A large number of pyres with logs of sandalwood were being prepared on an open ground between Samidheshwara and Bhimtal.
The prospect of losing their nearest and dearest had left everybody with a piercing sadness. Who would console whom? Death was staring at all of them. Everything and everyone lay scattered like creepers without support, uprooted and lifeless. They had wept so much that there were no tears left.
They gazed listlessly at their ransacked dwellings. Not long ago, tastefully furnished and decorated, they used to reverberate with sounds of love and affinity. How frighteningly stark they looked now!
The heartland of Mewar had witnessed many ups and down. Innumerable waves of victory and defeat, days and nights of love and longing, and of pangs of separation had swept over it and receded. In a few moments, everything would be finished. There would be nothing left.
Preparations for the jauhar had started.
Articles of worship used in the yajna had been brought to the venue. In a big vessel, the items required: yoghurt, rice grains, ghee, modaks, garlands of white flowers, firewood, dhoop, deep and naivedya had been placed. Urns filled with water were placed on small platforms.
Padmini sat impassively, deep in thought, unmoved like the flame of a lamp that has stopped flickering. All agonizing memories had been erased and a peaceful brightness lit up her face.
She had her family deity in mind. The hazy image was becoming clearer.
A huge lotus flower with countless crystal petals is blooming on the highest peak of Mount Kailash. Sitting on it is Lord Shiva with his consort, Uma. Serpents are slithering around his neck. On his head is the moon, and the Ganga is flowing from his matted locks. Wearing tiger skin as a loincloth, he is holding a trident, a damru and a kamandal in his hands. Devotees are offering him leaves of wood apple, petals of flowers, sandalwood paste, fruit and water.
Padmini felt piety coursing through her, transcending time and space and entering her soul. She felt her soul expanding so much that her consciousness of having a body was lost.
She prayed. ‘O Lord Shiva! Sati burnt herself to uphold your honour. Hoisting her burnt body on to your shoulder, you performed the tandava and upheld her honour. Today, your Padma has lost all her power. Only truth is the power of this powerless. If my truth is as true as you are, then protect my truth . . .’
Sugna came and saw Padmini sitting like a lifeless statue. She shook her gently. ‘Ranisa!’ she said. There was pain and helplessness in her voice.
Padmini opened her eyes slowly. There was a strange emptiness in them. It was difficult for Sugna to penetrate that look. Tears spilled from her eyes.
‘Everything is finished,’ she said, drawing a shuddery breath.
Padmini raised her eyes. When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from an unfathomable depth, ‘After everything is finished, what little remains is the meaning of life.’
Suppressing her pain, Sugna began to unbraid Padmini’s tangled hair. As she touched the queen, she felt her hands ache. Her eyes, bereft of sleep and filled with tears, were red and swollen.
Padmini had to make an effort to turn towards Sugna. With affection in her eyes, she asked, ‘You are still not free from this attachment?’
‘No, what use is this attachment now?’ Sugna responded, trying to take charge of her emotions. As she recalled the maharawal’s last words: ‘Destiny has given us only this much association with you people,’ she burst into tears. She covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly.
‘Control your feelings, Sugna!’ Padmini’s voice was softer. Suddenly, she let out a laugh. It was no ordinary laugh. It was a dry sound that seemed to come from the dark recesses of time.
‘You know, a pious woman is called sati. It refers to one who sticks to satya or the truth. And in order to adhere to the truth, we have to undergo suffering.’
Sugna looked at her helplessly. Padmini’s eyes held a faraway look as she continued, ‘There was a time when I believed that the sentiment of love is the only truth because we think it gives us happiness, joy and contentment. But it is not so, Sugna! It is just an attachment; an illusion. It is all a myth.’
Her eyes were fixed on some inaccessible point. Her voice sounded like the echo of a rivulet gurgling through a cavern. ‘This body has to give up sooner or later. One who comes has to go. This life is transitory. Whatever you can see in this world has developed from some root. It will go back to the same root. The entire light, the consciousness, the vital force—everything is a gift from God. Death takes away everything and returns them to Him.’
Sugna made an attempt to say something, but broke down instead.
Padmini’s face reflected a divine sense of peace and tranquillity. ‘Though this life is transitory, the atman or soul is immortal. As the Gita says: antavanta ime dehanityasyoktāh sharīrinah. When we realize this truth, we stop grieving. Today is mukti parva, the auspicious day of liberation of the atman imprisoned in this body, an hour of absolute bliss.’ Her eyes closed as though she could see everything clearly. Her voice was like a gentle breeze.
Sugna seemed to flounder around the abstruse philosophy. But she did feel some awakening within her, which blew away the dark clouds in her mind. Slowly, she came out of the unbearable trauma.
‘Human beings are closest to God when suffering is extreme. Now, remember God who is present everywhere; from whom this universe is revealed and in whom it will ultimately dissolve. Remember Him and realize that these worldly miseries are insignificant, that the fear of death is false. Death is not the end, it is final liberation. And liberation is blissful.’ Her words resounded through the empty chamber.
There was a blissful smile on her face.
Sugna collected herself. She remembered the purpose of her visit.
‘You’ve to proceed for your last bath, Ranisa! The place is some distance away.’
Padmini remained quiet with all her thoughts and emotions deep within her heart.
* * *
Colourful apparel, glittering ornaments, aromatic unguents, herbs and oils had been neatly arranged in large plates. Like heavy clouds about to rain, the attendants smothered their tears and prepared for the final bath. The sorrow was palpable. Their faces, dull from crying unstoppably, added to the grimness of the atmosphere. In grief, even the verdant beauty of the forests and gardens had lost their lustre. The grieving denizens of the palace felt as if even the lifeless rocks were crying.
The Gomukh Kund had retained its pristine glory. Clean, transparent and cold water cascaded into it. The ripples carried the reflection of the dark clouds. On the banks of the pond were beautiful ghats where people took their holy baths. The branches of the trees around the pond were bent towards the pond. The steps leading to the water were strewn with flowers and pollen.
Chand walked up to Padmini and sobbed, ‘Please bathe, Ranisa!’
Once again, all the attendants started crying together. Padmini, who had become weak from leading an austere life, was the only one without any tears.
She walked with her usual slow gait and descended the steps to take a dip. After she had bathed to her heart’s content, she came out. Dripping clothes covered her emaciated body, her lustrous hair reached down to her waist. She looked divine. She turned her neck to one side and tossed her hair back. Dark like the clouds, it splashed beads of water around.
After her, all the other women went into the pond.
The cold water dispelled the mist of sadness. Their weariness had eased and their hearts stopped crying. Each one of them experienced an amazing sense of wellness. They felt as though the holy stream had purified them.
Some birds sing a song of death before they die. They seem to receive some mysterious signals from the divine source and, as if on cue, start singing and feel content. Something similar happened to the women attending to Padmini; they felt rejuvenated as if they had transcended the realm of death.
Padmini looked like a celestial maiden who had bathed in the heavenly river and was ra
mbling in the exotic world of stars and planets beyond the limits of time and space. She was adorned with her last and final shringar. She was dressed in her wedding ensemble: red embroidered ghaghra, kasumal kanchali and yellow brocade odhani, a bindi on her forehead, her hands decorated with henna, her feet coloured red with mahawar. But today, the aesthetic sense worked into this shringar was different; its sensuous feel was as different as the emotions invested in them.
The pyres had been decked up.
The venue of jauhar had become a place of pilgrimage: a triveni of love, separation and sacrifice. A divine charm radiated from the faces of the women as though they had drunk the elixir of immortality. Tearing through the shadow of death, their eyes could see countless lamps with steady flames shining light on the mysterious truth of life.
Seeing the effulgence of colours, it was difficult to decide whether it was the celebration of the end or beginning of life.
Rani Padmini arrived.
Just then, Maharani Prabhavati came.
Padmini’s eyes turned towards the maharani and stayed on her for a while. Today there was no arrogance, no malice, no itch to humiliate her, no reproach, no sarcasm in her silent eyes.
Bathed in a unique sense of piety and glowing with the beauty and purity of heart, Pattamahishi Maharani Prabhavati glanced at Padmini. A feeble, limpid smile flowed languidly over her lips. Her liquid eyes were thoughtful and compassionate.
All hard feelings towards Padmini were washed away. Relieved, Padmini too felt released of her repressed displeasure. Suddenly, she wondered what it was all about. Why was I so needlessly apprehensive about Maharani Prabhavati’s attitude towards me? This world and its maya.
Padmini silently paid her respects to the maharani.
* * *
Unaffected by the tumult of the outside world, the chanting of the sacred verses of the scriptures had begun.
‘Mrityormukshiya māmritāt.’
The resonance of the mantras began to transform the atmosphere. The unbroken and unsubdued sound of the chanting began to rise, encircling all the women with their feelings of happiness and unhappiness, victory and defeat, joy and grief.
Fragrant wisps of smoke rose into the air.
With that, the ritual began.
The priests sprinkled a libation of water on the ground and invoked the deities. Prayers were said to invoke the divine powers, asking the benignant stars to protect them and the malignant stars to look at them kindly. Doorvadal, the grass, was laid near the altar. On it were offered akshat, unbroken grains of rice, petals of flowers and other articles of worship.
Pyres with logs of sandalwood were lit. A fragrance spread. Smoke from the pyres rose higher.
The exclamation of ‘swaha’ while offering oblations to the gods reached far and wide, filling everybody with spiritual strength.
It was the celebration of a great sacrifice leading to mukti, liberation beyond the realm of birth and death.
Ecstasy descended from the corners of Padmini’s eyes. A smile conveying a sense of detachment sat on her closed lips. Suddenly, she went back to her childhood. She distinctly remembered the day, when in a room in Tamragarh a renowned astrologer had prophesied that she would perform a great religious ritual. On that day, destiny must have smirked at the irony of his astrological calculation.
The ritual has been performed as predicted by you, Acharya, but who could have imagined then that it would be so ill-fated!
The moments from the past that had come alive were back to where they belonged. Her serene expression remained unchanged.
Time was passing by quickly. The great void continued to expand.
The time of departure for an eternal journey had come. Everyone sets out on this journey, carrying with them the baggage of their past, with nothing on their mind. During this journey, they are both together and isolated at the same time. What binds them together is the same strain of music that permeates the horizon: music that has not been played on an instrument, has not been sung by a singer, is not based on predetermined notes. Just an echo that is felt and not heard. Freed from the snare of the inanimate world, the wayfarer of this glorious journey, the illustrious queen, would not look back. She moved on towards her destination—eternity.
With each step she took, the earth seemed to cave in. The sound of eternal salvation seemed to resonate.
The huge arched gate was closer. It was a propitious moment in which her heart, her mind, her soul had become pure.
It was a moment of life meeting death.
Padmini looked at the warriors with compassion in her eyes. Standing like statues, they held unsheathed swords. They looked as though they were bearing the weight of a huge rock. They were dignified in their demeanour, but the glow of hope was missing on their faces.
She stepped forward to sit on the pyre. There was no trace of sorrow on her face. She did not seem to have any attachment to the material world and all its luxuries. There was an extraordinary gleam of triumph in her eyes. Calmly, she sat on the pyre.
Her eyes were fixed on the tip of her nose. She stopped breathing. She appeared to be taking the agni samadhi, meditating in the lap of the leaping flames. More firewood was thrown in. With the ghee being poured in, the flames rose higher and higher.
Her delicate, beautiful body became one with the fire. Flames from the burning pyre leapt ferociously. The chanting of the mantras became louder: ‘mrityu jayati dhruvam . . .’
The fire that purified her was, in turn, getting cleansed. The golden ruddy glow of dawn burst through it.
* * *
The bodies were burnt to ashes. They were freed from the bonds of worldly existence. The souls were finally emancipated.
Transcending the barriers of time and space, the liberated souls had left for their final destination.
The purnahuti, the offering of the final oblation, was complete.
The sun sank behind the Aravalis. Clouds of smoke rose and dispersed quietly. The darkness began to deepen. Some sparks flying off the smouldering pyres glinted in the dark.
A whole time span had been reduced to ashes and had merged into space.
Suddenly, the wind began to howl. And then, a gust swept the ashes away.
THE BEGINNING
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This collection published 2017
Copyright © Mridula Behari 2017
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket images © Devangana Dash
ISBN: 978-0-143-44133-5
This digital edition published in 2017.
e-ISBN: 978-9-387-32636-1
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Padmini Page 18