Padmini

by Mridula Behari

  Badal bowed to her in deference.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Ranisa?’

  ‘Badal! I have come here to put you in danger.’

  ‘What danger? A Rajput is born to play with danger,’ said Badal evenly.

  ‘I have heard a lot about your determination, your admirable fighting skills and your being a man of great insight. Keeping in view these qualities, I am assigning you a task. You have to rescue the maharawal from the clutches of the sultan of Delhi. You have to protect the honour of Padmini by any means.’

  If he could stand any straighter, Badal would have. His face seemed to glow at the sound of her words. Almost as if impatient to fight the enemy right away, he said, ‘I will mobilize hundreds of brave warriors to fight for this cause and see that the earth is covered with the corpses of the enemy forces.’

  Padmini signalled him to stop and said, ‘First, listen to what I say and then give me your opinion.’ He stood still. She continued in a solemn tone, ‘I am sorry to say that despite Gora’s admirable qualities, the maharawal is not favourably disposed towards him these days. I don’t know how he would respond to the proposal of him leading the campaign. Perhaps he would not give Gora the honour he deserves. So, you have to do it not only as your duty as a devoted soldier, but also with a humanitarian approach, without expecting anything in return. Selflessly.’

  Gora stood without saying a word. But Badal was as blistering as the summer sun. ‘Uncle Gora considers a task done with a selfish motive not only improper but an act of adharma,’ he said. ‘Even otherwise, principles are greater than any individual.’

  Padmini looked at the young man in front of her. Badal appeared to be brimming with courage and vigour, with no trace of fear and apprehension. ‘It does not behove the brave to give up efforts for fear of unfavourable results. Ranisa, if you have any other apprehensions, please tell us. We will give you our word only after that.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Padmini, ‘I have yet another apprehension that is troubling me. How will your wives react? They will certainly curse me for putting the lives of their husbands at stake for the sake of my own honour and my husband’s life.’

  For the first time, Gora’s face betrayed some emotion. With flaring nostrils, he said, ‘No, no, Ranisa! Do not let this thought enter your mind. The wives of Kshatriyas do not shed tears over the heroic death of their husbands. On the contrary, they prepare their men to go to the battlefield by handing them weapons. Moreover, a king is the master of the state. Please do not compare this lowly, humble, insignificant person to our revered king.’

  Badal’s fierceness became more pronounced. He went to a corner and picked up the shining arrow lying on the table. He pricked his arm with its sharp point. Out came a tiny stream of blood with which he smeared the palm of his hand and went over to Padmini. ‘Ranisa, I swear by this blood! Maharawal Ratan Singh will be back on the throne and the honour of Rani Padmini will stand protected even if a number of brave soldiers have to sacrifice their lives.’ His eyes flashed as he said this. He put the arrow back on the table and wiped the blood trickling from his arm with a sweep of his hand. A few drops of blood still glistened on the head of the arrow.

  Padmini looked at Badal admiringly. Enamoured with his words, his show of courage and unflinching loyalty, she was wondered if there were others around who would stand before his brilliance.

  ‘You are the bravest of the brave in the true sense, Badal! You deserve special praise. I feel that my hope has been strengthened. May Lord Eklingji bestow his grace on you so as to enable you to remain steadfast in your pledge.’

  Badal offered a cheerful smile.

  Padmini rose from her seat and said, ‘I am thankful to you both.’

  ‘You need not thank us. In fact, we feel honoured by your visit. We are grateful that you reposed trust in us and made us realize our duty towards the state, thus, giving us a purpose to live.’

  Padmini was about to leave when her worries returned. Gora was quick to read the queen’s mind. In a consolatory tone, he said, ‘Don’t you worry, Ranisa! We assure you that we will obey your order in letter and spirit. To us, your word is more sacrosanct than our scriptures.’

  Padmini felt their assuring words resounding around her, as though they had come from some other world. She felt invigorated.

  ‘We are fortunate that you came and purified our humble abode with the dust of your feet,’ Gora said deferentially.

  Gora and Badal bowed to her. For a moment, she gazed admiringly at the embodiments of valour. Then she went and sat in the palanquin.

  As the palanquin left for the palace, the despondency that had weighed her down seemed to have been lifted. They had sufficiently assured her with their support. She almost felt buoyant. Her perturbed mind was filled with a sense of solace. She took a deep breath, inhaling the cool morning air.

  How resolute, and yet profound, is Gora! The adverse situations in his life have perhaps taught him to be patient and determined. He is so brave and yet so humble.

  And Badal! There is unlimited courage flowing in his veins. How impatient he is, looking to take up the challenge in an instant. How full he was of hope, as though the freedom of the king from the enemy’s custody was not simply a wish but the complete truth. It’s amazing that such a strong personality has developed within him at this tender age. Badal is not only incomparable but also a role model; an example to be emulated by the young generation.

  Gora is cool and sober, and Badal is just the opposite: aggressive with a fire in his belly. But they are so similar in their thinking and their philosophy of life. Worries or despondency have not touched them. It seems fear will never be able to pick up the courage to confront them. People say that Badal was raised under Gora’s care and protection. Perhaps the similarity is because of this bond. They have a lot of self-confidence. One can trust only those who have confidence in themselves.

  The palanquin continued to make its way towards the palace.

  When Veerbhan had conveyed the parishad’s message to her, she had felt as though everything around her had crashed: the pride of the family, the honour of womanhood, the safety of the king, their dignity. A thorn piercing all these layers had finally struck the most vulnerable part of her—‘I’.

  The ‘I’ of her ego, smouldering silently, had burst into a fire. How had her intelligence, her wisdom worked in that situation? Which was that moment that gave her tormented mind a dogged determination? What kind of introspection had led to this decision? At this moment, she was unable to understand it. Whatever the decision, she had made up her mind to take it, whether it was judged right or not; whether it was in the overall interest of Chittor or merely her own.

  She heard another voice inside her head: ‘The pride and honour of Chittor and your own honour as the king’s wife are not different things. It is in the pride and dignity of Chittor that your honour lies. Is your existence separate from Chittor?’

  What is this existence of mine? Until this day, she had been unable to realize what her presence meant. It was for the first time in the ultimate moments of this dense darkness that she had come face-to-face with her being. It was in these moments that her independent identity had come to the fore for the first time. After she had been carried away by the strong currents of agony, emotional deprivation and humiliation with nothing to hold on to, she could finally see herself in a definitive frame.

  Overtaken by the night-long tiredness, she felt as though there was no energy left in her body. However, a new voice of hope emerged from within: ‘Do not worry. Things will turn in your favour.’

  A strange intoxication of faith and hope overtook her.

  The curtains of the palanquin fluttered, ushering in the early morning cool breeze. When she peered through the rippling silk, she caught the glow of dawn on the eastern horizon.

  The city was agog with excitement. The news that Gora had risen to the challenge spread like wildfire. He was to address a select gathering of soldiers
, generals, nobles, vassals and warlords in the assembly hall.

  A wave of elation ran through the terrified citizens. There was something to do; a heave on the surface that could mean something more than merely facing assault with their hands tied. And it was also because they had immense love and trust for Gora and Badal.

  Once the stir began, the course of events started picking up pace. An atmosphere of expectancy prevailed.

  The auditorium was packed with warriors of all ranks. People continued to stream in. It looked as though the number of people waiting outside outnumbered those inside the hall. Common people were not allowed to enter, but their curiosity to read the future course of action from the expressions of the generals was irrepressible.

  Padmini occupied a seat close to the latticed gallery on the upper floor of the auditorium, from where she could watch the proceedings. Seated behind were her attendants and other women from her apartment.

  Ajay Singh, Bhim Singh, Sangram Singh, Bagh Singh, Bhawani Singh, Jaitaran, Surya Mal and other distinguished personalities entered the jam-packed hall.

  The courtiers rose. The tumult came to a halt.

  The front row was occupied by the members of the war council. Soon after, Prince Veerbhan, followed by Mahamantri Mahan Singh and Gora and Badal, appeared. Once again, all the assembled members were on their feet and silence prevailed.

  Padmini glanced at the members of the war council in the front row. Suddenly, she noticed a ten- to twelve-year-old boy among them. A unique mixture of innocence and solemnity was visible on his face. He had a strong physique and long arms, not normally seen among boys his age. He was observing the proceedings with rapt attention.

  That good-looking boy with a seraphic grace took her breath away. Who was he? She signalled Sugna, who was sitting close by, to come to her. ‘Is Likhvanbai here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, she is here. Shall I call her?’

  ‘Please do.’

  Likhvanbai was there in a moment. There was a courteous look on her face and a shine in her eyes. Age had not dented her agility and vigour. The reddish glow on her copper face reflected her knowledge and wisdom.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Ranisa?’

  ‘Bai!’ said Padmini, ‘Who is that boy sitting in the front row?’

  Likhvanbai fixed her gaze at the boy, trying to recognize him. ‘You mean the one seated next to Ajay Singh?’

  ‘Yes, that boy.’

  ‘He is the son of late Ara Singh, the eldest son of Lakshman Singh, who was a brave fighter of the Mandalik fort in Sisod. His name is Hamir. He is the heir to the jagir, the estate of Sisod.’

  ‘Hamir’s father was killed in the battle of Malwa recently. After Ara Singh’s heroic death, his wife performed jauhar by jumping into the fire to save her honour,’ she continued.

  ‘Under whose care and protection is he being brought up, Bai?’

  ‘Ajay Singh, his father’s younger brother, is his guardian. Ajay Singh himself was seriously injured in the battle of Malwa. He was under treatment for a long time in Sisod. After his recovery, it is for the first time that he has participated in the state’s activities.’

  Lakshman Singh was a brave warrior and a skilled strategist. But he was away in Malwa. He had twelve sons, all of whom were brave like their father. He was the most powerful person in Mewar, next only to the maharawal, the king. He held an influential position in the state. The king had great respect for him and considered him his elder brother.

  Likhvanbai told Padmini that in Mewar, the first ruler of the Guhil dynasty was King Bapa Rawal. He ruled the state for a long time and then chose to take sanyaas and renounce the throne. After him, many brave and courageous rulers of the dynasty ascended the throne. During the reign of Raja Karna, the Guhil dynasty branched into two dynasties named after his sons—Rawal and Rana.

  The elder son, Rawal, became the king of Mewar. The younger one defeated a formidable enemy and earned the title of ‘Rana’. He reclaimed the territory of Sisod and became its ruler. The Rana dynasty continued to rise in power and prominence. Lakshman Singh belonged to this dynasty. The royal set-up of Sisod was the most important principality in the area.

  The hall was filled to capacity. Once the initial formalities were complete, Gora rose to address the assembly. All eyes were on him. He radiated confidence.

  In his typical style of addressing a gathering of important people, he began to speak. The tone of his voice was cool, serious and deep. ‘Friends, we are assembled here to give our thoughts to the current situation in all its perspective. We know that we are faced with grave and critical circumstances, and we have very little time at our disposal.’ He paused for a moment before continuing, ‘The brave and valorous would not shy away from fighting the enemy for fear of loss or defeat. We are the soldiers of the ruler whose ancestor, Bapa Rawal, had crushed the Turks who came from Sindh. Emperor Bisaldeo too had chased them out of the land of Aryavart. Maharawal Samar Singh had put the Yavanas, the Arab invaders, to rout. Why are we afraid of the enemy? Why are we thinking about handing over the queen of Mewar to the sultan? It will be very disgraceful and cowardly of us if we choose to avoid a battle in exchange for our Ranisa. Such an undignified surrender will prove to be far more deadly than the poison halahal. In this hour of crisis, when we are faced with grave challenges and threats, we must not forget that a soldier’s field of action is the battlefront, where he has to fight and lay down his life in order to defend the country’s honour and values.’

  All the soldiers and other members of the war council listened to the man before them, weighing each and every word he spoke. Gora’s deep voice, his wisdom and the strength of his character resonated with the audience before him. He analysed the impending situation in a matter-of-fact manner.

  Taking a pause, he swept a glance over every member present there. What he had to say must capture their minds and convince them. He said earnestly, ‘It is not a one-off problem. This has to be viewed in a broader perspective. It will be a great mistake on our part to think that the sultan will sit quiet once the queen is handed over to him. It is not for the first time that the Yavanas have attacked, nor is this going to be the last. By handing over our queen to him, do you think we will kill the crisis? Do you think the enemy will leave?’

  He scanned the crowd again, looking for a response, commanding a response. Many shuffled their feet, many lowered their eyes. Gora continued, ‘You can put off the crisis for now, but you cannot do so for all time to come. If you give in to a bully, it will only enhance his greed. Plundering and causing all-round destruction has caught the fancy of this power-drunk barbarian to the point of obsession. He thinks that he can establish his rule over any territory by running roughshod over its people.’

  The audience was all ears, accepting Gora’s words of wisdom as scriptural injunctions. It looked as though sparks were flying off Gora’s eyes. The radiance of his personal vigour was spreading like sunlight. He stopped. He surveyed the gathering again. If eyes could speak eloquently then his eyes made more declarations than his words. All of them kept looking at him.

  Padmini gazed at Gora with admiration. As his words echoed in the assembly hall, she felt calm, as if it was finally all right to breathe, to be. She felt that his words carried imperishable truth and undiminished strength. She was amazed to find that Gora had immediately established an emotional connect with his audience. Her heart was filled with respect for him.

  You are a man in the truest sense—a rare coalescence of emotional intensity, persuasive argument and an aggressive sense of duty. In this hour of despair and despondency, you stand as firm as a rock.

  Raising his voice, Gora said fiercely, ‘The straight and shorter route to the Haj pilgrimage passes through Mewar. The pilgrims prefer the Gujarat coast for their journey towards Mecca and other shrines in Arabia. The port of Surat is the commercial hub of Aryavart or Bharat. Again, it is through Mewar that different places in northern, eastern, western and southern parts of th
e country can be reached. Our kingdom is situated at the centre and, therefore, it is the nerve centre of trade and commerce, besides being perfectly suited for military operations, with suitable infrastructure like better roads and highways. We are in a strong position to dismantle infrastructural support and ensure the roads leading to Malwa and Gujarat are unserviceable, if and when the situation demands.’ The crowd murmured and stirred.

  Gora paused. What he said next came out almost like a roar.

  ‘The enemy can control a vast expanse of territory extending from Delhi to Malwa and the provinces of Gujarat so long as there is nobody to disrupt their movement. The sultan would want to ensure that these highways are safe for travelling. It is obvious that unless they are under his control, he cannot effectively exercise administrative control over Delhi, Malwa and Gujarat. Besides, Malwa is among the most powerful kingdoms and principalities in the country. So, unless the sultan conquers Chittor, he will not be able to exercise authority unhindered over the length and breadth of his empire.’

  Padmini’s eyes widened. Her heart beat faster realizing what Gora was saying. Her eyes scanned the crowd. What were they thinking?

  The pitch of Gora’s voice and the intensity of his emotional appeal continued to rise. His speech continued to flow like an uninterrupted river. Padmini looked at the assembly watching their hero wordlessly, unblinkingly.

  The light of determination in Gora’s eyes became more intense. The audience hung on to every word. Even his pauses seemed measured. They allowed the information he reeled out to be processed. Gora’s eyes blazed, and the audience seemed buzzed with the power of his conviction. ‘If all the kings and rulers of Aryavart go on submitting to this impious sultan one after another, the independence and sovereignty of all the states, their cultural identity, their traditional wisdom and thinking will come to an end. Friends, be brave. You must keep in mind that the sultan’s rule and his forces are not going to last forever, whereas our dharma and this great land of ours will live for eternity.’