Releasing 22nd May!
Tag: historical fiction
Love in the Battleground: Zealous persuasion
Zealous family – who knows who is your own
Like the shade of a tree,
Like a reflection in water, everything is an illusion –
World is in a fantasising spree.
Janardandev dreamt of fulfilling his duty of a father towards his foster daughter. Getting her married to Raghupati brought him the most desired satisfaction in life. Raghupati became Saryu’s dream of life since she met him five years back. She is happy that her long wait has been fruitful. She found bliss in life in company of her man. She lost herself in the tide of love.
For Raghupati, dreams became reality. Recovering his lost reputation and establishing himself as an aristocrat was not an easy task. The goddess of fortune helped him. Moreover he has won the loyalty and trust of his desired women. Life could be blissful for him too if he did not meet Balwantrao someday in distant past. Was her sister destined to marry the man who didn’t have any love for her? Since he came back from the riverside, his mind went restless. Raghupati was not being able to justify the fate he and his sister met. He started mourning – still not able to tell the delicate Saryu anything about it. An uneasy thought overwhelmed him that sharing own stories might shatter her innocent faith in him. Saryu worships her as a hero – how would she accept the fallen hero in her life? – Worries became his companion day and night.
Couple of days passed. Saryu guessed her husband is in trouble – none expects a newly married young man lost in own world. Till two days back, she was enjoying every aspect of her married life – new home, the much awaited attention of a loving husband, role of the mistress of a home. Sudden change in Raghupati’s temper now made her feel uncomfortable. There is no elderly woman at home who could support her. She stated her anxiety to her maids – they suggested her to be more polite and nice to her husband. They suspected some fault in her behaviour might have angered her man. She tried to behave as submissive as possible. Her husband didn’t pay an attention. Yesterday her maids suggested her to present herself to her husband in more attractive attire assuming that a wife’s not looking voluptuous could be another reason for a young man’s ignoring her. But that trick too failed. Raghupati remains absent minded even today. Her large compassionate eyes gaze at him trying to understand what could have been the reason her husband loses himself time to time. Saryu knows her man is a trusted person of the leader – there is less chance of his facing exhausting trouble in the royal court. While serving dinner she asks, “Did I do commit some mistake that makes you angry?”
Raghupati’s string of thought tears; he replies, “But who told you I am angry? What makes you worried?”
Saryu was grown up as a single child of her father; doesn’t know how to express the anxious emotions deep rooted in her heart. She says, “You look different these days – your face always serious – as if you are always lost somewhere else. You are not even telling me if you liked food today.”
Raghupati feels irritated – why do women try to intrude so much in personal matters of their men? He realises he is being constantly watched. He doesn’t like that. But he doesn’t express his irritation; smiles instead, “I like every item prepared in your kitchen. Do you remember the day you first served me food at your father’s place in the fort of Toran? I fell in love with your culinary skill since then. But you don’t need to take too much trouble here – take help of maids.” He stops as he couldn’t find any more word to comfort her. Saryu looks at his face helplessly; knowing neither her words, nor her helplessness is able to create a ripple in the stone-hard heart of this man. Was it the same man she was attracted to? Unnoticed she slips in her bed-chamber – pillows in a bed is softer than a man’s heart. They listen to her pains – she drenches them with tears rolling down aimlessly.
After long. Seeing her still awake he says, “I should have visited Jyoti after the accidental demise of her husband. I will go to her place tomorrow.”
Saryu didn’t know anything about Balwantrao’s death. Even rumours didn’t penetrate the protective walls of her husband’s home. The dread of the news shocked her – now she realises what might have made her husband absent minded since last few days; says, “He – passed away? But how? I too want to meet her. Can’t we go today?”
She doesn’t receive a reply. She knows the futility of repeating. Her husband must be in deep pain. A soothing wave of sympathy appeases her anxiety. She does not want to annoy her dutiful husband – feels little embarrassed remembering her own suspicion about her husband’s behaviour – falls asleep after some time.
Raghupati knows kind Shivaji Maharaj would not let him down; none would know who killed Balwantrao in the serene riverside camp. Everyone knows by now that the hot-tempered Jumladar Balwantrao had committed suicide. Shivaji didn’t attach his property; directed Raghupati to manage the property as well as take care of his sister. He looks at his wife’s face again and again, ponders whether he should tell her every single story of his past, but cannot gather the courage to wake her up and tell.
He spends another sleepless night, wondering whether he should disclose everything to Jyotibai. His sister is not revengeful, but how would he explain the reason behind the fatal altercation? Burden of his past becomes heavier every passing minute – he doesn’t know how to get rid of that.
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Next morning, Raghupati enters the premises of late Balwantrao to meet his sister. He came here before; knows almost all servants and guards of the home. The guards at the house open the door seeing him. Their silent welcome reveals the graveness of the atmosphere of the home. He enters the courtyard, gets down from his horse. One servant takes the horse to one side of the large courtyard. The deserted look of the home hurts him. He imagines how Jyoti could have rolled beside the lifeless body of her husband dishevelled. Did she faint seeing his badly injured body? Did she wail inconsolably? Raghupati knows how a Hindu woman’s life sinks into unfathomable darkness with the demise of her husband. The light of his eyes extinguished – he steps inside like a puppet pulled by a string.
Daylight doesn’t reach inside the mansion. The interior is unusually silent as if none has ever stayed there. At the end of the long corridor that goes to the ladies apartments, he sees couple of maids standing. He tells them to inform his sister about his arrival. They look at him afraid, tell, “She is not there, Sir.”
Raghupati, “Where is she then?”
Maids, “Mistress told everyone to leave the ladies apartments and let her leave alone. We came back afternoons – she is not inside.”
Simultaneous pain, sorrow and frustration made him scream terribly: “Where is she? You stupid! – She cannot evaporate!” Madly he rushes into the ladies zone without waiting for their reply or where he was heading to. But no – all rooms in this part were empty like a deserted island. He reached the end of the quarter. One narrow path from here goes straight to a well. A row of large trees a little away from there blocks the vision from reaching far. He stands there for few seconds perplexed – If Jyotibai found her way to piece through this plush green of nature, does he have any right to stop her?
He comes back – sends people to look for Jyotibai in every possible location, they tried to trace if she has performed self-immolation following the tradition of young Rajput widows; but no, none found a trace of her.
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Raghupati will work under Shivaji keeping integrity and reputation intact thirteen years after this. Shivaji’s death in 1680 will break his heart inconsolably. In their old age, he and Saryu will go back to Rajasthan and spend the rest of life there.
Love in the Battleground: Weaving aspirations
Courage and vigour placed me high above
My love is not the one I’m supposed to love–
Fuelled by desire I become a mourning dove!
This is our first meeting with Balwantrao Jumladar. He is unquestionably brilliant, valiant and strong-willed. He is few years older than Raghupati, tall and handsome, strong and stout bodied. Women of his village compared him to the Sakya king Buddha, who even though favoured by women a lot, never liked their company. His wide forehead is marked with few deep wrinkles of thought. His small eyes are very bright. He is self made man. Born as a small farmer’s son, he took the occupation of a warrior at an early age of fifteen. His deep envision, sheer grit and determination as effective as his vigour and courage helped him become one of Shivaji’s trusted commanders. These two critical faculties are very much apparent in his face. His soldiers, who are aware of his unconstrained vigour, cunning wrath, sheer intelligence and strong determination, do not engage themselves in argument with this Jumladar of few words. Apart from all, Balwantrao has another virtue or vice – of which few are aware. He is driven by outrageous ambition. He discovers his own path to fulfil own aspirations, follows that with absolute determination and clears that with the sharpness of his sword.
Balwantrao does not want to talk about his past. None knows about his origin. His mentor was Ganga Singh, a trusted commander of Jai Singh. The commander once camped near the village what he stayed. The strong young boy serving the soldiers caught the commander’s attention. He called him in his tent and within a few days, pleased with his loyalty and diligence, offered him a foot-soldier’s role. The new joiner performed well in the next few battles which obviously secured him permanent role as a Havildar in Ganga Singh’s battalion.
He saved Ganga Singh’s life once. After the battle was over, the master called him to express own gratitude for his support. He was promoted to a commander.
One year after this incident, a fierce battle between Jai Singh and some rebels took place near Ujjain. Ganga Singh was killed. Balwantrao gained trust of his late superior. As per his master’s last wish he took charge of his home after his death. He left only two children along with his property. The orphaned children of Ganga Singh – twelve year old Raghupati and nine year old Jyoti found new shelter. He married the girl but Raghupati caught his attention. The boy had the spirit of a warrior even at that tender age. Taking them along he came to his Shivaji’s domain. He built own small troupe of armed men. As the strong and influential Balwantrao applied for a role in Shivaji’s army, he was immediately given the position of a Jumladar.
During the battle of Pratapgarh, Balwantrao fought like a demon, before whom many of the Afjal Khan’s soldiers couldn’t stand. He earned trust.
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The young Raghupati becomes his companion throughout his journey. He teaches him how arms are taken up, how a sword is held, how a simple stick fatally hits an enemy, how a small knife pierces the heart of a strong man, how one arrow can strike both a rider and his horse, how empty hands can defeat five enemies altogether. Balwant know his young companion needs to learn how to climb steep hillocks without support of a rope, how to ride horse without stirrup. He takes him to battlefields, whenever the platoon has a chance to camp – where the boy would find scope to watch and learn. The boy becomes his only company in his ten. The spirited boy fascinates him. He still has a tender body, his skin as soft as flower petals, his face as innocent as a child; yet he is showing the sign of his developing as a man of bravery and strong determination. His hands are growing tough yet gentle, his feet muscular yet adorable, thin lips rigid yet loving – thin line of his moustache announcing his approaching manliness. Balwantrao cannot stop looking at him at times, admire his divine physique, showering kisses on that divine body, caressing its tenderness in the lonely starry nights. Raghupati is the one he lives for. He doesn’t want to go back to the fort, enjoy the life of luxury any longer, look at anyone else – only if he could stay with Raghupati in this remote tent in any of these bushy fields!
Young Raghupati is not only loyal; he understands his master’s love for him. He loves being centre of his superior’s caring attention.
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He is growing fast – respects his superior for his bravery, his magnificent control on the horses, excellence in handling weapons. He knows he won’t be able to return his favour. Raghupati venerates him, but at the same time, he does not want to stay with his superior any longer. He wants to immerse himself in his own dreams, dream of becoming a war-hero, dream of owning own palace, dream of owning own woman. Perhaps a beautiful girl would adore him much more than Balwantrao does? He sees himself in the position of a leader, not a follower. Superior’s continuous surveillance irritates him – he knows he cannot protest.
In one of the silent winter nights, he frees himself from sleeping Balwantrao’s warm embrace, runs away from his tent, leaving love-struck Balwantrao alone.
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The orphan boy seemed to be floating on everlasting circumstances. He crossed mile walking – he wanted to be far away from Balwantrao and his troupe. He travelled across the region – sometimes took up begging, at times worked as servant at wealthy people’s homes. The strong and stout young man earned respect wherever he stayed. He was working as a guard of a trader’s home when he heard about Shivaji’s camping with his troup somewhere nearby. His heart danced with cheer, He didn’t want to spoil the opportunity. He met the leader he worshiped since ages.
Did he find himself unfortunate when after coming back from Toran he came to know that he actually replaced a deceased havildar under Balwantrao jumladar, who passed away just before he met Shivaji? Both the former superior and junior recognised each other – as the once-companions met in Shivaji’s court. Balwantrao looked at his new havildar – he felt sad, as if he had lost the most precious stone from his ornament. The havildar looked at him, straight and strong, powerful and confident. Jumladar understood he would have to build his relationship anew with his new soldier. The new soldier lost the tenderness he adored once. Energetic youth made Raghupati even more attractive – suppressing his desire for the young man was difficult for him, yet his common sense became a bridle to his temptation. He knew Raghupati would not reciprocate. Honest Raghupati would not turn a revenge-seeker, but he would have to remain his sister’s husband forever. Balwant welcomed the new havildar in his troupe formally. Raghupati did not carry grudge against him either. He happily engaged in a long conversation with him. Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: Weaving aspirations”
Love in the Battleground: Sickness and recovery
Silence prevailed while separation long
He stated again touching his feet.
“Lotus eyed hero! Forgive me –
The ignorant humiliated thee”.
Entire Delhi came to know that Shivaji was suffering from prolonged illness. His doors and windows were closed. The physicians were taking care of him day and night. None of them could assure if he had any chance of recovery. Some could not even guarantee his survival till the next day. Some were convinced that Shivaji was already dead. People crossing the road used to take a glance at his closed window while some of them enquired after his health from the sentries those were posted their to guard the mansion. All city dwellers were busy discussing rumours about Shivaji – how he was, whether he would be free again, whether he would be alive till next day – made the core of conversations one could hear in Delhi streets those days. Aurangzeb was also worried and kept on asking for his information through his agents, but never relaxed the tight security he placed around Shivaji’s mansion.
In one of such evenings, an old aristocrat Hakim arrived to meet Shivaji. As the guard asked him the reason of his meeting Shivaji, he informed them that he came to treat him with an order from the Emperor. He showed authorisation letter too. With due honour, the guards showed him the way inside.
Shivaji was lying in his bed. One servant brought the news of one Hakim’s arrival with an order of the Emperor. The very sharp King thought that the Emperor sent someone to poison him. He told, “Tell him with due respect that I am being treated by a Hindu physician. Being a Hindu, I do not want to be treated by any other medicinal practice. I would thank the Emperor a thousand times for his benevolence.”
Even before the servant left the room, the Hakim entered without an invitation. His entry annoyed Shivaji, but keeping his annoyance with himself, he welcomed him in a very low voice. The Hakim sat beside Shivaji on his bed as he told him so.
The Hakim’s appearance was beyond suspicion. He was very old. His long gray beard covered till the chest. He was wearing a big turban. He was talking in a solemn voice. He told, “My King! I have heard what you were telling your servant. You do not want to be treated by me. Still, saving human life is our duty. I will be truthful to my duty.”
Shivaji knew the voice, Mughal turban, gaudy cloths and long beard worked well to camouflage but not so well that the sharp king couldn’t identify his childhood friend. He sat on his bed and looked straight at the guest. Tanaji smiled at him; said, “What makes you wonder? I’ve worked with you so long – obvious that I have adopted some of your qualities. I always admired you for entering enemies’ place in disguise to get minute information about them. Today it didn’t seem that difficult!”
Shivaji was laughing, “My friend! One may get injured at times while playing with a tiger. Anyway, I cannot express how delighted I am seeing you here. I was expecting you here since several days. Now tell me the news!”
Tanaji: “Everything is arranged properly to ensure your safe escape. Let me state one by one – with the permission we received from the Emperor, all your companions could safely leave Delhi. All are staying in Mathura and Vrindaban dressed as hermits. Many of the priests in the temples of Mathura are also waiting for you. I have taken charge of the route from Delhi to Mathura; also collected people in the places on route you wanted to.”
Shivaji: “I have no doubt my friend – we will safely reach homeland having an efficient supporter like you.”
Tanaji: “I also arranged a swift horse outside the wall of the city as you ordered. Everything will be in place whichever day you decide.”
Shivaji: “Well done!”
Tanaji: “I met Ram Singh, the son of King Jai Singh. I made him remember the word his father had given to you. He is truthful and broad minded as his father. I have heard that he appealed to the Emperor for you. Emperor said he would do whatever his duty is. ”
Shivaji: “Betrayer! See how deceitful a person can be! Shivaji will take revenge some day!”
Tanaji said before leaving: “When my kind of a wise Hakim took charge of your treatment, then you have to get well soon.”
As he was about to cross the gate, the guard at the gate asked him how the condition of his patient was. The Hakim answered, “His illness is severe, but my medicine worked well. I anticipate, he will get well soon.”
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Few days after the incident, the news of Shivaji’s recovery was declared. The capital came to a festive mode. Hindus found this good news. Open-minded Mohammedans did not have different opinion. Even Aurangzeb had to express his happiness.
Shivaji started sending honorarium in form of loads of gold and silver coins, donations to temples, goodies to all the physicians who were looking after him. Sending baskets of sweets to all influential’s homes in Delhi took shape of a ritual. Baskets were being sent to mosques for the service of fakirs as well. Aurangzeb’s intension was crooked, but common people were praising Shivaji a lot. In a word, everyone in Delhi applauded his friendly gesture.
Sending sweets directly from sweetmaker’s shop did not please Shivaji. Sweets were first brought to his mansion. Those were assorted in large baskets at his place and then sent to destination. In case those baskets were prepared for large mosques or temples, those used to be several feet high. Carrying them to the destination was arduous task even for of eight or ten people.
One evening, as two of those kinds of large baskets were being taken out of his Delhi home, the guards asked the carriers a routine question, “Whom are you sending the sweets today?” The carriers replied, “To the King Jai Singh.” Guards asked, “How long your master will send sweets like this?” The carriers replied, “Probably today is the last day.”
The carriers left the mansion along with their baskets. But instead of Jai Singh’s palace, they arrived a shadowy place in a lonely corner of Delhi. They looked around. No other human being was visible; silence reigned in the area, evening breeze was flowing silently keeping harmony with that complete stillness. They kept the baskets down on the ground. The carriers knocked on the baskets; The Warrior-king Shivaji came out from one of the baskets; from another, Sambhaji. Both thanked the almighty God for the safe escape.
Both men in disguise proceeded towards the boundary wall of Delhi without wasting time. The roads were almost empty in the late evening. The sight of one or two pedestrians on their way frightened Sambhaji. Shivaji and Sambhaji walked faster to cross the locality as soon as possible. In a short while, they found a horse standing under a tree. They came closer with caution and found it resembled the description Tanaji had given. He asked its keeper, “What is your name?” The horse-keeper replied, “Janakinath.”
Shivaji: “Where are you heading to?”
Horse-keeper: “Mathura.”
He jumped on the horse. Sambhaji sat behind him. The horse keeper was walking behind as they started galloping towards Mathura.
That way, Shivaji was running away from Delhi silently crossing the villages and fields in that darkness. The stars in the sky were blinking at them. The voluptuous river Yamuna in the rainy season was flowing keeping pace with the rider’s movement through the road.
Suddenly, they saw three soldiers coming hastily towards Delhi. All of them had swords tied on their waist. They hurried their horses towards Shivaji’s as they spotted them on the way. Their movement scared him. Blocking the road in front, one of them asked, “Who is that?”
Shivaji: “Hermits.”
Soldier: “Where are you coming from?”
Shivaji: “Delhi.”
Soldier: “Destination?”
Shivaji: “Mathura.”
But all three soldiers, seeing his confusion were convinced that they have found a fugitive or dacoit on horse. They pounced on him. Shivaji alone could kill them all if he had a weapon in hand. Even empty-handed, his quick punch was strong enough to throw one from his horse, but the other two attacked him with swords. Shivaji fell down. He lost hope of his life. Little Sambhaji’s innocent face made him emotional. At that very moment, he heard an unexpected sound – he saw all three soldiers lying on the ground with arrows stuck to their bodies. All three were dead.
Shivaji got up thanking God. He realised that his horse-keeper, who was walking behind him, was the archer! He called him closer to thank him and only then he saw that the person who introduced himself as Janakinath was Sadanand Swami in disguise!
He didn’t know how to express his gratitude, “Sadanand Swami! It seems there is no other sincere friend of Shivaji like you at the time of distress. I ignored you considering you a simple horse-keeper. Forgive me! What can I do for you in return of this?”
Sadanand kneeled down before Shivaji folding his hands with humility, “Forgive me, My King! I am neither a horse-keeper, nor Sadanand. I am your old servant Raghupati Havildar. I have dreamed to serve since I was a child. You gave me the opportunity to serve you for sometime. I do not want any other honorarium. If I am guilty of committing any wrong to the Master, I would beg pardon of master. You, my Master are the shelter for the orphan!”
Amazed Shivaji gazed at the young man. He could not hide his emotion. He embraced the soldier and erupted, “Raghupati, I doubted and humiliated you – that memory is killing me from inside. I will never forget your graciousness till the end of my life.”
Both the master and servant were embraced each other in high spirits. The reunion ended Raghupati’s self-abasement and freed Shivaji from remorse.
Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: Sickness and recovery”
Love in the Battleground: Response to deception
“Though conversant in all scriptures, you remain a stupid
Your inability to understand words leaves me perturbed.”
We know how the Emperor Aurangzeb treated Shivaji. But was that a stray incident? Probably no, this Mughal Emperor ascended the throne defeating his brother and imprisoning his father applying incomparable smartness, intelligent movements and excellent warfare. He was alone – never trusted anyone in his court enough revealing own mind. His forehead was marked by deep lines of thought.
Now we see him contemplating – at times his bright eyes shows signs of anger, ego or determination; at times pleasure of success brought a smile in the corner of his lips. The Emperor uses everyone as his puppet – making them move following his sharp intension, never ready to listen to anyone. He is driven by the passion to rule the entire territory by himself.
He is sitting there for long – wakes up when a sentry comes and bows before him, “Long Live the Emperor! Ram Singh, son of King Jai Singh is waiting at the gate.” The Emperor orders him to bring the visitor. The lines of thoughts from his forehead disappear. He wears a pleasant smile on his face.
After a formal salutation to the Emperor, Ram Singh says, “Meeting the Emperor at this time of the day is not right for my kind of a servant, but my father sent an important message to inform His Majesty as soon as possible.”
“I received a letter carrying the message from your father. I know everything!” – reacts the Emperor.
Ram Singh: “Then His Majesty also knows that my father attacked the capital city of Bijapur defeating all enemies; but could not capture the city with very less number of soldiers. Moreover, The Sultan of Golkunda sent a large force under a commander named Neknaam Khan to support Bijapur Sultan.”
Aurangzeb: “I know it all.”
Ram Singh: “Abiding by the Emperor’s order, my father is still fighting even though surrounded by enemies. But ensuring victory in this battle is difficult. He requests the Emperor to send another battalion for help.”
Aurangzeb: “Your father is a leading hero of the land – and he cannot win a battle against Bijapur with own force?”
Any other Emperor would have granted this prayer in such circumstances while it would bring him a chance to conquer southern part of India as well. Aurangzeb’s way of proving himself to be wise and astute was disapproving others. He decides not to help, “Ram Singh! You friend is my best friend. I am sorry to know the trouble he is facing. Send him a message that the Emperor is praying for his victory which he will make certain on his own. But the very less number of armed force in Delhi is forcing me decide not to send them to the far South.”
The young man does not know that his prayer would not distract Aurangzeb from following his shrewd policy. What his policy is destined for? Jai Singh as a King has power; as a warrior he is vigorous. He leads a large army. He is serving the Mughal Empire since ages but such an influential status of a subsidiary is a threat to Aurangzeb. If Jai Singh is proved unsuccessful in that war against Bijapur, his influence would reduce significantly. On the other hand, his death at the hand of Bijapur force could remove a thorn from Aurangzeb’s life. Any influential person in the empire is a thorn to the Emperor.
If Jai Singh had bet his own like on the success of mighty Mughals, he should die for that. His timid son might cry before the Emperor begging for his father’s life, but that could not be a reason for the Emperor of the universe to change his decision.
At this very moment, he realises that the death of Jai Singh is necessary for the success of his crooked practice. He does not need to consider whether the old commander was friendly or unfriendly, loyal or disloyal – he only needs to make his destruction certain.
Within a few months, a message will reach Delhi that the humiliation of failure in battlefield forced Jai Singh commit suicide. The news will satisfy the Emperor irrespective of another faint rumour’s hovering around that Jai Singh was assassinated by poisoning by the order of the Emperor.
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That day, Shivaji got up at one in the afternoon. As soon as he got up, he heard a noise before the mansion he was staying in. He looked downwards through the window – the sight left him astounded.
He found armed sentries at both sides of the gate and even in front of the gate. They were not allowing people to cross the gate without identifying them. He remembered Sadanand’s words. He could flee the day before, but he turned into a prisoner.
As he started collecting information, he came to know that his appeal for going back to homeland created some doubt in Aurangzeb’s mind. Hence he ordered the keeper of the city to arrange sentries to keep an eye on Shivaji day and night. The guards would accompany Shivaji even if wanted to move out of the mansion. The King of Maharashtra realised, how well informed Sadanand Swami Swami was.
Like some snakes, which benumbs an animal by embracing it with own long serpentine body before swallowing, Aurangzeb also intended to slowly benumb Shivaji before destroying him completely. Shivaji already understood his purpose. He sent for Raghunathpanth Nyasastri. The old man arrived and silently sat before him. Shivaji told, “Pundit! You are watching the game of Aurangzeb. Last night I received the news of a plan to imprison me today. But I do not want to run away before safeguarding my loyal soldiers. What do you suggest about this?”
Nyaysastri thought for a while before replying, “Please appeal to the Emperor to permit your soldiers to go back to the homeland. He will be happy if the number of soldiers under an imprisoned enemy reduces. I think you will get permission as soon as you ask for.”
Shivaji too was convinced that the trick would work. They prepared a letter of appeal. Their anticipation was correct. The appeal for releasing all of Shivaji’s companions from Delhi pleased the Emperor so much that he immediately granted a letter of permission for them. Shivaji received it soon. He thought, “You idiot! You think you will be able to keep Shivaji imprisoned once his companions are away? What can you do if I leave Delhi in disguise of my soldier now? Anyway, I will let them leave safely; later I will find some option for me.”
Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: Response to deception”
Love in the Battleground: Quest for freedom
Queries grasp me as you enter my room –
Don’t know who you are – letting my hope bloom.
Aurangzeb’s purpose behind summoning him to Delhi appeared clear to Shivaji within a few days. The Emperor’s intension was to imprison him forever so that Maharashtra can never liberate themselves. This fact annoyed him but he started finding a way to sneak out of Delhi.
The trustworthy Raghunathpanth Nyayshastri was the person with whom Shivaji used to consult in such cases. After a long discussion, they decided to appeal for the Emperor’s permission to go back to Maharashtra; other option could be found out in case of dismissal.
The wise and eloquent Nyaysastri was ready to work as emissary for Shivaji to royal court. To carry to the court, he composed a letter describing reasons behind their coming to Delhi in detail. Whatever the leader had done to support Mughal army, and the promise Aurangzeb made before inviting him was explained. Shivaji’s readiness to support the Emperor in bringing Bijapur and Golkonda under control was also specially mentioned. In case the Emperor did not want his support, the minister prayed to grant him permission to go back to own land. Neither he, nor his companions and armed guards were feeling comfortable in North Indian climate.
As Nyaysastri carried the message to the royal court, the Emperor sent a reply though him. But the verbose letter did not include anything about the permission they were seeking. Shivaji fully aware about Emperor’s objective started planning to slip away.
After a few days, the caged leader was sitting at the window in the evening. Darkness didn’t hinder the view though sun went down the horizon. Crowd was still flowing incessant on the roads. He was observing the flow – so many people with so many different attires from so many different places came to the city with so many different purposes! One or two fair-skinned Mughals were passing once in a while. Hundred of brown natives were always visible. Among them he noticed a few dark Africans too. The traders and travellers were mainly from Persia, Arab, Caucasus or Turkey. The Hindu and Mohammedan generals, kings and mansabdars were moving seated on palanquins followed by many attendants, horses and elephants. Soldiers were making fun among themselves while some traders were carrying goods in large baskets on their heads.
Crowd decreased in a while. The shopkeepers started shutting down their shops. The hubbub of the city also died down. Only some lamps inside the houses little away were visible through their open windows. The mansions at a distance stood like dark ghosts while stars started showing up in the sky. Shivaji looked at the east once – the quiet and wide river Yamuna was flowing towards the unending ocean in the calmness of the evening.
The tune of Ajaan sung in Jumma Masjid in that silence was spreading a deep mystic aura around as if it was rising towards the heaven leaving many human hearts spellbound. He went on listening to that tune – looked at the darkness again, only to find the silhouette of the white domes of the mosque far at the backdrop of the sky and the high wall of the red fort looking like a row of mountains.
The night went darker but the string of his thought did not split. He was thinking of his childhood days, old friends, Dadoji Konddeo, his father Shahaji and mother Jijabai – who lit up the hope, devotion and zeal those days. Then opened up the memories of his youth studded with more optimism and passion – how capturing forts, acquiring lands, overcoming dangers, winning battles one after another kept him active throughout his youth. He felt clueless whether his life marked with gallantry and achievements were over, whether his hopes were all gone. Was there still possibility of the end of Mohammedan rule? Was it still possible to establish a Hindu empire spreading over the whole peninsula?
The bell in the fort announced time – it was midnight. The sound of the big bell echoed in the entire city piercing the silence of the night. Before it completely disappeared – he saw a tall silhouette of a man at the window.
Shivaji stood surprised taking a steady gaze at that keeping one hand on his sword which he always tied to waist since he had arrived Delhi.
The visitor probably ignored his aggressive posture. He slowly entered into the room through the window, wiped his sweating forehead once before standing straight before the king such a way that his face remained invisible. Shivaji could see in the darkness that the visitor had matted hair, his body whitened with ash used by hermits, and he did not have knife of any other weapon in hand. This ensured him that his guest was not a spy sent by the Emperor to kill him. Who was that then?
The visitor said in low-pitch, “Long live the King!”
The voice helped Shivaji to immediately recognise him. Even a powerful person cannot find a true friend in this world easily. Such a friend’s visiting us during troubled phase of our life brings new ray of hope in life. He welcomed Sadanand Swami with a warm embrace but didn’t lit a light as the saint forbade him. He was eager to know about his kingdom. “Tell me about Raigad. How and when did you come here? What made you come so far? Why did you enter through the window to meet me in the middle of the night?” – He had never-ending series of queries.
Sadanand: “Raigad should be fine. You have entrusted the administration in the hands of efficient people. Anyway I cannot give you the detail because I left Raigad soon after you left. I have told you that I had to travel to complete my spiritual journey. I came to Delhi on my way to Mathura and other pilgrimage destinations in North. I consider myself fortunate whenever I find chance to meet my master – how does it matter whether it is day or night, which route I took?”
Shivaji: “Still you would not enter my room at midnight through the window unless you had a specific reason!”
Sadanand: “I am telling. But first I wanted to know whether my master is doing fine here.”
Shivaji: “Physically yes. But my mind cannot rest in peace as long as I am surrounded by enemies.”
Sadanand: “Master did sign a treaty with the Emperor, where is the enemy then?”
Shivaji: “How long a treaty between a snake and the frog exists? I am sure you are aware of everything; please do not shame me. If I listened to you in Raigad, I could be still an independent King of my Konkan Mountains and valleys. I did not need to become a prisoner having faith on the words of that tricky Emperor.”
Sadanand: “Please do not indulge into self-criticism. The world is full of illusions. Everyone is prone to do mistakes. You came here trusting his words, depending on your trustworthiness. The person who deceived and misbehaved, will be punished by God. Trickery cannot win. Aurangzeb’s dishonesty, that helped him to detain you, will in turn destroy him forever. I remember what you told me in Raigad. The treachery of Aurangzeb would light a fire in Maharastra, blazing high enough to engulf the Mughal Empire.”
Shivaji felt encouraged like never before. He responded, “Sadanand, that hope of mine did not die as yet. Aurangzeb will have to realise that Maharashtra is still alive. But shall I remain imprisoned in this city of Delhi at the time when my brave soldiers will be engaged in fierce fights against Mughals?”
Sadanand: “Aurangzeb will be able to imprison you inside Delhi’s fort walls, only after he is able to capture the flowing breeze in a net, not before that.”
Shivaji smiled and reacted, “Then I am sure you came here to suggest me a way to flee. And that is why you came to me in secret at this hour of the night.
Sadanand: “Master has sharp intellect. I am not able to hide anything from him. Moving out of home in disguise is easy in a dark night. Delhi is surrounded by high walls. But there is an iron pole placed near the wall in the east; it is not difficult for the Maharashtrian hero to cross the wall using that. On the other side of the wall, eight boatmen are ready with a boat; you will reach Mathura in a short while. My Lord will find many friends there. as there are many pious priests in the Hindu temples.”
Shivaji: “I am happy with your arrangement. I found another proof of your being a good friend. But if anyone notices me while crossing the wall, that will lead to death only.
Sadanand: “Ten efficient archers are hiding among your armed guards near the wall where you are supposed to cross. If anyone notices my King or tries to obstruct, he will face death for sure. The eight boatmen are your eight soldiers in disguise. They are wearing armour and carrying containers with arrows. The chance of the boat’s being caught is rare. Moreover, the Brother-in-law of your peshwa is in Mathura. You know how loyal he is. I met him on my way to Delhi. He made all arrangements for you. Please read the letter written by him.”
He took out a letter that was hidden under his cloths. Shivaji smiled giving it back to him, “You read it out.”
Sadanand felt embarrassed. He remembered that the master did not acquire skill of reading and writing; started reading the letter aloud. Shivaji continued, “My saint! I cannot imagine you have spent your entire life is worshipping Gods. Even my prime minister could not plan like you. But I still have something to say. What will happen to my son, my loyal minister Raghunathpanth and Tannaji Malashri after I run away? How will my soldiers save themselves from the rage of Aurangzeb?”
Sadanand: “Your son, minister and friend may leave with you today. Your soldiers will not be harmed even if they stay in Delhi. Aurangzeb has nothing to do with them; he will release them!”
Shivaji: “You do not know Aurangzeb well then. He acquired the throne killing his siblings.”
Sadanand: “If you order your soldiers, there is none in your Maharashtrian force who would not be happy to sacrifice his life.”
Shivaji took some time to judge every option before telling, “I will be obliged to you for your heartfelt effort, but I do not want to save myself at the cost of my loyal soldiers. Please give me some other option; or forget it!”
Sadanand: “Right now there is no other option left, sir!”
Shivaji: “Then give me some time. This is not the first threat I am facing. I will try to find options.”
Sadanand: “There is not much time left. Either you have to run away today; you cannot flee tomorrow.”
Shivaji: “I have no idea whether your power of penance made you predict such a way. But if you are foreseeing the future, then Shivaji is helpless. A Kshatriya cannot save himself leaving his loyalists in danger.”
Sadanand: “Punishing the traitor is the duty of a Kshatriya. Please punish Aurangzeb, for which you have to return homeland. Lead the wave of war from there. Let the daydreamer Aurangzeb sink along with his unrighteous empire under that wave. You don’t have much time to consider. There will be no option left for you tomorrow. You are going to be imprisoned tomorrow!”
Shivaji: “So be it! I cannot leave people loyal to me at any cost. Pardon me. I will always remember your careful plan, your efforts, and your kindness. I will always recall your righteous suggestions in Raigad and your attempts to rescue me in Delhi. If you stay with me here, together we will be able to set all of us free.”
Sadanand: “I am honoured. God knows that I have no other purpose in life but to be with you. But I cannot flout the path of penance I have taken. I must travel through different places to follow the rules.”
Shivaji: “I do not know what vow you have taken!”
Sadanand answered as if he was mourning his ill-fate, “I worshipped a god since childhood. He is angry with me. One person in the temple of Bhabani told me to take this path of pilgrimage to win his confidence again. I will tell you everything one day of I succeed. I will choose death over living a life of shame. What do I do with my life if the one I am devoted to is dissatisfied with me?”
Shivaji: “You are right. No other pain is so powerful that being hated by the person for whom we are ready to sacrifice our life. Even I cannot forgive myself for throwing someone who was ready to sacrifice his life for me. He was not sharp like you, in addition had courage and unbeatable strength. I do not know what made me make such a mistake of calling him a rebel only out of suspicion. I have heard he committed suicide due to that humiliation. He saved my life in a battle. I killed him!” The king’s voice chocked. After sometime he called. “Saint!” There was no answer. Surprised, he lit up a lamp. He did not find Sadanand in the room.
Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: Quest for freedom”
Love in the Battleground: Prowess of the Emperor
Power attracts attention – scares the submissive, angers the free mind
In the spring of 1666, Shivaji arrived near Delhi with five hundred cavalry and one thousand foot-soldiers. His camp was set approximately six kilometres south from the city of Delhi. Apart from the small armed force, the old reliable minister Raghunathpanth Nyayshastri also came with him.
Shivaji and his son Sambhaji were waiting in the camp for the permission to enter the Capital when a sentry entered with a message – Ram Singh, the son of the King Jai Singh, accompanied by a soldier arrived to welcome him on behalf of the Emperor from Delhi.
Shivaji ordered the messenger to welcome them. The young Sambhaji sounded annoyed, “Father! Aurangzeb sent only two emissaries to welcome you!”
Even Shivaji was disappointed with that humiliation, yet did not express himself. Ram Singh entered after a short while. His simple face assured the experienced Shivaji of his honesty and spirit; still the warlord wanted to know if Aurangzeb had any sinister motive which could pose threat to his entering Delhi. The prince had heard of Shivaji’s bravery from his father – the presence of the Maharashtrian hero before him made him spellbound. He turned to be an admirer as he stated, “I did not meet the king of Maharashtra before but I have heard a lot about his gallantry from my father. I find myself fortunate today having the opportunity to meet him in person.
Shivaji: “On the other hand I find meeting the son of the virtuous hero an auspicious sign for me!”
Ram Singh: “The Emperor sent me to meet the king as soon as he received the information of his arrival. When does the king want to enter the capital?”
Shivaji: “What is your suggestion about entering the capital?”
Ram Singh: “I think this is the best time to enter. The wind will be hot after sometime – summer is u here.”
Shivaji told laughing, “I did not ask you that. You are living in Delhi – you have all information about the capital. You should also know how secure it is for me to enter Delhi.”
Knowing his intention, the earnest Ram Singh replied, “Pardon me. I would have lived in the mountain for ever depending on my sword if I was in your place. I find none else so faithful a friend like my sword. But I am unaware of these affairs. As my father suggested the king to come, then I think his decision to come down is commendable. He is wise.”
Shivaji understood that there was no plan to detain him in Delhi, even if there was one, Ram Singh did not have any information about it. He felt little relaxed. He smiled, “Then I will take your suggestion. The heat will be unbearable if I am late – let us move to Delhi now.”
The entire route to Delhi went through ruins of mansions owned by Mohammedans. The first group of Mohammedans built their capital near the old fort of the King Prithwiraj Chauhan after conquering Delhi. Hence the mosques, palaces and tombs of the old Mohammedan rulers were situated in that Meherauli area. Mughals started building new mansions and palaces in the north expanding the capital far towards north. Countless palaces, mosques, pillars and tombs left in rubble at the entrance of capital. Ram Singh described places as he was guiding him though. Both came to know each other. Both found good friends in each other. Shivaji realised he would find a sincere support in Delhi if needed.
They marched past the enormous tomb of Humayun, crossed Choushat Khamba, a large mansion on sixty four pillars. There were wide graveyards after that. Shivaji saw the history of entire Bharat illustrated in the canvas between the forts of Prithwiraj to that of the Mughals. As they proceeded to the wall of Delhi’s fort, Jai Singh showed him another building, “That is the astronomical observatory my father built. Experts from different countries come here to study the sky here.”
Shivaji: “Your father is learned person. I have heard he had built an observatory in the holy Kashi too!”
He felt a little nervous as they crossed the wall. He stopped his horse for a moment – looked behind. There was still a chance to run away – he was still independent; could be arrested any moment after submitting himself in the royal court. Next moment he remembered the words he had given to Jai Singh, looked at the sincere face of Jai Singh’s son, looked at own sword “Bhavani” tied in his waist. The free Maharashtrian warrior was locked in the cage of the Capital before knowing it!.
Aurangzeb was not fond of much luxury, but aware of the importance of a gaudy Capital in running successful administration. Aurangzeb thought, exhibiting the power, grandeur and wealth of Mughals to the leader of the poverty-ridden land of Maharashtra would help in convincing him about his own inadequacy and the greatness of Mughals. In turn, Shivaji would realise the futility of fighting against the Mughal. The city was extravagantly decorated upon his order.
All of them galloped together. Numerous carriages, palanquins, elephants, horses and pedestrians crowded the roads. The shops and markets showcased expensive goods for sale. Shivaji noticed classy cloths, gold and silver jewellery, food and other materials on his way. He saw flags on some of the mansions beside road, indicating the aristocracy of their owners. Warriors and traders and noblemen were seen everywhere. The cavaliers were shaking the ground galloping fast. The elephants, dressed in heavy cloths and jewels were walking slowly moving their trunks. The noisy humming by palanquin-bearers announced the nobility of the riders inside. Shivaji had never seen such a city before!
As they arrived in front of the Jama Masjid, the royal palace and large fort wall made of red stone became visible. The river Yamuna was flowing behind the fort. Hundreds of flags on the top of the fort were flying in the strong wind, revealing the power and glory of the Mughal Emperor. A trusted Mansabdar’s camp was located at the entrance, so that he could protect the gate. The armed force was standing in rows there; the barrels of their guns were dazzling in sunlight; the red flag tied up with each barrel was flying in pride. Observing all these with surprised admiration, Shivaji entered through the gate.
The view inside the fort was more amazing. Large number of artisans from different parts of the world displayed different luxurious items in the artisan’s shops scattered everywhere in this part of the fort. But the guest was not supposed to roam around. He arrived in front of Dewan-i-aam, the mansion made of red stone, The Emperor usually met people here, but that day he decided to call his court in Dewan-i khass, the wonderfully designed marble-built mansion decorated with precious stones – probably to allure Shivaji. As the Maharashtrian leader entered, he saw the Emperor sitting in his stone-studded stunning Mayur-throne, unique in the world. The throne was separated from the other attendees in the court by silver-railings. Many reputed kings, mansabdars, amirs and army-generals were standing silently outside the railing. Ram Singh introduced Shivaji before all of them. The grandeur of the capital clarified the Emperor’s mind to the leader; the view of the court confirmed his understanding. The leader who protected freedom for twenty long years, who became best supportive strength of the Emperor since he surrendered to the Emperor, arrived Delhi from the distant land of Maharashtra only to meet the Emperor once, did not expect the way he was welcomed. He could not accept himself standing in the court like a common employee. His blood started boiling – but there was no option for him to react. He saluted the Emperor like a common subordinate and presented the royalty he brought. Aurangzeb’s shrewd purpose was fulfilled – the whole world, as well as the King Shivaji came to know that they do not belong to same status. A servant is obliged to obey his master; weaker person’s fighting against the stronger is foolishness.
Aurangzeb accepted royalty from Shivaji, but arranged a seat for him among commanders of five thousand soldiers without giving him much importance. Shivaji eyes started burning in anger. He murmured biting his lips – “Me among five thousand! If the Emperor came to Maharashtra, he himself could see how many commanders of five thousand works under Shivaji. They do not hold swords in weak hands!”
The court was adjourned for the day. Leaving the court, the Emperor proceeded towards another marbled building built for personal use. The crowd that was assembled in the court flowed like a river through the gate. The river met in the large human ocean on the Delhi roads.
A house inside the fort was arranged as Shivaji’s accommodation there. Annoyed Shivaji arrived there in the evening; cogitating sitting alone in one corner of the house was only option left for him.
Soon he received a message from the Emperor’s palace. The Emperor has heard Shivaji’s angry words. He did not want to take any punitive action, but Shivaji would not get permission to meet him again. He would not be allowed in royal court.
Shivaji realised that his future would be at stake. Like a hunter traps a lion, the shrewd Aurangzeb planned a trap to slowly detain him. He tried to presume whether he would be able to find freedom again cutting the net of the plot he was entangled in. He found himself hapless – as he remembered Sadanand Swami, the saint who advised him to continue his war against Delhi Emperor. He murmured, “Beware Aurangzeb, I have been truthful to you till date. Do not play a trick with me! I am not inexperienced in deceiving. By the grace of Goddess Bhavani, I will ignite such a battle-fire that it will burn your entire empire including your beautiful capital of Delhi.”
Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: Prowess of the Emperor”
Love in the Battleground: Nowheresville
None but the Goddess consoles the helpless –
When melancholy casts gloom over life.
There is an old temple of Bhabani, the powerful goddess, on the top of a hillock few miles away from the valorous jagirdar Balwantrao’s place. The hill behind the temple is covered with age-old trees casting shadow across the area even in the scorching daylight. The priests and Brahmins of the temple live in their huts under this shadow. The ancient trees are grown up listening to chanting of Puranic verses and Vedic mantras. The serene melody spread the message of devotion in every corner of this hilly area. Maharashtra was disturbed by wars and revolutions, but neither Hindus nor Mohammedans tried to spoil the spiritual tranquility of this place with their war cry.
In the middle of the night, a pedestrian is wandering alone in that calm forest. He is anxious; his wide forehead wrinkled, face angry, eyes burning with wild rage and heart fuming with anger, vengeance and misery. Fatigue forces him to sit on the ground near the temple, yet his fury doesn’t show a sign of dying down.
Some of the Brahmins are reciting Purana sitting close to that row of trees. The tune of sacred tales is showering nectar in that calm forest under the starry sky of the calm night. The stories and songs seem falling like raindrops on Raghupati’s burning forehead; drizzling peace on his fuming heart. Gradually his anger cools down – own misery and pain seem insignificant to himself. Own achievements, bravery in the battlefield and ambitions seem to be too small an affair! In course of time, the angst removing goddess of sleep takes him in her shelter. Exhausted Raghupati falls asleep under one of the trees.
In his dreams his youthful endeavours start disappearing; the lights of hope extinguishing. The memories of good old days come back like memories of last birth to the lonely warrior. He remembers his affectionate mother, his warrior father, his gentle sister Jyotibai, his childhood companions. He wants to meet his sister, who often visits the temple. Wasn’t that the reason he came to the temple?
A soft hand wipes Raghupati’s tears. Opening his eyes he sees his sister sitting beside him under the tree. Raghupati’s heart melts. He takes his sister’s hands in his.
Jyoti wipes own tears; asks him so many affectionate questions! Raghupati goes on answering. He narrates all about his journey after leaving Shivaji’s court. God knows it all that he did not do anything wrong. But his master humiliated him suspecting him to be disloyal. Homeless, he started travelling again. He does not want to live anymore with his reputation destroyed, but wants to die taking part in a battle like his father.
Tears roll down Jyotibai’s cheeks on hearing the tales of his misery. Being the wife of the feudal ruler Balwantrao Jumladar, she bears own misery, but is deeply hurt learning about his brother’s. Nevertheless being a woman, she knows how to comfort a person in distress. Only a woman removes other’s pain forgetting her own. She talks to him for long. “Our life is like that – not every day is same. God gives us good time, that we enjoy; why cannot we accept the bad time given by the same God then? We are born as human being to suffer. If we cannot tolerate, who will? God kept us happy at our father’s place, now he gives desolation, it will be removed again. Don’t be depressed, my brother! You will feel sick otherwise. You need proper food and rest to keep yourself healthy.”
Raghupati: “Why do I need to keep healthy? On the day a soldier’s name is tainted as traitor, he should have died!”
Jyoti: “Why do you want to leave your sister in distress forever? Who else do I have in this world? We lost our parents. I have only you as my own. You too are unkind to your sister!
Raghupati: “I know how much I mean to you. God should punish me if I hurt you someday. But I do not know what I will do with this life. I am a soldier. To a soldier, reputation is worthier than life; disrepute is worse than death. Raghupati has fallen into disrepute today!”
Jyoti: “Why don’t you try to recover yourself from that disrepute then? Why don’t you meet the Great Shivaji again? Once he comes out of anger, he will surely listen to you, understand your innocence.”
Raghupati doesn’t reply, only his face reddens; his eyes started burning. Intuitive Jyoti understands her brother inherited pride and ego from his father. He would never appeal like that. She again tells: “Well, pardon me, I am woman – do not understand everything. If you are not ready to meet Shivaji, why don’t you try to reclaim your reputation by your good deed? Father used to tell – the courage and loyalty of a soldier is expressed by his actions. If anyone has distrust of your faithfulness, you should clear that distrust with your sword.”
Sister’s words influence her brother. His eyes sparkle. He asks, “How to do that?”
Jyoti told, “I have heard Shivaji is travelling to Delhi. Thousands of incidents may occur there. A determined soldier may find numerous options to prove himself there. Being a housewife, I cannot tell you much. But none of your purposes is unachievable if you follow father’s way of gallantry and determination.”
If Raghupati had cared to ponder, he could easily realize that his younger sister was not inexperienced in understanding human heart. The medication she has given him healed his gloominess within moments – the mind of a soldier enlivened.
Now he is besieged in deep thought. Taking a long pause, he tells, “Jyoti, true you are a woman. But your words made me think in a new light. I am not discouraged any longer. God should support me. Soon everyone will know that I am neither a rebel, nor a timid soldier. But you are still so young – why am I telling these to you – how would you know my heart?”
Jyoti smiles. She knows how to encourage her brother without hurting his pride, “True you are – how do my kind of a housewife know about the purpose of a warrior’s life? But whatever happens, till your younger sister is alive, will pray to God for fulfilling your purpose.” Taking a pause she says, “I wanted to ask you something, but I am scared.”
Raghupati: “Jyoti! I am your brother- you are scared of me!”
Jyoti: “Probably a jumladar named Balwantraodid harm you?”
Raghupati’s looks serious. He restrains himself from bursting, “What Balwantrao told the king was not incorrect. And I cannot tell whether he had done any harm to me.”
Jyoti: “Whatever he had done, please promise you will not harm him!”
Raghupati keeps quiet. Jyoti requests again, “Being a sister, I did not beg anything from you before. Please keep my words.”
The brother softens. says: “Jyoti, once in a while I doubt it was Balwantraowho who tried to harm me. But I promised you standing in this Goddesse’s temple that I will not do anything that may hurt him. I did forgive him. May God forgive him as well.”
Jyoti repeats from her heart: “May God forgive him.”
“May God keep you happy!” – replies her brother before leaving the temple.
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By now, we can imagine the reason of Raghupati’s being late on the day of attacking the Bajragad fort. He was not sure of coming back alive at the end of that fierce battle. Hence Raghupati wanted to meet Saryu once before starting, Saryu bade farewell with teary eyes. After that day But Saryu received no news of Raghupati. She was hoping Raghupati would be honoured in the royal court ensuring victory in the battle, and then come back cheerfully to tell the tales of war. But Raghupati never came back.
One day a maid brought news – Raghupati had been expelled from Shivaji’s army for being a traitor. Saryu could not understand the significance of this for few moments. Then her face blackened; anger engulfs her. She cried: “What are you telling! Raghupati is a traitor! He joined Mohammedans! You are dumb – get out of my sight!” But in course of time, when other soldiers started returning from battlefield chanting the same: “Raghupati became a traitor!”, also all her friends repeated the same, she couldn’t respond any longer. Even her old father was worried, “Who knew even an innocent looking boy like him planned such a wicked thing!” Even though entire world was calling Raghupati a traitor, her intuition told that the world was wrong.
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These days Saryu goes to the lake inside the fort every evening. She sees a tall saint wearing matted hair sitting there. Outsiders are not common in the fort. Curiosity leads her to meet the divine angel.
The saint looks at Saryu; asks in a deep voice, “My child! Are you looking for any help from this saint? Did you come here for any specific reason? Why are you looking sad?”
Saryu is unable to reply. She is doubtful whether to reveal her mind before an unknown person, even though a saint. Finally decides to state, “You are a saint, you know it all – please oblige me telling something about him. I think he is in danger – I wanted to ask how he is.”
Saint: “Everyone knows him to be a traitor now.”
Saryu: “The Lord knows it all!”
Saint: “The leader expelled him calling him a traitor.”
Saryu blushes. Her eyes fill with tears. She tries to make a move, “He might have been betrayed, but I wouldn’t believe he can be a traitor. Let me leave now.”
The saint’s voice sounds emotional as he slowly tells, “I have something more to tell you.”
Saryu: “Please tell.”
Saint: “Reading human mind in difficult. There is only one way to guess how honest Raghupati is. A lover’s heart mirrors the heart of a lover. Only the person who loves Raghupati by heart would know how mind is framed.”
Saryu mutters thanking the almighty, “God knows it all. If I hope to be the beloved of him, then I trust him as well. But don’t know what he intends to do now.”
Saint: “I guess he will try to do away with the disgrace showing own gallantry, by own action. He does not mind sacrificing his life to do so.”
Saryu: “He has a great perseverance. If you happen to meet him someday, tell him that the Rajput’s daughter Saryu prays to God for his success.”
Saint: “May God help him. But truth does not always win. Especially the purpose Raghupati wants to fulfil may be reason for his death.”
Saryu: “Fighting is religion to Rajput.”
Both sat silent for some time. After a long pause Saryu speaks again: “I have no regret in life now. May I know his name?”
Saint: “Sadananda Swami.”
The night is becoming darker. In that deep darkness, a saint is walking alone towards the fort of Raigarh.
Love in the Battleground: Leading to Vajragad
After signing the treaty with Mughals having Jai Singh as mediator, Shivaji returned all the forts he captured from Mughals. The Emperor awarded Shivaji some territories from the state of Bijapur. Shivaji’s son, five year old Sambhaji was granted the role of a Mansabdar of five thousand soldiers.
This togetherness helped both Shivaji and Jai Singh as they started supporting each other in battlefields. A young havildar of Shivaji’s force became a frequent visitor in the home of a priest from Jai Singh’s land. The professional purpose of the young man’s visit to the priest was collecting information from him. The personal purpose was to meet his beloved, tell the father and daughter the tales of war – how they had attacked forts on inaccessible hilltops, raided enemy’s camp or engaged in fierce battles in dense forests. Warriors are passionate about their mission, especially when that is driven by a revolutionary vision. Establishing the Hindu empire was the vision that united so many gallant warriors under Shivaji. Young Raghupati was one of them who loved sharing the success of mission.
Shivaji aspired to capture a remote but strategically important fort, Vajragarh, located on the eastern side of the main fort of Purandar. He didn’t let anyone learn his plans of attacking forts beforehand though his camp was set close to Jai Singh’s – only few kilometres away from that mountain fort. One evening he ordered one thousand of his soldiers to march with him. In the middle of the pitch-dark night, he disclosed his idea of attacking the fort before them.
The fort was on the top of a hill surrounded by plain land. Only one road to reach the fort was closed to prevent sudden attacks by enemies. The stony hill was covered with trees and plants, making the fort inaccessible from all the other sides. Shivaji ordered his men to climb the steep stone walls – they started climbing like mountain-cats – sometimes playing acrobatics from one branch of large trees after another. They found some flat stones to place their feet couple of times, but mostly they had to keep on crawling. They crossed some ditches jumping. Only the Maharashtrian force was able to stage that kind of guerrilla attack in the country at that time.
His men crossed halfway upwards when The leader suddenly noticed a few torches on the turret of the fort above. He stopped – took time to judge whether the enemies could hear the sound of their movements. The way they lit the torches, those lit up till the end of the fort-walls below, as if they were aware of some people’s trying to cross the walls. Shivaji ordered his army to be more cautious while moving through the trees and rocks. Silently they were cutting through the darkness. Rainwater flowing from the hilltop made a kind of a canal with both its rocky sides guarding it. The leader had an idea of crawling through the canal with his men to ensure not catching attention of sentries. He took a deep sigh of relief after his team reached another row of trees at the end of the canal.
Suddenly a soldier, who was standing beside him, fell down – an arrow stuck to his chest; then came another that hit another of his soldiers. He saw rows of arrows, flying one after another from the fort turret towards his men. The enemies, being aware of their presence nearby, attacked first.
He stepped forward taking cover of that row of trees; ordered one hundred of his soldiers to move to the other side of the fort. Within moments – a big clamor was heard from that side along with sound of gunfire. Assuming Maharashtrian force attacked the fort from that side, the sentries ran towards that direction with their torches.
The darkness brought good scope for the armed force, which was waiting with Shivaji, to stage an attack – charged by encouraging slogans from the leader. It was past midnight, to Shivaji’s army, the best time to pounce on the fort. The thunderous Marathi troupe advanced. One part of them attempted to cross the wall while the others, hidden behind the trees started shooting quick arrows at the sentries. The sentries on the wall were not scared either. Some of them were shooting arrows at the enemies while some jumped on them with their swords.
A brutal ambush broke out around the trees below the wall. Dead bodies piled up on both sides of the wall. Warriors continued fighting standing on the corpses of their fellow-fighters. Hundreds of Afghan soldiers from inside the fort rushed towards the trees to take on the ferocious Maolis. Streams of blood flowed from the bushes, through the rocks and behind the trees. The skilled Maoli archers brought the number of fort-sentries down. A Rajput warrior jumped on the wall bending his spears, using it like a pole, making his way through the enemies. He threw one sentry out, stood on the enemy’s flag, killed the flag bearer and then, yelled to announce his achievement. The thundering battle cry “Long Live Shivaji” shattered every one of the hostile sides. This was Raghupati Havildar.
The combatants lost themselves for a moment as they looked at the tall man on the wall. His iron headgear was shining in the light of the stars; strong arms soaked in blood. The man holding a long spear looked like the god of war, who might have come down on the wall from heaven.
The Afghans took only a moment to come back into sense. They ran towards the wall from all sides. Raghupati was excellent fighter with sword and spear, but fighting against over a hundred people was not possible after all. His colleagues, seeing his vigorous act, hurried to help him there. They jumped on the wall like a gang of tigers engaged to protect him. They gathered in tens, fifties and then in hundreds, distorted the Afghans by efficiently using knives and swords, cleared their way and raised their war-cry in a high pitch – high enough to be heard by all enemies in the fort.
As Shivaji and Tannaji jumped inside the fort from the wall, all their soldiers accompanied them. Shivaji arrived at the fort-keeper’s palace in a lightning speed. His force surrounded that strongly built palace and slaughtered all sentries there. Shivaji yelled at the fort-keeper inside “Open the door or I will set fire!” The unshakable Afghan replied, “We prefer to be burnt in fire than opening the door to a Kafir!”
The soldiers immediately started setting the doors and windows in fire. Fire engulfed the main door, windows, roofs and then the entire palace rising towards sky making a roaring noise. The fierce army of Shivaji conquered the unbeatable Mohammedan fort.
The fort-keeper, Afghan Rahamat Khan did fight valiant to embrace the death of a hero. As the palace was blazing in fire, he jumped on the ground along with his companions and began swordfight. At the end Shivaji’s vigorous soldiers wounded Rahamat Khan who continued fighting even after all other Afghan fighters had perished. The moment Maolis raised their swords to assassinate him, Shivaji’s voice was heard, “Do not kill the fort-keeper, arrest him!” The Afghan’s sword was snatched from his hand and he was tied up.
Maharashtrian were engaged in dousing the fire and Shivaji noticed a large army of well-armed Afghan soldiers climbing the road towards fort like a dark flock of cloud. In the beginning of war, when Shivaji sent one hundred of his soldiers to make noise in the other side of the fort, they went to counter them. The Marathas started fleeing, but those Afghan soldiers chased them till the foothills and slaughtered almost all of them. They were not aware of the fort’s being captured by Marathas. He planned strategy to counter them within moments; asked the soldiers, “Who among my havildars is capable of defeating enemies in this dark night leading only two hundred soldiers?”
Several havildars stood up to catch his attention. Raghupati also stood, but didn’t talk. Taking a glance at all of them he turned to Raghupati, “Well, you are youngest of all. You started conquering the fort today – you only finish it.”
Raghupati bowed before making a swift and silent move. He completed the task he accepted positioning his soldiers on the fort wall well. Their war cry “Hara Hara Mahadeo” made Afghans make out the impossibility of recapturing the fort. Quickly turning back they hurried downwards. Chasing Maolis started butchering them using knives and swords. Raghupati’s voice came from the top of the fort, “Let the absconders escape. Don’t kill them. Obey Shivaji’s instructions.” The battle was over. Rest of the Afghans ran away from the hills.
Ensuring safety in every corner of the captured fort, the havildar went to Shivaji to deliver him the good news.
Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: Leading to Vajragad”
Love in the Battleground: Key-partnership enlightens
Knowledge makes you best of the men.
Unparalleled in the universe are your Intellect and strength.
Even the pair of Aurangzeb’s son Moajjim and Jaswant Singh could not bring Deccan under control successfully. The famous Amber king Jai Singh was selected to take over the land as resident with support of a valiant Afghan army chief named Dilwar Khan. Jai Singh arrived at Puna by the end of March 1665. He didn’t sit effortless like Shaista Khan. He ordered Dilwar Khan to attack Purandar fort and himself proceeded to Rajgarh crossing Sinhagarh leading own force.
Shivaji was reluctant to fight against a Hindu king. He was dejected since the beginning of this battle and kept on sending proposal for a treaty to Jai Singh again and again, but the pragmatic Jai Singh did not rely on any of these. Finally Shivaji’s trusted minister Raghunathpanth Nyaysastri met him as an emissary and could successfully convince him that Shivaji was not playing a trick.
One day Jai Singh was in his court in the morning. One sentry entered with the news of Maharaj Shivaji’s arrival. The abruptness of the information shocked everyone in the court. Jai Singh hurriedly got up from seat to welcome the honourable guest. After formal greetings Shivaji clarified his intention without delay, “Your Majesty, Raghunathpanth Nyaysastri told me about some propositions of yours. That is why I came to meet you – I too feel honoured having a chance to meet you.”
Jai Singh, “Yes, I remember what I promised Nyaysastri. The Emperor of Delhi will pardon you if you surrender, he will protect and reward you properly.”
Shivaji looked grim. Still he had to discuss the embarrassing proposition – only because it came from the prominent leader of a Hindu kingdom who he respected.
Jai Singh understood his discontent. He assured, “You do not need to surrender if my proposition upsets you. You came here while you trust me. I won’t spoil your trust. You may leave taking any horse from my stable. You will go back as safely as you came. Consider your safety as my responsibility. Later, we may face each other in a battle. Even if I can’t win the battle, I won’t mind. To me, following the principle of a Kshatriya is purpose of life.” Himself a chivalrous warrior, he understood the mind of an independent leader.
Shivaji: “I consider myself already defeated by your kind of a great warrior; I am not sorry for that. I am sorry because my fight to protect Hindu honour, which I took up in my childhood, is going to end with my surrender today. Anyway I had to take a hard decision before coming, so I am not worried any longer.”
Jai Singh: “Then what are you sceptical?”
Shivaji: “I used to sing ballads describing your glory in my childhood. I thought truth, principle and brilliance truly symbolise Rajput life. I know how much Rajput yarns for independence. Then how is it possible that a Rajput started working as a commander under foreigner Aurangzeb. How come a Rajput leader requests a Hindu ally to surrender before a foreigner?”
Jai Singh: “You are right – it’s unfortunate. But Rajput did not surrender without resisting. They fought against the invaders from Delhi – finally lost their independence losing in the battle.”
Shivaji: “That is what makes me curious. What makes you so keen to execute the plan of those outsiders irrespective of the long grown hostility between them and your kinsmen?”
Jai Singh: “As long as I accepted the role of a commander under the Delhi ruler, I am obliged to fulfil my responsibility at any cost.”
Shivaji: “Does the obligation to remain truthful supersede everything else in the world? Why shall we be truthful to people who are against our country and who fight against our principles?”
Jai Singh: “Then study the history of Rajputana – we are fighting against Mohammedans since hundreds of years. We have won at times, and at times defeated, but never renounced the path of commitment. True we have lost our independence, but we are still recognised as follower of truth. To a Rajput, the word given is equal to a contract. Promises are breached in politics, but a Rajput never violates commitment.”
Shivaji: “On the other hand King Jaswant Singh became a faithful guardian of Hindu rule in this land. He denied fighting against Hindus.”
Jai Singh: “True Jaswant Singh is a great warrior. He comes from the land surrounded by desert called Marwar. He is a leader of a strong and valiant army there. I could praise him if he tried to protect that land deploying that army in that desert. Being in the role of a commander under the Emperor of Delhi, he is obligated to remain loyal to him. He violated own integrity being a Kshatriya – his disrepute supervene upon his reputation. Perhaps losing the battle against Aurangzeb on the bank of Shipra sent him into the depth of despair…”
Intelligent Shivaji realised the difference between Jai Singh and Jaswant Singh. He took a long pause before throwing the next question, “Do you mean his supporting another Hindu considering the highest spirit of brotherhood was unfair?”
Jai Singh responded, “I did not mean that. But Jaswant Singh could join you taking an oath in the name of God openly leaving Aurangzeb’s service.”
Shivaji: “The Emperor of Delhi could have sent a larger army against us if he joined me in open. Both of us could be defeated and killed!”
Jai Singh: “A Kshatriya’s life is graceful if he dies in battleground. Treachery is his disgrace.
His words left Shivaji red-faced. Still he continued stating his sincere desire to achieve freedom even at the cost of his own life in battlefield.”
Jai Singh was listening to him attentively; noticed the teary eyes of the emotional leader. His answer emerged from his inner calm, “If the Hindu glory is not saved by truth, it cannot be saved by deception. If the blood of a hero fails to sprout the seed of freedom, it cannot be sprouted using a filthy trick.”
Shivaji felt overpowered; found no other word to argue against that. Still he expressed his doubt once again, “But if I submit myself to Aurangzeb as you expect me to do today, how shall I teach my nation the value of independence?”
Jai Singh: “Victory and defeat are not static in war. Today I have victory over you; tomorrow you may win. Today you became subsidiary of Aurangzeb; tomorrow you may become independent.”
Shivaji: “May Your Majesty live long! Today I am not going to surrender, but soon I will. Probably we will work together to capture some forts from the hand of Bijapur rulers. As you said, nothing is static in politics.”
The leader of Maharashtra departed knowing that he had won a great friend who had been fighting on behalf of his enemies since long.
Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: Key-partnership enlightens”
Love in the Battleground: Journey begins
Just as I woke up with my eyes wide open,
You stood in front of my eyes!
No, imagination is not always deceptive, Saryu’s dream didn’t lie, and her hope didn’t swindle!
Even this summer evening Saryu is seen plucking flowers in the same garden, lost in thought as usual. She looks quiet and pleasant as before, her face calm and composed. Yet little change in her appearance is noticeable. Dream makes her eyes sparkle. Her movement shows pretty well how the transformation inside prepared her to live with her new fantasy as she stepped into her youth.
Suddenly, the silhouette of a young Rajput warrior getting down from his horse at the gate makes the girl quiver in excitement. Also the Rajput warrior spots her – the exquisite beauty and the blushed face keeps Raghupati mystified for few moments.
When the first love enchants human heart with all its charms, the torrents of elation overflow the mind like moonlight, and when the first love of the youth surges splashing its colour on entire earth and the sky alike, a heavenly abode is created in this world. This couple’s fanciful abode is already created. Within moments Saryu bows her head in embarrassment – hurriedly enters home to inform her father about the arrival of the guest.
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This time Raghupati reveals lot about himself – his homeland, origin of his family and parents while talking to the priest in the evening. The impressed priest embraces the soldier. He is happy to learn about the young man. He has heard about the reputed warrior clan of the young man, knows stories of courage and generosity of his forefathers. Glad seeing the descendant of that family had taken up forefather’s profession, he declares, “I adopted Saryu as my daughter; I am accepting you as my son today. With the Grace of God, if I can get Saryu married to your kind of a suitable groom, I will be able to die in peace. May God bless you both.” Saryu hears all from the next room. Her tender body shivers with nervousness as if a leaf struck by wind.
Raghupati came to escort Janardandev and his daughter from Toran to Rajgad by Shivaji’s order. Making arrangement for the long travel takes almost a week. His stay in the priest’s home in the meantime brings him the delight of watching Saryu plucking flowers every day. His heart beats faster whenever he sees her. He feels too nervous to talk to her these days. Even during the journey, the emotion from the bottom of his heart does not remain hidden from her eyes. Raghupati the cavalier accompanies her palanquin. Be in the rocky mountain path, or in the forest, in the barren fields or by the rivers, the sleepless warrior guards her. Every woman understands a man’s care, his eagerness. The presence of the man makes her eyes glitter. Unhidden passion in his eyes bewitches her.
After a few days, they reach a village in the evening. The fort of Rajgad is built on the hilltop adjacent to this village. Janardandev sends message of their arrival to the Maratha king asking for permission to enter the fort next day. After dinner, the warrior tries to talk to her hesitantly, “Allow me to leave, my lady!” The words fall in her ears like much awaited raindrops in the desert. Her drenched heart starts dancing. He repeats, “I shall depart now. Tomorrow you will enter the palace. I will have to join my duty.”
Finally the lady finds the strength to talk. “You have taken good care of us. You always kept a strict vigil so that I and my father arrive here safe. God should help you win the battle and fulfil your dreams. How else but praying to God can we express our gratitude?”
Raghupati remains as polite as ever, “I am fortunate – I could ensure your safe journey to the fort as ordered by the king. I cannot claim credit for this. Still, if you are satisfied with the service of this soldier, please don’t forget me.”
Saryu understands the meaning hidden in these words. She bows her head. The soldier gathers courage to tell, “Pardon my desire. Your father is affectionate to me. Hope you too aren’t disappointed with me. If God supports me, if I am able to fulfil my ambition in life, I will come back to tell you the words of my heart. Please remember me till then.”
He leaves. Saryu keeps on looking at the road through which he rode. In the middle of the night, the sleepless lady prays to God with a deep sigh, “God, please be the witness. Help my warrior. Let him reside in the heart of this poor girl forever.”
Love in the Battleground: Illusion
I sit under the mango tree closing my dejected eyes,
Intoxicated by delusion, dream of holding her lotus feet.
My heart trembles the moment I hear sound of footsteps.
Since Raghupati came to the fort of Toran, not only his heart engrossed with obsession, the heart of a young girl also swamped with the blissful wave of first love. As he placed the neck-piece around her neck, her body shivered; her mind danced in euphoric anxiety. The warrior left taking his horse biding adieu; she stood motionless watching him at her window. 
The young lady waits there for long. The horse with its rider left long back. She still looks at that direction like a frozen silhouette. A merry landscape lies before her eyes – the mountain range, the waving rows of trees on the top of the mountains, waterfalls taking forms of steams falling on the ground, the village huts down in the valleys, the stunning green fields draping those from all sides, a river flowing through the fields like the daughter of the mountain under the bright sun in the clear sky. Saryu doesn’t notice any of those; her mind roams somewhere else.
She remains lost throughout the day. In the evening, she serves dinner to her father, prepares bed for him and then retires to her bedroom. She stays awake mesmerized by the moonlight sitting quietly beside her window. Raghupati left a new emotion to fill her heart. Why did Raghupati look at her with such intensity? Was it a gaze of special affection? Was it true that a soft spot was evolved for her in the young warrior’s heart?
Impulsive emotion in a girl’s heart is usually not everlasting. The passion weakens soon. But sometimes the emotion called love in a girl of her age does not completely die. Once in a while, the thought of that young warrior crops up in her mind. Saryu, raised as single child, doesn’t have anyone but her father close to her heart. Her solitary life made her calm and thoughtful since her childhood. These days, during her daily chores, the thought of the handsome man who made her heart beat faster once, engrosses her once in a while.
Imagination is magical! So many thoughts appear as she sits beside her window alone or takes a solitary walk in the flower-garden in the evening! The young warrior might have engaged himself in battles somewhere; he might have captured forts too. Does the dutiful man devoted to different thoughts, joys and worries ever remember her? Life is always full of hope – always flows as guided by hope be that fulfilled or not. Saryu’s magical imagination keeps of whispering in her ears – the warrior appear in her mind pretty often – she is intrigued by her hope.
Next moment she starts thinking differently – “It’s not possible that the young man still remembers this fort of Toran. A young man’s heart can’t stay single-minded. A wave in a river plays with a flower on the riverbank to fulfil its momentary pleasure. The flower dances with joy. Then the wave moves following own course leaving the flower to dry off. The wave once passed does not come back.” She tries to console herself. Still, the mysterious hope doesn’t stop murmuring – what if the young warrior comes back to the fort of Toran once again?
In the middle of the night, the fort on the hilltop sleeps under moonlight; the girl’s mind gets crowded with illusions as she keeps on looking at the sky and the fair moon – how shall we trace those! She imagines a young cavalier on a white horse galloping towards the fort through the mountain route – few tufts of hair partially covering his forehead and eyes. She imagines as if the cavalier wearing a gold embossed headgear stopped his horse at the gate of the fort; his charming strong arms adorned with golden armlets knocks on the gate.
Months pass like that, and then a year, but Saryu’s waves of dreams don’t stop rolling. The warrior from homeland, whom Saryu once served food with lot of care in this distant territory, never goes into oblivion. Every now on then she recalls the charming look and divine physique of the man, who placed a chain around her neck. How deceptive imagination is!
Love in the Battleground: Hullabaloo in Puna
Hovering through the decades and age,
May the fire across the sky blaze.
May the valour of gods across heaven spread –
Day and night, incessant and elevated.
May the demons be burnt by the god’s rage;
And their offspring – by the fire of grief ceaseless.
Next day, afternoons, A few revered warriors were waiting for Shivaji on the highest turret of the fort on the bank of river Nira. The Sun-god was leaving for the day. The river valley dressed in new greenery of spring extended far wide towards the north was sparkling under the golden twilight. The warriors were gazing at the beautiful city of Puna miles away while planning the night’s grand event. Rows of mountains covered the southern and western side of the fort – their peaks beaming in the dying sunlight as far as visible. A small armed force in the fort of Sinhagad dressed up maintaining such a silence that none outside the fort could anticipate the commotion inside.
The sun went down the horizon. The shadow of the dusk started appearing in layer after layer, the warriors were still standing on the top of the fort as quiet as ever. Shivaji entered with a serious face, determined and prepared for the night’s adventure.
“Thank you for the support you have provided. Please allow me to make a move now.”
The commanders looked unhappy. Peshwa Mureshwar broke the silence, “So you have decided to allow none of Swarnadev, Annaji and me to escort you?
Shivaji: “Peshwaji, pardon me. I am well aware of you bravery, vigour and experience, but it is my mission today. I know your wishes will help me succeed. But if luck betrays, if I die during today’s mission, you three will be there to protect Maharashtra. Your far-sighted vision and might will safeguard freedom of this land even in my absence. Your ruining with me will not serve the purpose of serving the land. Please don’t make such request at this time of departure.” Peshwa didn’t pursue understanding the futility of repeating the request. The strong leader agreed to take Tanaji-Malashri, his childhood-companions anyway.
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The sun went down the western sky when the leader was seen guiding a small group of armed men outside the fort. At that very moment; a young armed person appeared from nowhere. The leader recognised the man bowing before him; asked. “Raghupati Havildar! What are you looking for at this moment?”
Raghupati: “Master! You promised me an award on the day I brought some information from the fort of Toran.”
Shivaji: “What award do you expect right now?”
Raghupati: “Please allow me to accompany you.”
Shivaji: “My boy! Why are you trying to leap into a dangerous mission at this age?”
Raghupati: “This is risk I am taking by choice. I have none to mourn for me in this world if I die. On the other hand, if I can satisfy Master with my performance and come back alive and successful, that will help building my career.”
Raghupati’s large dark eyes showed the strong will of a warrior in the simpleton’s young face. His clear intension compelled Shivaji allow the young man to march with him.
The noise of the Puna city gradually reduced; the lights went off – only the guards carried on their surveillance raising a high pitch warning in the quiet city once in a while. At times the evening breeze was carrying the sound of jackals howling far in the forest. Suddenly a ding dong was heard – Shivaji’s heart started pounding hard. He looked at the direction of the city following the noise – only to find that it was coming from inside a lane invisible from outside.
The ding dong repeated. He looked again – it was a procession with lights and music on the wide street – seemingly a bridegroom’s party. The procession came closer – clearly visible now. Some people carrying musical instruments were on the horses – some walking. The warriors looked at each other’ eyes; all had one thing in mind reflecting in their eyes, not in words – “This could be our last communication.” All of them quietly dissolved in that crowd.
The crowd crossed the road near Shaista Khan’s palace. The ladies in the palace gathered at the windows to watch the grand procession. The procession passed slowly. Only thing nobody noticed was that about thirty people from the procession had slipped and hid themselves near the palace. After some time, the hullabaloo of the bridegroom’s procession faded away.
In the middle of the calm night, maids in the kitchen heard a faint sound under a small window of the kitchen in Shaista Khan’s palace.Thye rushed to check – to find Marathi soldiers entering the palace through a large hole on the wall– one after another like a line of ants. The ladies ran for help screaming towards Shaista Khan’s room.
The palace guards seemed baffled with the sudden attack; many of them already killed or badly injured. Still, rest of them hurried to protect their master and finally managed to encircle those Maoli invaders. Soon a terrifying uproar filled the entire palace. The lamps of the palace went off. The Maolis continued fighting and shouting in the dark. Sound of doors banging, triumphant attackers roaring and wounded soldiers wailing flooded the entire space. In the midst of the big chaos, Shivaji joined the crowd of Maolis with his spear in hand – shouted “Hara Hara Mahadeo”. The gesture charged up his troupe. Most of the Mughal guards fled away, while many of them lied lifeless on the floor. Shivaji entered Shaista Khan’s bedroom breaking the door with his spear.
A small group of Mughal soldiers rushed inside to protect their commander. Shivaji found Shamser Khan, the valorous son of the deceased Chand Khan standing in front of him. Shivaji stopped for a moment, “Young man, your father’s blood still taints my hand. I do not want to take your life – go away”.
He didn’t receive an answer from Shamser Khan; only saw his eyes burning. Even before he could take precaution, he noticed Shamser’s shining sword above his head. The next instant, he saw a spear hitting Shamser from behind. The enemy fell on the ground with his sword in hand. The Maratha warrior discovered Raghupati Havildar standing behind.
He pronounced: “Havildar! I will remember your support.” before quickly leaving the place. None of Khan’s bodyguards left alive.
With an intension to flee, Shaista Khan jumped out of his window – still holding the window pane. One of the chasing Marathi soldier’s swords chopped one of his fingers. Anyway he succeeded to escape. On the other side, his son Abdul Fateh Khan and many sentries lied in the pile of dead bodies killed in ambush. All the rooms, courtyard and corridor were blood-soaked; bodies of the sentries scattered everywhere, Sound of women wailing and ailing warriors moaning became unbearable. The purpose of the violent Maolis was probably to ensure complete destruction of Mughals on that very night. The place look ghastly with dead bodies, severed heads and flowing blood in the dim light of the torches. It was time for Shivaji to take control. He called his soldiers to announce the success of the operation. Unnecessary killing, even during war situation annoyed him. He ordered the soldiers to move back to Sinhagarh fort as fast as possible.
The angry Mughals will try to attack the fort next morning, but will be severed by the cannons fired from that fort. Kartaji Gujjar and his force will drive them far away.
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A valiant warrior feels encouraged to fight under threatening situation. But Shaista Khan was not of that sort. He wrote a letter to Aurangzeb blaming his soldiers for treason and Jaswant Singh for bribing them. Aurangzeb called them back considering both of them irresponsible. He first sent own son Moajjim to Deccan and later sent Jaswant to support him.
No further war took place within a year after this. Shivaji’s father Shahaji passed away in the beginning of 1664. He performed his father’s last rites in Sinhagarh, adopted the title ‘King’ arranging a ceremony in Raigarh and started minting coins in own name.
But what happened to the girl in love in the fort of Toran?
Love in the Battleground: Guest at midnight
Gone are the days of staying loyal to master.
Mere ethics not enough to relinquish –
Blood, brotherhood and nation.
Even if stranger virtuous and kinfolk inept,
Worthless kin, as Scriptures mention-
Stays closer than the stranger competent.
In the middle of that very night, the Rajput King Jaswant Singh was sitting alone in the tent resting his face on his palm. What was the thought he was consumed with? The shadow in the tent created by the dim light of a single lamp portrayed his shadowy mind.
Mahadeoji Nyayshastri entered the tent. Jaswant started conversation, “Tell me what proposal you brought from your master.”
Mahadeo: “My master did not send me with a proposal. He wanted me to meet you.”
Jaswant Singh: “Is he disappointed only because we have captured the forts of Puna and Chakan?”
Mahadeo: “My master is disappointed seeing the gem of the Hindu kings, who he considers a treasure of the Kshatriya clans and the custodian of Hindu ethics serving foreigners.”
Jaswant’s face showed sign of embarrassment. Mahadeoji noticed that but ignored. He continued, “The person who married a kinswoman of Udaypur Rana, whose throne is established under the royal umbrella of Marwar, whose fame is spread throughout Rajasthan and whose prowess by the river Sipra frightened Aurangzeb, is fighting against own kith and kin taking the side of foreigners! My master is depressed seeing the person whom the entire Bharatbarsha considers a strong pillar of ancient chivalry fighting for outsiders. My king! I am a minor messenger – I might have lost my sense how I should talk to you – please forgive my audacity – but why is this display of warfare? Against whom did you assemble so many armed soldiers? To celebrate which event are these flags of victory raised? Is it going to liberate us? Is it going to ensure freedom for us? Is it going to accomplish the reputation of a Kshatriya? You are the guardian of the warrior clans. Please give this a thought.”
Jaswant Singh looked at him, “You are brilliant messenger. Your words are touching my heart. But I am a subsidiary under the Emperor of Delhi. I came to fight against Maharashtra and will do my duty.”
Mahadeo: “And you vouched to slaughter hundreds of folks of own brotherhood. You ensure that one Hindu beheads another Hindu, one Brahmin stabs another Brahmin, and Kshatriya doesn’t protect anyone!”
His comments left Jaswant red-faced. His voice sounded harsh, “How shall I make friendship with your master, when everyone knows that he is a rebel – cunning Shivaji breaks his promise given one day readily on the next day?”
The emissary couldn’t stop himself from behaving outrageous, “Your Majesty! Please don’t criticize him like this! When did Shivaji break a promise made to own countrymen? Did he ever forget protecting countrymen? Hundreds of villages and thousands of temples in the country know him as protector. Please find out if he is not ready to provide shelter to Brahmins, support Hindus, or worship Gods. What ethics one should follow when engaged in war against foreigners? Where in this world the winner and the loser make friends? When an eagle catches a snake, the snake pretends to be dead; the moment eagle leaves it considering it dead, the snake bites it – is this treachery or only pretention for survival? Almighty taught all animals the way to self-defence. Didn’t he teach the same to human being? How do we build sincere bond of friendship with those who have stolen our freedom, destroyed our strength, honour, pride and morals? You mean pursuing an option to regain that treasured freedom and protect own faith a trickery? This is path of liberation. Can we define a stag’s fleeing for self-defence as revolt? The bird tries to distract attention of the attacker to save the chicks – is that blameworthy?”
The messenger’s emotion moved Jaswant. He sounded softer, “You are only an emissary; I didn’t mean to hurt you. I intended to ask why Maharashtra can’t guard own liberty showing courage in the battlefield as we do.
Mahadeo: “Rajput fights for freedom since ages. They are wealthy; reside in beautiful capital cities in the land surrounded by mountains and desert. You fight against enemies following your proven strategy when you are attacked; you show your bravery and skill developed since ages; the Mughal army retreats if they have to confront the vigorous Rajput force. We Maharashtrians have neither legacy, nor enough number of soldiers.What shall we do if the Mughals attack our land? When the Emperor deploys his skilful armed force from Kabul, Punjab, Oudh, Bihar, Malav or even Rajasthan- the land of heroes, sends hundreds of unbeatable horses and elephants, brings together thousands of carriages carrying cannons, guns, loads of gunpowder, gold and silver coins, what option Maharastrians are left with? What else but following war-strategies suitable for the hilly areas would help us? The poor nation does not have any other go in the beginning of their journey. But yes, by the grace of God, once they earn wealth and expertise, they will also follow the path shown by Rajput.”
The power of the speech convinced Jaswant. His gesture of contemplating holding his forehead with palms assured Mahadeo that his words didn’t go in vain. He continued unhurriedly, “You belong to the best of the warriors; why are you doubtful about joining Shivaji? Both of you and Shivaji have same intension of upholding the reputation of the land. If you don’t find him suitable to support, please take up the responsibility on your own. Be the ruler of this land. Give an order- the gate of the forts will be opened instantly; the subjects will pay you the tax. You are thousand times stronger than Shivaji, thousand times more prudent than Shivaji, a thousand times preferable to him as ruler. Shivaji will be happy to destroy foreign invaders being a commander under you. He doesn’t want anything else.”
The ambitious Jaswant was pleased with this proposal; but took time before answering, “The distance between Maharashtra and Rajputana is too wide to be ruled by a single ruler.”
Mahadeo: “Assign the responsibility to a worthy son of yours or engage one of your kinsmen in this task. Shivaji will work under a ruler from the Kshatriya clan, but will never fight against a Kshatriya.”
Jaswant: “I don’t have any relative who can protect this land confronting Aurangzeb.”
Mahadeo: “Deploy a Kshatriya commander then.”
Jaswant: “I don’t know any commander like that.”
Mahadeo: “Then please support the one who can take up the task. With your help, Shivaji will be able to take the reputation of own land to a new height. Everyone of this land, every deity from the sky will praise you for this.”
Jaswant found no other reason to disagree. He sounded serious. “You are right. I should fight same way Shivaji does for the land. When do you think I can meet your noble warrior?”
This was time for the person playing the role of a Brahmin to reveal his identity. He removed the Brahmin’s turban’ – a soldier’s helmet was seen under that; also the armour under his cotton vest. The Maharashtrian told, “My king, pardon me that I came here in disguise. I am not Brahmin, but a Maharashtrian Kshatriya. I am not Mahadeoji. I am Shivaji.”
The king Jaswant Singh looked at the legendary warrior astounded. It took moments for him to digest the reality of seeing the leader before him. He cheerfully embraced his apparent enemy who embraced him with respectful affection. There discussion continued rest of the night. A detailed war-plan was settled before Shivaji bid adieu. He requested bidding farewell before daybreak, “My king, it will be better if you keep yourself away from Puna tomorrow.”
Jaswant asked, “Why so? Are you going to capture Puna tomorrow?”
The warrior smiled, “No, we are going to celebrate a wedding. The presence of the King may hamper that.”
Jaswant: “Well, I will be far away then. but please remember what we have discussed.”
Shivaji: “I will tell my master Shivaji to act accordingly.”
Jaswant: “Oh yes, I forgot! Please tell your master to act accordingly.” He returned to his tent with a smile.
Shivaji said his goodbye and set off – satisfied that his power of speech had helped him gain a strong ally.
Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: Guest at midnight”
Love in the Battleground: Fire and fury
Flame of rage engulfed rebels at the dead of night.
Against the ruler they vowed to unite.
The emissary had to travel across a long route alone. City-dwellers fell asleep draped in the dense anonymity of the night. In that reign of silence, all on a sudden, he sensed something wrong – as if there was a sound of footsteps behind him. He stood motionless for some time, but couldn’t hear anything any longer.
Again he started walking; again he felt he was being followed by someone. The unseen follower annoyed him. Who could be the follower – a friend or foe? Did he identify him? Stopping for a moment to judge the situation, he pulled a sharp knife from under the sleeve of his cotton-padded shirt quietly. He kept on waiting at roadside gazing backwards, but could see none except the thick darkness; could hear nothing beyond the absolute silence.
He returned to the well-lit marketplace. That area was crammed with many shops. People from different business communities were trying to sell and purchase different varieties of goods. He sought to hide himself in that crowd. Again he entered into another narrow lane. Cutting through many lanes and by-lanes at a swift pace, he reached the end of the city – stood there rock-still for long holding his breath. All the roads and lanes and houses and palaces seemed dipped into stillness. The entire area was hidden under the dark attire of the night. He knocked a door nearby. A Maharashtrian soldier of Shaista Khan’s army came out. Together they walked towards a remote place within the city to discuss something in secret.
Mahadeoji: “Tell me about the preparation.”
Soldier: “Everything is ready.”
Mahadeoji: “What about permission letter?”
Soldier: “I collected one for ten musicians and thirty guards with weapon. They are not ready to allow more.”
Once again a faint sound of footsteps was heard. Mahadeoji’s eyes flashed. He jumped forward with his knife in hand; but returned after some time being unable to trace anyone. “Hope you didn’t come empty handed?” – he asked.
The soldier pulled a knife from under his chaste-shield to show him. Mahadeoji continued: “Well done, forty is more than enough. The procession with the groom will start from this side. Invite as many friends and relatives as possible. When is the wedding going to take place?”
Soldier: “One at night.”
The emissary smiled, “Good, I will be priest performing the rituals. The Grand wedding will be remembered as an historical event forever.”
An arrow shot from somewhere struck his chest before he finished. It could end his life if he didn’t wear an iron-shield under his cotton shirt. The arrow displaced. But within a moment, a spear hit him. Though it couldn’t pierce his strong armour, he fell down on the ground as an effect. He got up – only to find a tall Mughal warrior with an open sword in hand standing before him – it was Chand Khan.
The Commander Shaista Khan humiliated Chand Khan. Khan, who had spent long in the warrior’s profession, had been deeply hurt by the criticism. He decided not to express his anguish to anyone, instead take revenge doing something heroic. The emissary’s behaviour in the court made him suspicious. He could not believe a vigorous leader like Shivaji whose devotion to Hindu identity and desire for establishing a Hindu empire became a myth, had requested for a treaty surrendering before the Mughal in the beginning of the war. Who could be the Brahmin emissary whom the great leader had issued an authorization letter?
Also the messenger’s conducts were not beyond suspicion. His eyes flamed in anger when Shaista Khan criticized Maharastrians. With an intension to capture the deceiving messenger instead of inviting rebuke in the court again, he kept on following him keeping a distance through the roads and lanes and by lanes – not missing the target even for a moment. The dialogue between the emissary and the soldier helped astute lieutenant figure out the entire story. He planned to show own competence by taking the life of the emissary and presenting the captured soldier before his commander.
The time when Chand Khan sacrificed own life to fulfil the duty of a warrior, his superior Shaista Khan was probably dreaming of defeating Shivaji through a peace-treaty!
Love in the Battleground: Emissary brings peace-proposal
Empire and its welfare kept the Nawab occupied –
Lost in thought even in the middle of the night.
The Emperor didn’t take an attempt to bring Shivaji under control before 1662 though the rebel leader continued expanding his territory. Number of captured forts under this Maharashtrian leader’s prowess was growing. Finally Shaista Khan, a commander who was awarded the title Amir Ul-Umra along with the regional rulers’ position of southern India, received the order to overpower Shivaji from Mughal Emperor. He conquered Puna, Chakan and some other forts that year. Next year, by the time this story evolved, he was planning to uproot Shivaji from Western India. Jaswant Singh, the eminent king of Marwar, joined Shaista Khan in 1663 leading a large force. This brought a grave threat to Shivaji. The joint force of Mughal and Rajput army assembled near Puna. Shaista Khan was staying in the same mansion of Dadoji Konddeo where Shivaji spent his childhood with his mother. Khan, aware of Shivaji’s strategies, issued an order that no Maharashtrian could enter Puna without valid permission. Shivaji with his armed force was staying in a nearby fort named Sinhagad. Maharastrians could not adapt themselves well to warfare till then; confronting the well-trained Mughal army was not quite possible for them. Shivaji found no other option to defend freedom and expand the Hindu empire but using some clever tactic.
It was an evening at the end of Chaitra month. The mighty commander called his deputies and ministers to discuss strategies to ensure victory over Shivaji. Bright lamps illuminated entire space inside the mansion. Fresh evening breeze was carrying the fragrance of flowers from the garden outside.
Anwari, an outspoken flatterer in the Durbar claimed, “The Maharashtrian force will fly away like dry leaves before strong wind if they are to face our armed force – or horrified, they will hide inside the earth”.
Chand Khan, an old army commander who was observing the Maharashtrian dexterity since many years responded, “I think, they have both the skills.”
Shaista Khan: “Why are you telling that?”
Chand Khan: “My Lord may remember how it took long two months to capture the fort of Chakan removing a few of their hill-tribes using our large force. So many of us lost their lives on the way to conquer only one fort! Again this year, irrespective of our deploying armed force everywhere, Nitaiji dispersed Ahmednagar and Aurangabad – without our knowledge!”
Shaista Khan: “Chand Khan is getting old. Seems he is scared of the mountain-rats. He was not like this before!”
The humiliation reddened Chand Khan’s face. He didn’t want to respond.
Anwari: “The Master said it! Maharastrians are like rats. Who would deny that they have the skill to enter the holes underground like mountain-rats?”
Chand Khan: “Hope the mountain-rats wouldn’t come out digging up holes underneath Puna.
Shaista Khan: “Here we have thousands of sharp-nailed cats from Delhi; rats won’t be able to harm us all on a sudden.”
The Commander’s wit amazed all courtiers. They found the ritual of ridiculing Maharashtrians more amusing than discussing warfare. Shaista Khan considered conquering other forts quiet impossible before capturing Chakan. He threw an idea of capturing all forts one by one and driving Shivaji’s army away. He complained, “Why can’t we first defeat them in battle and then chase those fleeing rats? Don’t we have an efficient cavalry? Can’t we destroy their entire army chasing them?”
Chand Khan could not resist intervening, “My lord! We will certainly clinch victory in war, and will destroy their army if able to catch them. But no other cavalier in Hindustan can catch a Maharashtrian cavalier chasing him in this hilly district. Our horses are large; the rider carrying heavy weapons is excellent in the plain – in fact vigorous and unstoppable there, but their movements are obstructed in these mountainous tracts. Small local horses with riders jump on hilltops like mountain-goats and flee through the valleys and narrow mountain tracks like stags. My Lord, please let me suggest something. Shivaji is in Sinhagad; let us besiege the fort abruptly. We will be able to seize it within one or two months. Shivaji’s arrest will define our victory without difficulty! Stalling ourselves here does not make sense. What shall we get by tracking fleeing Maharastrians? See how effortlessly Netaiji ravaged Ahmednagar and Aurangabad crossing the route close by – Rustam Zaman couldn’t catch him!”
Furious Shaista Khan yelled at him, “Rustam Zaman committed treachery. He intentionally let Netaiji flee; I will punish him accordingly. Chand Khan! You dare going against war – do you mean the Emperor doesn’t have any gallant soldier in his army?”
Blasted terribly, the emotional old lieutenant did not have any other option but stopping. Shaista Khan wanted to continue but an attendant brought a message of an emissary’s arrival from Sinhagarh – a Brahmin named Mahadeoji Nyasastri from enemy camp came to meet the commander.
Mahadeoji entered the court in a slow pace. He was not yet forty. Dark and short like common Maharashtrian, he had a sharp face and wide chest. His forehead was marked with sandal pest, body covered with short cotton shirt. His turban was so large that half of his face was not properly visible under its shadow. Shaista Khan greeted him cordially before showing him his seat. He asked, “What’s news from Sinhagarh?”
Mahadeoji replied reciting a Sanskrit verse: “Santi nadyo danḍakeshu tathᾱ paῆchavatibane I \ Saryu-bichhedaṡokam rᾱghavastu katham mahet II – There are hundreds of streams in Dandakaranya and Panchavati forest, but does that help Raghav (Ram) forget the distress of staying away from the banks of river Saryu? Shivaji still controls Sinhagarh and many other hundreds of forts, but Puna is in your hand; how is it possible for him to forget that?”
Shaista Khan wanted to be sure of the identity of the Brahmin; demanded, “If you have come down to discuss a treaty, then please show me an evidence of your representing Shivaji.”
The Brahmin took out an authorisation letter from under his jacket showing a sincere gesture. The Commander, satisfied with the letter after minute checking, expressed his willingness to know his proposition. The emissary continued: “Our Master intends to tell you that waging war from our part is insensible since you have already won the first phase.”
Pleased Khan answered: “Yes your master can still save his life surrendering before the Emperor of Delhi.”
The Brahmin smiled slightly before uttering another verse: na ṡakto hi swᾱbhilᾱsam jῆᾱtayitunchᾱtakah I \ jῆᾱtvᾱ tu tat bᾱridharastoshayati yᾱchakam II – A swallow cannot speak its mind to the cloud, but cloud fulfils its desire by pouring showers showing own kindness. This is way superior expresses his greatness. The embarrassment of losing Puna and Chakan prevents Shivaji even from praying for a treaty. But whatever your kind of a great person would grant considering his prayer, will be accepted.”
Delighted Khan replied, “Your Sanskrit language is undeniably sweet and meaningful. Do you mean Shivaji is looking for a treaty?”
The Brahmin uttered: “Kesharinah pratᾱpena bhayabidagdhachetasah I \ Trᾱhi deva trᾱhi rᾱjan-iti brubanti bhucharᾱh II – Our only intention is to save our lives. We are terrorised by the brandishing threat posed by the invincible army of the mighty Emperor. My master is keen to propose a treaty and requests for letting us know the conditions the Emperor of Delhi intends to impose for the treaty. He will take care of those.”
Shaista Khan: “Good. First he will have to surrender before the Emperor of Delhi. Secondly, the forts captured by the Emperor of will remain under his control. Thirdly, you will have to hand us Sinhagarh and some other forts. Is your master ready to accept that?”
Mahadeoji: “I do not have the right to take a decision for my master and disclose. I will only carry the message to him. But please tell me which other forts you want.”
Shaista Khan: “We will let you know that in couple of days. Fourthly, the forts and provinces Shivaji will retain must be taken care of as a subsidiary under the Emperor of Delhi. He will have to pay tax for those. Communicate you master all these conditions. We expect an answer within a few days, whether he agrees or disagrees.”
Mahadeoji: “I will do as My Lord orders. Let me place another request, Sir! We would be obliged if battle is suspended for the time being while an agreement of treaty is being prepared.”
Shaista Khan: “Not at all! I do not trust tricky rogues. There’s no act of trick in the world they cannot play. Battle is to continue till the treaty is signed. We will cause damage to your establishments as much as we can; you do the same as extensively as you can.”
The Brahmin bid adieu uttering “Ebamstu” (So be it). Did anyone notice the sudden flash of rage in his eyes?
He hastily disappeared in the crowd of thickly populated city of Puna.
Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: Emissary brings peace-proposal”
Love in the Battleground: Dreaming love
“Duty unfulfilled makes the existence meaningless”
Late in the evening, Saryu serves dinner. She cooked several delicacies. Raghupati is hungry but worried – absorbed in own obsession, his taste buds went blunt. Janardan tries to indulge in a conversation about Rajasthan passionately. The young man mumbles – he is being distracted time to time.
The girl brings sweet sorbet in a marble tumbler after dinner. He looks at her holding the tumbler with such a sheer anxiety that melted heart seems flowing to the girl through his eyes. Their eyes meet with each others. She leaved the room blushing. Even the young man blushes.
She comes back with water for him. He is not indecent; doesn’t gaze at her like before any longer. He looks at her beautiful hands adorned with golden bangles; also her beautiful roundish arms bejeweled with armlets. He heaves a deep sigh.
Raghupati’s bed is made. But instead of going to bed, he opens the door quietly, comes to the flower-garden and takes a stroll under the starry night sky.
Does anyone have any idea what is the young warrior meditating on, looking straight at the starry sky in that dark night? The night is getting colder; all the living beings of the world are taking rest wrapped in the blanket of the cold darkness. Even the fort seems to have been sunk into stillness; only the sentry’s movement brakes that intense silence once it a while. Only the sound of the fort-bell announces the existence of awareness echoing in the hills around that serene fort every hour. What is the thought in which the sleepless Raghupati is lost in that mysterious obscurity of the night?
Even he doesn’t know why he is roaming in the garden. As if he is still a young boy; suddenly woke up in a new ray of light that shook his peaceful existence. How could one define the passionate thought that propels his speeding mind all on a sudden? Hundred times he remembers that elegant Rajput girl – her distinctive eye-brows, the flower petal-like freshness of her lips, the thick curls of her hair, the roundish arms, the large affectionate eyes and the delicate beauty. He tries to pacify himself – “You are a humble Havildar – the picturesque beauty can never be yours. Janardan is a high-born Brahmin; his adopted daughter would be desirable even to the princes. Why do you hurt yourself driven by such a futile dream? Why are you burning your own heart with this fiery thirst?”
Does hope die so easily in the young heart? Youth is desperate. To young mind, all difficult goals seem achievable; every impossible seems possible. Raghupati can’t resist losing himself looking at the deep hollow of the sky for hours. He stands keeping his arms across his chest, seeking support from God, “help me – make me successful. Everyone dreams of earning fame, recognition and reputation. Don’t I deserve those? Do I have a body slender than others? Are my arms weaker than others? If you are there to help me, I will protect the honour of my forefathers in battleground. I will gain reputation suitable for a Rajput – and then? My success will make me worthy suitor for Saryu.” He mutters addressing Saryu in his imagination, “Someday I will tell you war stories holding your soft hands in mine. I will hold your creeper-like body close to this pounding chest, looking at your flower-petal like lips.” But within moments he comes back to his sense, “Oh no! I am acting lunatic!”
He takes long to find his calm self back; then steps towards his room taking a deep breath. At that very moment, he notices a neck-chain lying on the ground, in which each coral bead is tied in a string along with two pearls. He remembers that he has seen this before. This was embracing Saryu’s neck and chest in the evening. What made her so absent-minded that this one fell on the ground? Looks at the sky he whispers, “God! Are you showing the sign of my longing’s being fulfilled?” He goes to bed keeping the string clung to his chest.
Next morning, the priest communicates the message of the Goddess for Shivaji, “Victory in the battle against anti-Hindus – defeat in war against own fraternity.”
Raghupati meets Saryu once again in the garden before leaving the fort. An inexplicable wave of suppressed desire makes his voice tremble, “Forgive the audacity of the unknown foreigner, my lady! I found this chain here last night and wanted to return it.”
She looked at him straight; sees the same soft amiable face, the wide forehead partly covered with think curls of hair, the bright eyes – the polite young warrior waiting for her reply. Her embarrassment shows in her fair face.
The warrior continues, “Please allow me to put this string in its place for God’s sake.”
The girl closes her eyes abashed. Raghupati’s own heart beating with the rhythm of a lovely emotion understands her expression of granting him permission. He places the chain on her neck carefully; says, “Allow me to leave then.”
The girl’s anxiety didn’t remain hidden as she whispers, “I am obliged. Hope you will visit this temple again if you come to this fort.”
Like the first drop of rain comes to the thirsty swallow, the first words of his desired woman to him overwhelm the man. He murmurs, “I am a servant of my master – a professional warrior – don’t know when I will come back, or if I will be able to come back at all. But I will never forget the kindness you showed me.
His voice chokes. Both the host and guest are wounded by the cupid’s first arrow.
Love in the Battleground: Cupid takes aim
Could you comfort me my friend! I couldn’t see her well,
Like thunderbolt passing through cloud, wrapped in veil.
Half her body covered by loose end of her clothing;
Half her face was smiling; her eyes half-sparkling.
Her presence made cupid love struck
The fair lady moves like a golden vibe of luck.
O God, her beauty trapped me obsessed –
Her pearl-teeth those sensuous lips braced.
Vidyapati laments over his pain in despair,
While eyes cannot satisfy his heart’s desire.
Raghupati decides to visit the temple of Goddess Bhavani built by Shivaji after conquering the fort. A devout Brahmin from Amber was invited to carry out the services of the priest. Asking for the Goddess’s blessing before taking all vital decisions regarding military operations is a ritual for the leader. He walks towards the temple in youthful ecstasy.
The sun is about to set. The white marble temple in the backdrop of a small garden looks elegant in the faint radiance of the twilight. Raghupati decides to wait for the priest sitting on a flat stone in the flower garden outside.
Within minutes he finds something surprising – a young girl plucking flowers at a distance! The cloths of the girl reveal her native to be Rajputana – not Maharashtra. His heart elates seeing a girl from own land that he had left long ago. His characteristic introversion stops him from talking to her, but cannot disallow his eyes gazing at the girl sitting on the same stone. More he watches, more he gets intrigued by her youthful charm.
Her thick black silky hair falls on her back. A pair of large eyes made her vivid face even more vibrant. The perfect pair of her eye-brows looks as if drawn by a painter’s brush, beautifying her forehead. Her lips are thin and red; roundish arms adorned with golden bangles. The purple sky above enhances the golden glow of her skin. A long chain adorns her young neck and chaste. And the young warrior cannot stop observing the beautiful Rajput girl in this gorgeous twilight.
As she finishes plucking flowers, she looks up – only to discover a tall young Rajput sitting little far giving her a steadfast gaze. She blushes – she bows her head in obeisance. She looks at him again, sees the warrior holding a spear in hand and a sword hanging from the waist still waiting – his wide forehead and bright eyes partially covered by few tufts of hair. The bashful girl – surprised seeing a handsome person looking at her, hurries towards home with her flower-basket in hand, as if trying to run away from the desirable man.
Raghupati wakes up all on a sudden. Mystified, he enters the temple before meeting the priest.
The priest Janardandev is a descendant of a reputed priestly clan from Rajasthan. He came to the fort long back with his wife. The childless couple had adopted an orphaned girl child of a Kshatriya (warrior community) friend. On Shivaji’s invitation, the family shifted to the fort of Toran, the first fort the king had captured. After his wife passed away, the priest was left with no other object of affection but his adopted daughter. As Saryu grew into an exquisitely beautiful girl, other Brahmin residents of the fort started affectionately calling the father-daughter the incarnation of the hermit Kanva and Sakuntala*.
The middle-aged priest returns after some time. His tall built with wide chest and long well-formed pair of arms still looks strong. His shoulder is adorned with Upvit (sacred thread wore by Hindu Brahmin as mark of identity) and face with a pair of amicable eyes which is probably a mirror-image of his sacred heart and simple mind.
The priest enquires about Shivaji’s well-being. The soldier informs him about the forthcoming war. Handing the priest few gold coins he says, “The Master requested you to offer a Puja to Goddess Bhavani. He is determined to wage a war against Mughals. You know, no human can win without Goddess’ blessings.”
Janardan replies maintaining his usual calm: “The duty of our class of people is to protect our ancient belief – I will pray to the Goddess so that she favours Shivaji.”
Raghupati: “The Master has another request. He understands the outcome of the battle could be foretold. Only an astrologer with a good foresight like you can help him.”
Janardandev closes his eyes – opens after few moments and assures, “I will let the Goddess know this desire of Shivaji’s at night – you will get the answer in the morning.”
As the soldier prepares to leave thanking him, the priest asks: “I haven’t seen you in this fort before. Are you coming here for the first time today?”
Raghupati: “This is my first visit.”
Janardan: “Do you know anyone in this fort? Where are you going to stay?”
Raghupati: “I know no one; will spend the night somewhere inside the fort and go back in the morning.”
Janardan: “Why do you need to go through such a hardship?”
Raghupati: “With the grace of the Lord, that is not hardship for us – we often need to spend nights like this.”
Janardan: “Hardship is indeed inevitable during war, but today you need not undergo any. Take rest in this temple tonight; my adopted daughter will take care of your food. Carry the Goddesses’ message to Shivaji tomorrow morning.”
Raghupati’s heart suddenly starts beating faster. Is it a suffering, or a pain of pleasure? Who is the adopted daughter of Janardan? Is that the same beautiful Rajput girl he met in the garden?
*Mahabharata story
Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: Cupid takes aim”
Love in the Battleground: A Maharashtrian Saga
Ascending sun in the sky smiles –
Greeting you at the day-break.
Clap your hands in applause,
Offer him flowers standing by the lake.
Our story evolved in past, that too distant past. Who knows how was the life of common man in Maharashtra a few centuries back? We can only imagine. The abundance of historical monuments across the state carrying the sign of political turmoil triggers our imagination. We see in our mind’s eye – how people of a land facing threats from outside retained their identity.
Mohammed Ghuri conquered Northern part of India around the end of twelfth century AD. This group of Mohammedans were contented almost a century after acquiring that large tract of fertile land; did not take an attempt to conquer Southern part of India crossing the high barrier of mount Vindhyachal and the deep trench in form of Narmada river separating south from north. Finally, by the end of thirteenth century, Allauddin Khilji, another ambitious invader who wanted to spread his empire beyond northern India, overpowered the river leading an army of eight thousand soldiers. He besieged Devgarh, the capital of a Hindu State without warning them. The prince of Devgarh reciprocated leading his big armed force, but the Hindu battalion was defeated in the fierce battle. The king was forced to make a peace treaty paying large sum and a district called Ellichpur. Later, after Allauddin ascended Sultanate of Delhi, his commandant Malik Kafur attacked South India thrice, unsettled and to some extent devastated the area between Narmada to Kanyakumari. Devgarh and other Hindu states were pushed to surrender to Mohammedans, then ruling power from Delhi.
In fourteenth century, Mohammed bin Tughlaq took an attempt to transfer his Capital from Delhi to Devgarh, and modified its name to Daulatabad. But his wild behaviour infuriated both Hindus as well as Islamics in south enough to revolt against the Emperor. Hindus established a large empire with Vijayanagaram as Capital while Islamics established a separate Islamic state in Daulatabad. In course of time, Vijayanagaram and Daulatabad became two major power-centres of South India. The Delhi Sultanate didn’t take up an effort to acquire that part of the country for another three hundred years.
Even though safe from Delhi’s aggression, having the Islamic Daulatabad as neighbour, southern Hindu states were not completely free from threat. Hindu cultural spirit was already seeing decay at that time. On the other hand, the Islamics were not only growing powerful but also started flourishing culturally. Following the rule of history of civilization, the mightier started wiping out the weak. Eventually, Daulatabad increased in size and then separated into three Islamic states – namely Bijapur, Golkonda and Ahmednagar. All three joined hands in a fight against Vijayanagaram and crushed that kingdom in the war of Talikota in 1564. The Hindu rule was thus extinguished in South. Being extensively dominant, Bijapur, Golkonda and Ahmednagar defeated all Hindu states in Karnat (Karnataka) and Dravida region over the course of time.
Again in 1590, Emperor Akbar took an effort to bring South India under Mughals. Khandesh and Ahmednagar were overpowered in his lifetime. His grandson Shahjahan got hold of entire Ahmednagar before 1636. Hence, by the time this story evolved, only Bijapur and Golkonda remained two independent dominant Islamic states in South. All the others became part of Mughal Empire.
We need to understand the role of Maharastrians during these political turbulences. Hindus enjoyed a fair status even in the Islamic states of Bijapur, Golkonda and Ahmednagar. The administrative decisions of the Islamic states used to be determined following ancient Hindu law-books. Every state was divided into Sarkars and Sarkars into Parganas. True, mostly Islam followers ruled those Sarkars and Parganas, but tax was collected and sent to treasury principally by Hindus. Maharashtra is located in hilly region; numerous forts were built on the hilltops across the land. Islamic Sultans did not mind entrusting Hindus with the task of controlling those forts. As a result, many Maharashtrian Killadars (fort-keepers) maintained their respective forts with the revenue earned from Jagir (estates) granted by the Islamic rulers. Apart from these fort-owners and Deshmukhs, Hindu Mansabdaars used to be recruited by Sultan. They led hundred, two-hundred, five hundred, one thousand or more number of soldiers. They were duty-bound to join hands in wars leading those soldiers whenever ordered by Sultan. Sultan granted them rent-free land to meet the expense of those soldiers.
Under Bijapur Sultanate, Chandrarao More was a commander of twelve thousand foot-soldiers. Directed by the Sultan, he conquered all kingdoms between rivers Neera and Barna; and the pleased master awarded him that tract of land as Jagir for a reduced tax rate. Chandrarao’s descendants, gaining the title “Raja”, ruled that territory till seventh generation after him. Similarly, Rao Naik Nimbalkar family ruled the Phaltan region for generations as Deshmukh. Influential Maharashtrian families ruled Mallari, Muswar, Kapusi, Mushola, Jatta and Wari regions as subsidiary under Bijapur Sultan. Engaging in fights against each other was not uncommon. Concept of welfare states didn’t develop widely in pre-colonial era. Every ruler had to establish power over own territory by militarising. Growth of many aspiring rulers within a family led to violent family-conflicts as well. That is reason most of the prominent royals in the hilly regions of Konkan and Maharashtra frequently kept themselves busy in combat against family members. Probably hostility appeared to be good omen to those feudal lords. Like exercise makes our body healthier and farmer, hard work, disturbance and disaster helped building the Maharashtrian stronger. That way the dawn in the life of Maharashtrian state brightened the Indian sky long before the arrival of Shivaji.
Jadhavrao and Bhosla were two prominent states under Ahmednagar Sultans. Jadhavraos of Sindh khed were principal politically dominant family in Maharashtra. Many consider them to be scions of the old royal family of Devgarh. Bhoslas did not stand exactly at the same level with Jadhavraos, but was no doubt another powerful clan. Shivaji’s mother came from the Jadhavraos and father from the Bhoslas.
Let us go for a time travel across this region – Let us watch how history reveals its secrets before our eyes.
Continue reading “Love in the Battleground: A Maharashtrian Saga”
kathamukh 