Inside her, the flame of hope and faith began to glow. The mist of dismay and despair gave way to self-assurance. It was as if she could see the bright light at the far end of the tunnel. She felt as though in that light somebody was scripting a message of hope with golden letters.
Her heart soared. She wanted to laugh out loud. Somehow, they seemed to have made it through the intense distress. Victory! That too over Ala-ud-Din, the emperor of Delhi, whose name struck terror in the hearts of people all over Aryavart. The fact that they had chosen to defend their pride, glory, honour, self-respect would rewrite history.
Her mind was crowded with emotions. Where did all this hope and aspiration suddenly spring from? It was getting more and more agonizing to wait for the moment when she would see the Rajan in front of her; freed from captivity. It was excruciating to have to wait to celebrate.
She was lost in reverie. How will it feel in that moment? How will I make myself believe that the Rajan is free, completely free?
What will happen when the sovereign ruler of Mewar appears before me? Will I be carried away by emotions and throw myself into his arms, oblivious to the world? Will he hold me tight the moment he sees me? How will it be in that moment of blessedness?
I will tell the Rajan everything, every small detail of what happened from the beginning to the end. How that night of utter disquiet and unease was and in what mental state I went to meet Gora. How he gave his word of honour to come to our rescue, how he reawakened a sense of pride and self-esteem in one and all, and how I anxiously passed every single moment of this long wait. Every breath, every heartbeat itself will tell him what I had to suffer.
She felt an unusual thrill of joy and excitement. Then suddenly, a depressing thought crossed her mind.
All these things are a figment of my imagination, mere expectations. Everything is uncertain at present. What the future holds, nobody knows. The hope that I am nursing has no solid base. What if things do not turn out the way I expected? Till now, only the first phase of the plan has been completed. There’s a lot more to be achieved.
Nervously, she paced up and down her room. Caught in an emotional turmoil, she was unable to calm down.
What could she do?
Yes, there was only one way to come out of this turmoil. It was to remember Lord Eklingji.
She shut her eyes and tried to meditate. The sadness that was flowing into her stopped. She began to feel relaxed.
In spite of maintaining complete secrecy, everybody in the women’s apartment seemed to know where the rows of palanquins were going and why. A strange uncertainty, balanced between hope and despair, seemed to hang in the air. It was as though all the perturbed souls around were holding their breath. ‘O Lord Eklingji! Be kind to us,’ she prayed.
Time seemed to stand still as she counted every moment restlessly.
* * *
All of a sudden, an indistinct din rose all around. Padmini was startled out of her musings. It grew into a deafening roar that was still indistinguishable but sounded like an outburst of elation. She wondered what had happened. The fervid exuberance riding the waves of sounds came closer and closer. Her pulse raced. She could not understand what was happening, but it seemed to augur well for them. Shouts of rapturous acclaim were coming closer.
Cries of Jai Shri Ekling . . . Har Har Mahadev . . . Bam Bam Mahadev and sounds of kettledrums, trumpets and conch shells tore through the air. The sound of galloping horses coming closer was becoming louder and louder.
Words of jubilation began to resonate in the women’s apartment: ‘The maharawal has been freed from the enemy’s prison . . .’
‘The maharawal has started from there . . .’
‘The sultan has dismantled his tent and fled . . .’
‘Gora’s leadership achieved this success . . .’
The citizens were astonished. They were overwhelmed with joy and amazement. History had taken a new turn in a matter of hours. With that, the fate and future of the state had changed.
All this happened so suddenly that nobody was prepared to believe it. Reality dawned on the people slowly, filling them with joy and happiness, and at the same time leaving them wondering.
Padmini felt waves of reviving music race through her veins, through every fibre of her being. She felt as though she housed an unfathomable ocean. Waves overlapping waves, countless waves . . . breaking on the shore of the sky . . . inundating the horizon . . . beyond the vast expanse . . .
It looked as though Lord Rama was returning to Ayodhya after conquering Lanka. The people were overjoyed. A breeze dipped in sweet fragrance was blowing. Their eyes were gleaming with tears of joy. Streams of delight and despair merged and began to flow together.
There was a nameless tremor in the air. The reddish glow of the setting sun stopped short in the sky. The golden-red rays on the treetops seemed to give off the glint of new life to the leaves. The faces of the people gleamed. Their unblinking eyes looked like doors thrown open expectantly. ‘The maharawal is coming.’ These were the only words being spoken and heard. It was as if the swaying thickets, the blowing winds, the flowing river were echoing this pronouncement. The water, the sky, the clouds were rotating on the axis of a single point—everything appeared to be moving.
All around, people were waiting for their king. The sense of desperate eagerness was tangible.
Hundreds of girls holding gold kalashs on their heads and aartis in their hands, with lighted lamps, grains of rice and saffron placed on gold dishes, were standing in a row. They were waiting to welcome their master with the ceremonial ritual of adoration. With the snap of a finger, the subjects of the kingdom had moved from cloying despair to regained self-confidence. The husband of Prabhavati and Padmini was returning safe and sound. It had sent their hearts singing songs of exhilaration.
Blissfully happy, Padmini sat motionless, her face beaming with a sense of contentment. Overwhelmed with joy, she closed her eyes. Her internal world was restless and anxious even if her demeanour was calm and composed.
Finally, the good news came.
‘The maharawal will first go to the temple of Lord Eklingji to offer his obeisance. Thereafter, he will visit Rani Prabhavati and then Rani Padmini in their respective palaces, Prabha Mahal and Padmini Mahal.’
Padmini’s attendants helped her change and dress up in elegance. They did her hair and applied kajal to her beautiful eyes to make them more attractive.
An announcement was made in a booming voice: ‘King of the kings, the ruler of the country, Maharawal Ratan Singh is visiting Padmini Mahal.’
The atmosphere of joyous celebration gave way to an air of discipline.
And then, there he was; the Rajan was standing in front of her. Time stood still. It seemed like ages since they had last met.
An enraptured and overwhelmed Padmini stared at Ratan Singh unblinkingly with an unquenched thirst in her eyes. Ratan Singh was drenched in sweat and dirt. His muscular body had thinned. A thin film of dry flakes had settled on his sore lips with a streak of blood glistening in between. He was exhausted but glowing with pride.
The mark of red sandalwood paste, which the raj purohit, the state priest, had put on his forehead, was intact in all its glory. A few grains of rice and some petals were stuck to his hair. It looked as though a halo of light had encircled his visage. It was this manliness she had dreamed of.
A smile hung on his lips like a painting. With that, the distance time had created between them disappeared.
Blissfulness was writ large on her face. The emotional turbulence raging in Ratan Singh’s mind came to a halt. Enchanted, they looked at each other for a long time. Finding her imagination turning into vibrant reality, she felt a gush of hope and inspiration flowing within her.
The maharawal said with a triumphant quiver in his voice, ‘What should I say? I have no words.’ With Gora on his mind, he added, ‘I am amazed. An unbelievable act of bravery by an incredible man.’ Emotions of joy, pain, disquiet, gratitude took
over his face in quick succession. ‘This victory is absolutely amazing. The credit goes entirely to Gora and Badal. They turned into reality what was virtually impossible.’ His eyes moistened.
Padmini cast her mind to the many twists and turns of fate. It was the same Gora who had once been ostracized, the mention of whose name was banned in the corridors of the palace. And now, the king himself was praising him with a sense of gratitude.
After a little pause, he cleared his throat and said, ‘I am extremely sorry for the way I treated him. There’s no doubt that Gora was a man of incomparable courage and valour.’
‘Was?’ Her eyes widened in bewilderment. ‘What happened to him?’ Her anxiety reached the height of dread.
Choked with emotion, the king said, ‘He made the supreme sacrifice to save the honour of Mewar.’ His steady gaze became pensive and he was overcome with a deep sense of gratitude.
Tears sprang into Padmini’s eyes. Gora’s face, glowing with immense courage, flashed across her mind. A wave of pain swam through the overpowering joy.
What a paradoxical situation!
The maharawal stayed for a few minutes and left, but not before telling Padmini that he would spend the night with her.
Such great honour! This sudden elevation to her status! To be in his exclusive company on this night of victory was to heighten the joy of celebration. Is it so because the Rajan knows that some credit of this victory is due to me as well?
The city was in a festive mood. She could see the entire scene of celebration from her chamber. It was for the first time in their life that such an unexpected event had taken place.
Welcome arches had been put up for the victorious army at every crossing and intersection. The façade of every building, the entrance of every house was decorated elaborately, festooned with banners and flags. All the workers and employees were engaged in giving the city a facelift.
The sound of temple bells and gongs was ringing in the air. Lamps in and around places of worship had been lighted. The poor were given charity.
The way their ruler, the maharawal, was freed from imprisonment was nothing short of a miracle. It was a historical victory.
No sooner did the victorious army enter the city than the auspicious sound of drums, trumpets and other instruments rang through the air. The bards—Charans and Bhats—started singing in praise of the king, the state and the brave warriors. The citizens, in hundreds, lined up on the streets, and swarmed on to the windows, balconies and housetops to witness the victory march. They showered petals on the warriors. The air was filled with enthusiastic voices and the fragrance of flowers.
The setting sun lent a golden hue to every object in sight.
Preparations to honour the gallant warriors were afoot. The city applauded in appreciation when the maharawal made an announcement about conferring the highest title of the state on Gora and Badal. The story of their valour spread to every locality by word of mouth.
Padmini became sad. Gora’s calm and stern-looking face swam across her mind. She would always be indebted to him. He did not flinch from laying down his life in order to keep his word. ‘Gora, bless you! I salute your bravery!’ she uttered silently.
The castle of every celebration is founded on sorrow. It is the bloodshed that adds colour to the decor. The pennant of victory flutters because many people sacrifice their lives. The sacred lamp burns because many brave souls die for it.
Gora’s prestige had reached its apex. The bards were praising him to the skies. It seemed as if every animate and inanimate object was profusely grateful to him and cherished his glorious deeds.
But it was difficult to fathom the pain that the martyr’s widow had to bear.
The idol of a god has to bear countless blows from a hammer at the hands of a sculptor, her father had once said, before it is worshipped. In all the joy, she felt the weight of her tears for a man who stood up and changed the course of the tide. For the man who listened to her when nobody else did, who sought to convince a parliament of men who were ready to pay the ransom of their queen to save a king blinded by fear; to save her; but most of all to save everyone’s pride.
* * *
‘Ranisa! Badal has sought permission to speak to you,’ Sugna informed her.
‘He may, Sugna! Ask the attendants to make arrangements for a grand welcome.’ Her voice was choked with emotion.
The attendants rushed to make preparations for the aarti. As soon as the women heard about Badal’s visit, they came running to catch a glimpse of the brave young man. They waited with curiosity.
Badal stepped in with an aura of a victor. He was still wearing his headgear and armour. There were gaping wounds on his body. The blood that had settled on the armour had turned black.
As he stood before the queen, he took off his helmet out of respect and held it in his right hand. From his face, he looked healthy, balanced and composed. An unusual bliss and a smile of deep contentment had come over his countenance. It was as if Hanuman had returned with a sense of accomplishment after reducing Lanka to ashes.
The attendants greeted him with a ceremonial welcome by performing the aarti. Padmini applied tilak on his forehead. It was difficult for her to not get emotional. Taking a minute to regain her composure, she blessed the young warrior, ‘May Lord Eklingji bless you with a long life. I salute your talent. It has the power to infuse new life into people, like mrit sanjivani, the mythological herb that restores life to the dead. Today, your inspiring leadership has given rise to a new spirit of courage and fortitude. Badal, may you always succeed!’
There was no arrogance or pride in his expression. Instead, his face displayed a sense of responsibility and contentment. With his head bowed, he said, ‘It was all because of the blessings of Lord Eklingji and the grace of the maharawal.’ He paused for a while and added, ‘But it was your initiative that led to this victory. In fact . . .’
‘No, no, Badal!’ Padmini intervened with seriousness and dignity in her voice. ‘The credit goes to the maharawal, his brave soldiers, his subjects and above all, to you and Gora.’
‘I came here to give you a message from my uncle, Gora.’
‘Gora’s message? Were you with him in his last moments?’
‘In those moments, he was surrounded by the enemy. There was no opportunity for him to say anything. We met briefly after the maharawal had left on horseback. He told me “Go and tell Ranisa that Gora has kept his word.” He made a request too.’
‘What is it, Badal?’
‘He said that the maharawal was annoyed with him and requested you, Ranisa, to clear that mistrust.’ His tone revealed the pain that had plagued Gora’s heart.
What could she say? The maharawal was already indebted to him. He was filled with remorse. In his eyes, no one was greater than Gora. Padmini closed her eyes involuntarily. Gora’s stern face flashed before her. Beneath the calm, balanced and dispassionate exterior, Gora had been hiding intense pain. He had always exercised extreme self-restraint and not let anybody suspect the hurt he guarded closely.
But even the most hard-hearted have feelings. Gora felt pain even though he may not have let out a sigh. But there comes a day when even the brave cannot help bursting into tears. Even the mighty Himalayas must have felt some unbearable pain that forced it to break into tears, which had come to be known as the Ganga’s descent.
Emotions crowded her mind and brought tears to her eyes. She felt as though she had left behind a terribly desolate terrain and reached a new horizon with a new sun piercing through dismal darkness.
‘I no longer need to do that, Badal! His brave deeds have won him a place in the heart and mind of not just the maharawal but of each person present today and also the coming generations.’ Her throat felt constricted when she added, ‘We grieve the loss of a great son of our motherland.’
Badal said, ‘There cannot be any greater honour for a soldier than to lay down his life in the service of his motherland.’ His face was glowing with a sense of pride
. He waited for a while and then added, ‘May I take your leave?’
‘So soon? I want you to tell me more about your campaign.’
A smile indicating a sense of achievement danced on his lips.
He started calmly, ‘The entire plan was spearheaded and conducted with such smooth coordination that the royal army was caught napping. They had no time to counter-attack. Their strategy was in absolute disarray. There was total chaos in the enemy camp, which led to their grip slackening on the situation. They were left with no option but to flee.’
Padmini was very happy to hear this. ‘Tell me more,’ she cajoled him. ‘I want to know about the operation from the beginning to the end.’
A chair was brought in for Badal. He sat down and continued enthusiastically, ‘Everything was executed in absolute secrecy and as planned. Nobody suspected our motive. Drunk with arrogance, they were so confident that they had relaxed vigilance. It made our task of gaining entry into the sultan’s camp easier. When we were close to the tent, we sent word to him that as decided Rani Padmini would like to see Maharawal Ratan Singh. Blinded by lust, the sultan agreed without a second thought. Once he was inside the camp, Uncle Gora looked around and inspected the enemy positions.’ Badal paused for breath.
Padmini asked the attendant standing by her side for water. She returned with a tumbler. Badal drank it and felt refreshed. Relaxed, he picked up the thread of his narrative, ‘Just as he approached the maharawal, Uncle Gora uncovered himself and drew his sword. Before the guards could react, he had severed their arms. Before they could understand anything, Sangram had stabbed them to death. Other soldiers too unsheathed their swords. As signalled by Gora, Sangram Singh took over command on the left while Suwarna Singh managed the right. Bhim Singh was assigned the task of breaking through the enemy lines. The enemy forces, meanwhile, were still unaware of our plan of action and the strategic positioning of our soldiers.’
Padmini’s heart was filled with pride and affection for Gora.
‘The maharawal was momentarily taken aback when he saw Uncle Gora in that form. He stared at him in astonishment. He was either not able to understand what was happening or he didn’t believe his eyes. In the little time that was available, Gora explained the plan to the king and said, “Maharawal, leave immediately, please. We have very little time at our disposal.”’
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