‘When a man finds himself in the throes of insurmountable difficulties, he should, for a while, leave himself in the hands of a loving woman. There have been many instances in the annals of history when people have achieved the greatest successes after they were inspired by a woman’s love.’ Her voice had the softness of a bird’s love for its little ones.
A curve of a smile flashed at the corners of his eyes.
‘You are a woman, after all! You know the language of love best.’
She felt as though she had met her loving husband after ages.
He rose to leave.
She watched him go. Every step he took seemed to indicate his firmness in heading towards his goal.
The Rajan has completely transformed. He is an accomplished statesman, politician, leader of the masses, and a dauntless warrior. His voice has the firmness of the Aravali hills. He is not going to leave himself at the mercy of destiny. He has not allowed himself to forget that he was tortured and humiliated by Ala-ud-Din. It seems like the only mission in his life is to take revenge. That unfortunate incident has made him introspective. He has been thoroughly chiselled. All those parts of his personality and character, which were undesirable, stand pared down. What is left is a sense of responsibility, rekindled wisdom and a strong will to wash off the stigma on his forehead.
Having escaped the jaws of death, he felt intensely vengeful. The sacrifice of Gora and other soldiers . . . the pride and glory of Mewar . . . the honour of the flag . . . all this and other thoughts jammed his mind. Never before had he felt such a fire in his belly. Never before had he felt such a strong urge to do or die.
People normally believe that there is an unbroken chain of life from birth to death. But a man is never the same in different stages of life. He changes every moment. With the passage of time, neither the mind nor the body remains the same.
* * *
Samvat 1360 (1303 CE). A midnight in the month of Bhadrapada. It was pitch-black outside. There was no sleep in Padmini’s eyes. Her heart beat fast. She tossed and turned in bed with a grim sense of foreboding.
Rumblings of deep, frightening sounds were coming from afar. It felt as if heavy boulders were falling from the sky. Suddenly, huge dark clouds gathered in the sky and thundered. Lightning flashed and struck the surrounding valleys. A fierce storm followed with strong winds and heavy rain. The night was ominously dark. She was scared.
All of a sudden, a tumultuous noise rose from the direction of the Surya Dwar, the eastern gate. It sounded like an earthquake. The next moment, gale-force winds began to whizz past, making the flames in the lamps flicker. The ramparts of the fort shook. It looked as though the universe would tremble.
The entire women’s apartment had assembled. Everybody was panicking. With fear in their eyes, they looked like scared fawns being chased by a hunter. They were unable to think clearly. Their hearts were pounding.
The noise became louder.
Ala-ud-Din had attacked.
There was stunned silence inside the fort for a few moments. Everybody was tense.
Soon, the castle reverberated with the sound of soldiers scurrying into one direction. The stamping stopped after the soldiers took positions. The commanders took charge of their formations. Lightning seemed to flash through their limbs. They felt the blood racing through their veins. The chaturang sena, the four-wing army comprising the infantry, cavalry, chariots and elephants, were all poised for a fierce battle.
Trumpets were sounded to announce that the army was marching. The tumultuous sound of clarinets, kettledrums and horns filled the air.
The blowing of trumpets and the war cry created enthusiasm among the soldiers who were ready to challenge the enemy. A thunderous cheer went up from the spirited troops hailing victory to Mewar.
Uneasiness took over Padmini. More than anxiety, it was fear, a nameless fear. She paced the room restlessly with her hands clasped together. In a fury of emotions, she put out the lamp in the room and threw open the window. Outside, the rain came down in torrents. Blinding dark skies devoured everything. The storm was at its fiercest with strong winds, roaring clouds and all lanes and roads deep in water.
She looked around helplessly. The figure in the picture on the wall seemed to have smothered her soul. It looked as though the shadow of death had spread all over.
A crack of thunder and a flash of lightning with furious winds made the dense forests appear all the more frightening.
The might of the sultan’s forces had increased many times over, both in number and striking capability, compared to last time. Sultan Ala-ud-Din had returned with the sole aim of a bloodbath. He was determined, it seemed, to leave with Padmini this time. He took upon himself the task of leading his army. Khilji, whose name alone had the power to strike terror in every part of Aryavart, was truly arrogant, lascivious, unjust and atrocious.
The command of the army of Mewar was in the hands of Maharawal Ratan Singh. Like any astute commander, he seemed to know instinctively where he was needed most at a particular point of time, and he made it a point to be there. His very presence filled the soldiers with renewed enthusiasm. A signal from him and they happily sacrificed their lives. The morale of the soldiers continued to fly high.
The enemy troops had spread themselves all around the fort, unleashing destruction, sacking and looting villages, and slaughtering innocent people. However, their attempt at infiltration did not gain much foothold. They faced stiff resistance. Every citizen of Mewar was a participant. Villagers, young and old, male and female, ignored their safety and came out to defend their motherland.
The men hid behind bushes and the women handed them spears. These were thrown to target the advancing enemy soldiers. Everyone did their bit to defend the city. They continued these tactics until they could no more check the enemy’s movement. When there was no hope left, they cut off the heads of their women and children to save them from dishonour and pounced on the enemy with all their might. This indomitable courage and perseverance earned them victory in many villages.
The garrison commanders remained alert round-the-clock. They kept a watchful eye on every move of the enemy. The army was like an impregnable rock.
The warriors of Mewar were closely observing the strategy of the enemy and had divined that they were incapable of fighting in hilly terrain. Their skill and training in such encounters enabled them to dismantle the formation of the first line of attack. The first-hand knowledge of the Aravali range proved to be an advantage for the warriors of Mewar. A handful of soldiers were able to crush the much bigger army of the enemy.
In the first round, the Mewar soldiers gained commendable success. But the tempo could not be maintained. Gradually, the situation changed. Eventually, it began to reverse.
The enemy troops were so many that they could surround the fort four times over. The long-drawn siege was getting tighter and stronger each day. The rear guard, with their formidable strength, was providing them with support. A fierce battle was being fought around the fort.
A deafening blast rent the air. The upper crust of rocks developed gashing cracks. The entire town was overtaken by mounting calamity.
Action near two gates—Lakhota Dwar and Surya Dwar—and the Chittavari tower intensified. Damages to the fort were repaired overnight.
The attack intensified, making every retaliation devastating. A disastrous chaos with dark clouds of smoke, dust and toxic fumes spread all over as though a volcano had erupted. Men, women and children were buried alive under stone walls and other structures. Cries of despair pierced the air. The spell of death and destruction continued unabated. There seemed to be no end to the bloody battle. The sky appeared to be trembling as it watched the sinister game being played out.
In this reign of terror and treachery, the dividing line between day and night disappeared. Flocks of vultures and kites begin to circle the sky.
The brave soldiers of Mewar had not lost heart in the face of the adverse conditions and lack of men a
nd equipment. They were always aware that the enemy was far more powerful in terms of men and resources. Yet there was no trace of fear, indecisiveness or lack of purpose. As the fight progressed, the sense of patriotism grew.
The soil turned red with blood flowing like water. Everything around, the rocks, the stunted trees were bathed in blood.
The crisis deepened. Misery and misfortune tightened their grip. Chittor, the heart of Mewar, pride and honour of the Kshatriyas, the pivot of freedom, was on the verge of defeat.
At sundown, the fierce fighting came to a halt. The shadows lengthened. The room was dimly lit. Outside, through a wide-open window, the overcast sky, with dark clouds hovering above the hilltops, was visible. The wind picked up. A sudden gust rattled doors and hinges, leaving the mighty walls stunned, alarmed.
The sound of fast pacing steps signalled that somebody from the military camp was coming with a message.
Padmini stepped out of her room.
She couldn’t recognize the messenger with his face covered by a heavy warrior-helmet.
‘Khamaghani, Ranisa!’ the messenger bowed before her.
The voice. She recognized it instantly.
‘Ajay Singh!’
There were deep gashes all over his body; he was bleeding heavily; his clothes were badly torn.
He took off his helmet and held it in his hand. She looked into his eyes. There was no dream, no hope in them, but neither was there any gloom. The other hand still held the hilt of his sword firmly.
The sun was about to set behind the hills.
‘You are grievously wounded.’
‘Wounded I am, but not disheartened. I wanted to come to you to keep you informed, but a series of sudden attacks kept me engaged,’ he said firmly.
‘What is the latest news?’ Though her face revealed no emotion, her voice betrayed anxiety.
Ajay Singh replied mechanically, ‘On the north front, near the Lakhota Dwar, we have been defeated completely. In other fortifications too we face imminent defeat. On the south front, near the Chittavari tower, we gained some success because of the inspiring presence of the maharawal, but later we had to suffer heavy losses there too. Many of our gallant men have been killed. On the east side at the Surya Dwar, Mahan Singh is holding command. He has penetrated deep into the enemy lines and forced them to retreat.’
‘Why are we facing reverses in our campaign?’
‘There is hardly any time to analyse,’ he replied. After a pause, he said, ‘Their superior military strength has given them a huge advantage. When their soldiers fighting at the front are exhausted, they are replaced by the rearguard. We have had no relief, therefore, from the continuous onslaught.’
‘Everybody in Mewar, irrespective of whether they are Kshatriyas or not, joined the forces. Why then do have we to face this situation?’
It was not her words alone that questioned him; her tone, her look, her gesture were all poised simultaneously with the question.
‘What you say is true, Ranisa! But, in the first place, our regular trained soldiers did not accept this deployment wholeheartedly. Second, we focused only on attack and pressed our entire force into it. We did not think of ensuring reserves to reinforce our fighting troops in an emergency.’ She looked at him in anguish. He continued with his eyes fixed to the ground, ‘Besides, our arms were too old to protect our men from the assault of the enemy’s sharp and sturdy weapons. We have adopted a conventional and outdated technique of warfare against their modern methods and arms. Moreover, we are not used to tackling their treacherous and deceitful ways.’
‘Where has Badal been deployed to command?’
‘It is because of his great leadership that we have gained success at different locations. The enemy soldiers took to their heels the moment they found themselves face-to-face with him. Those who were unable to flee were put to death. Though he is seriously injured, he has not budged an inch in complete disregard of his safety.
Suddenly, Padmini’s heart began to beat fast. Much as she wanted to know, she was unable to get herself to ask about the Rajan.
Ajay Singh raised his downcast eyes for a moment. He could sense the question weighing on her mind. Without any preface, he said, ‘The maharawal is in good health and commanding his men bravely and skilfully. Yuvraj, the prince, is under his wing and assisting his father competently. Once it so happened that the maharawal was surrounded by the sultan’s men and there was no way to escape. No sooner did their commander, riding a horse, come to strike him, than the prince pounced on the commander like a hawk and struck him with a spear that tore through his armour and penetrated his neck. He fell off his horse. But, unfortunately, before he fell, he attacked the prince with his sword. The soldiers surrounding the king rushed to the prince, but by that time the situation had gone out of their hands and they were pushed back.’
‘How is the prince? Is he seriously wounded?’ The pain in her voice was acute.
‘He has injuries all over his body and his armour has been torn asunder. Our rescue team took him to the medical camp immediately, where he is being treated.’
‘How is he now?’ she asked with fear in her voice.
‘Fortunately, the injuries are not deep. The doctor examined him and gave him medicines. Now he is much better. The bleeding has stopped and the pain has subsided to a great extent. I came here after visiting him.’
‘May God give him a long life!’ she whispered a prayer.
‘The maharawal was there some time back. He also saw the other injured soldiers and asked about their health and well-being.’
The prince’s face, evoking sentiments of love and affection, flashed before Padmini’s eyes. In her mind’s eye she visualized the Rajan taking his injured son in his arms; kissing his forehead; holding his tender hands and placing them on his eyes. Veerbhan was the flame of the Rajan’s life and an incessant stream of love flowed in his heart for his son, Padmini thought to herself.
Ajay Singh stood in silence while the queen contemplated all this. Shafts of a blurred shadow crossed his eyes.
He bowed and left.
* * *
Thick darkness began to spread. Outside, the woods looked sad, the skies discontent, the hills helpless and the valleys burdened.
Standing in the dark, she gazed at the ruins. The sight was frightening. Bodies were being cremated in hundreds. The stench of half-burnt corpses hung in the air. The ground was strewn with severed hands and legs. Stacked in one corner was a heap of bones and ashes.
She felt as though the unfulfilled aspirations of the dead were floating around her.
Is this the same place where, not long ago, rejoicing pairs of geese and cranes lazed around in the pond; besotted bees sucked nectar from the sweet-smelling cluster of flowers; poets, in the cosy auditorium, regaled the audience with their poems; Prince Veer practised archery; pious Brahmin women strolled?
How dreamlike is this life! It is as if ‘yesterday’ did not exist, and this day will also not be there tomorrow. How things have changed. Try as you might, you cannot find any relic of that past. Where have those days gone? Now there is nothing left except a tale of sorrow.
Hazy, serpentine streaks of smoke emanating from the funeral pyres rose into the air as though the souls of the bravehearts who laid down their lives were seeking their final destination in the vast expanse of outer space.
Around the burning pyres was a glow of fire, beyond which the darkness was thick, dense and solid. It seemed like the agony of this place had become one with the tormenting darkness.
An impenetrable stillness stretched all over.
Chittorgarh, which till the other day was the pride and glory of the entire Rajputana, which had been the home of peace-loving and religious-minded people since times immemorial, which had the blessings of sages Shilarya and Harit stood severely wounded and humiliated. Its glory and reputation had suffered innumerable lacerations. Now, it stood as a mute testimony to the all-consuming flow of time.
‘
O creator of this world! You have created this world so beautifully with your own hands. Why is there so much pain and suffering in it?’ she uttered indistinctly.
‘What has happened to this life, this land, this world?’
There were no answers.
‘Once shining crowns now stand tarnished. Once the pennant of glory is now lying uprooted. Once the rulers of the land now stand vanquished. Trumpets once sounding in celebration of victory have fallen silent.’
The ominously dark night became darker.
* * *
The battle turned even more ferocious. The pressure from the enemy continued to mount. Boiling oil, fireballs of burning oil-soaked cloth and stones rained down on them, but the indomitable demonic forces rose like an ocean. Attacks with swords, arrows, spears, clubs and other deadly weapons continued from both sides. Fountains of blood spurted from severed limbs. All over, there was an eerie sight of blood and gore.
There is always a huge gap between what man plans and the destiny he meets.
The situation was turning grimmer. Supplies began to deplete. Water levels in ponds and wells began to dip drastically. Medicines fell short and the arsenal of weapons was fast emptying.
The boundless courage and fortitude of the soldiers and their commanders began to give way. They began to lose their hold on all fronts. Surya Dwar, Hanuman Dwar, Lakhoti Dwar and Chittavari tower were captured by the enemy.
Women jumped into wells with their children. Detachments of troops were being killed one after the other on the battlefield. The pillars of strength of Mewar began to fall. Mahan Singh, Bhim Singh, Sangram Singh, Bagh Singh, Bhawani Singh, Krishna Das, Bhojraj and many others met their heroic end.
With their fall, the feeling that they were indefatigable was shattered. The magic was gone. The unchallenged dominance of the Guhil dynasty, which had stood since eternity, came to an embarrassing end. The triumphal glory of their kingdom had sunk deeper into the mire.
One-third of their territory had been occupied by the sultan’s forces. Resistance was becoming weaker and weaker. Lack of adequate resources and manpower had brought Chittor in the grip of an insurmountable crisis. The task of leading the defence fell on Badal’s shoulders as there was no other senior commander left to take up the responsibility.
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