I make swords.’
‘Will you work here?’
‘Yes—just tell me what I need to do.’
‘I will give you a blacksmith’s workshop.’
Bhima touched Raje’s feet and said, ‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘Sonopant,’ Raje said, ‘arrange a workshop for this person.’
Sonopant looked at Dadoji, who said, ‘Sonopant, Raje has given a command. What are you waiting for?’
‘As you wish,’ said Sonopant reluctantly and took Bhima inside.
Everyone went back to their respective posts and Raje was alone with Dadoji.
‘Raje, I understand Sonopant’s hesitation. You should not appoint people in such a hurry. Bhima is an outsider—we don’t know him at all!’
‘Pant, he seems a fit, hardworking man. He has a broad, strong chest and is courageous. What else do you want? We have given him a chance and we shall know his calibre soon.’
That evening when Dadoji came to pay his regards to Jijabai he said, ‘Maa saheb, I must say Raje is very perceptive. He was able to assess Bhima very well.’
Jijabai was happy to hear Dadoji praising Shivaji openly because he very rarely did so.
‘I heard about that. He has an eye for spotting talented people.’
Dadoji said, ‘Maa saheb, a famous poet has arrived from Kolhapur. If permission be granted, I shall ask him to come to the palace.’
‘Please do! We shall all listen to a ballad this evening—Raje would love it!’
That evening, the courtyard was brightly lit with burning mashaals and lamps and a crowd eagerly waited for the singer, while the accompanying musicians tuned their respective instruments. Dadoji and other important members sat to the right of the baithak. On the left were Dadoji’s family, Brahmin members of the court and behind them the other Maratha ladies.
The singer came into the courtyard and his troupe and he saluted before taking their seats. He gave a loud signal to the percussionist, the sitar player strummed his sitar, giving out a melodious sound, and the ambience was set for the evening. The mild whispers, which had prevailed till now subsided and the audience was eager for the performance to start. Bending in mujra once more, he began.
It was the story of Rani Padmini, the queen of Chittor. Allauddin Khilji, enamoured by what he had heard of Rani Padmini’s beauty was desperate to see her and unable to control his lust, he invaded Chittor. Ratansen, the king, tried his best to save his kingdom but was captured by Allauddin. The invader agreed to spare Ratansen’s life on the condition that Padmini would allow him to see her face once. When he entered her quarters, he saw Padmini sitting there, looking divine in her regal beauty. Unable to control his desire, he forgot the promise made to Ratansen and insisted on taking Padmini into his harem.
Obviously, Padmini refused to entertain Allauddin, and snubbed by such a rejection, he turned his rage on to Chittor. Rani Padmini had only one choice; she and the other ladies would perform johar, the Rajput women’s ritual of entering the sacrificial fire and ensure that Khilji and his men would not be able to see even an inch of their bodies.
The singer was now singing with high emotions and the entire crowd sat mesmerized as the ballad progressed. Shivaji had a lump in his throat and was barely able to breathe. It was a tale of a victory for the righteous. The lust of the foreigners had made mothers and sisters surrender themselves to the sacrificial fire. But it seemed that God had turned a blind eye. The sacrifice of the women seemed in vain as the might of the Rajputs was laid to dust.
Unable to hear the story any further, Shivaji got up and left, tears flowing down his cheeks. He stood in his room with his back to the door. Jijabai asked, as she entered, ‘Raje, what happened?’
He turned to face her. His face was swollen as his eyes welled up with tears again. ‘Maa saheb, even a person with a heart of stone cannot listen to such poignant stories. I cannot bear it anymore!’
>
‘Padmini herself had to bear this burden. There is no species more shameless than us human beings. When the daughters of Dahir were put under arrest by the Khalifa, nobody objected. Padmini was lucky to perform Johar and escape. But there are thousands of such Padminis who are silently tolerating such barbaric acts, praying to their gods. My own sister-in-law had gone for a bath in the Godavari when she was kidnapped in broad daylight by Mahabat Khan. What did we do then?’
Shivaji asked, ‘Then why do our men go around proudly twirling their moustaches?’
‘It is easy to talk of these things, Raje. There is no value for false pride.’
‘When will all this stop?’
‘When there is someone to stop it. Those who can are enjoying royal patronage while the poor ryot, the tenant farmer, has gotten used to being a slave.’
‘Maa saheb, I will stop these atrocities.’
‘Raje, if only we could see our dreams being fulfilled, such things would not occur. Now wipe your tears and go back to the courtyard. It does not suit you to walk away in the middle of a performance. The singer will feel insulted. You must stay till the end.’
#
For many days after, Shivaji continued to be haunted by thoughts of Padmini. The words of his mother rang in his ears—he knew he had to do something. He had always had the knack of gathering the right kind of people around him. The circle of his friends and relatives was broadening and one of these was Yesaji Kank. Others around him included Baji Pasalkar and others; a mix of both young and mature men. Baji Pasalkar was nearly sixty years of age but was a close friend of Shivaji’s, who had not even fifteen then.
With such men for company, Raje would go around his jagir, meeting the common folk. Earlier, the villagers would run into the forest hearing hoof beats, fearing the Mughals, but now they would shout ‘Raje has arrived’ and would bow before him. They would look at their young Raje with pride and affection.
One such winter evening, Raje trotted along with his men. The hoof beats could be heard echoing in the valley. He heard a faint voice, ‘Raje …’
He looked all around when Yesaji pointed in the distance, ‘Look!’
A man was running across the field towards them. He stumbled once and got up again. He was a balding man with grey hair on the sides, his face wrinkled with age and he fell at Shivaji’s feet as soon as he reached him. His body shuddered with exhaustion and deep sobs. Yesaji tried to lift him but he would not leave Raje’s feet.