by Ruth Vanita
Mrs Bangda: ‘This is the way she goes around slandering everyone.’
Leelavati: ‘All of you believe what she says.’
No one saw Jugnu leave. Seeing storm clouds arise over her head, she thought it best to quietly slink away. She left by the back door and ran through the alleys.
Miss Khurshed said, ‘Just ask her why she was so set on destroying me.’
Mrs Tandon called out to her, but Jugnu was nowhere to be found! A search began. Jugnu had disappeared!
After that day, no one in town ever set eyes on Jugnu. This incident is still narrated and causes much amusement when the history of the Home is recounted.
Rani Sarandha
IN THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT, THE DHASAN RIVER BOUNDING OVER the rocks makes a pleasant sound like that of grain being ground. To the right of the river is a hillock. On it stands an ancient fort, almost swallowed up by wild trees. To the east of the hillock is a small village. Both the fortress and the village are symbols of a famous Bundela chieftain. Centuries have passed, many kingdoms have risen and set in Bundelkhand, the Muslims came and the Bundela kings rose to power and fell from it. There was not a village or district that did not suffer the fallout of these events, but no enemy flag ever fluttered on this fort and no revolt ever took place in this village.
Aniruddh Singh was a Rajput warrior. The times were such that people could depend only on their strength of arms and valour. On the one hand, the Muslim armies were well established; on the other, the powerful king was ready to suppress his weaker brothers. Aniruddh Singh had a small but vigorous group of infantry and cavalry to protect his clan and honour. He never had the opportunity to relax. He had married Shitala Devi three years ago; but Aniruddh spent the days of luxury and the nights of pleasure in the mountains while Shitala prayed for his well-being. She had frequently pleaded with her husband, falling at his feet and weeping, not to go far from her, to take her along with him to Haridwar, because she would prefer exile with him to this unbearable separation. She tried cajoling, requesting, and insisting, but Aniruddh was a Bundela. None of Shitala’s weapons worked.
2
It was a dark night. The world lay asleep, and the stars were awake in the sky. Shitala Devi was tossing and turning on her bed, and her husband’s sister Sarandha was sitting on the floor, singing in a sweet voice: ‘Binu Raghubir katath nahin rain…’ (Without Raghubir the night does not pass …)
Shitala said, ‘Don’t torment me. Can’t you go to sleep?’
Sarandha: ‘I’m singing you a lullaby.’
Shitala: ‘Sleep has vanished from my eyes.’
Sarandha: ‘She must have gone to look for someone.’
Just then, the door opened and a handsome, muscular man entered. This was Aniruddh. His clothes were drenched. He was unarmed. Shitala got off the bed and sat on the floor.
Sarandha asked, ‘Bhaiya, how did you get wet?’
Aniruddh: ‘I swam across the river.’
Sarandha: ‘What happened to your weapons?’
Aniruddh: ‘They were snatched away.’
Sarandha: ‘And the men who were with you?’
Aniruddh: ‘They all died in battle.’
Shitala said in a low voice, ‘God be thanked.’
But Sarandha frowned and her face flushed with pride. She said, ‘Bhaiya, you have lost the family honour. This has never happened before.’
Sarandha would have given her life for her brother. At these words from her, Aniruddh was seized with shame and sorrow. The heroic fire that had been briefly suppressed by love flared up again. He immediately turned around, and left, saying, ‘Sarandha, you have awakened me for ever. I will never forget this.’
The night was still dark. Even though the starlight in the sky had grown dim. Aniruddh came out of the fort. In a moment he crossed the river and disappeared into the darkness. Shitala followed him to the walls of the fort, but when he leapt down, the poor woman sat down on a rock and began to cry.
Sarandha came up. Shitala turned around like a female cobra and said, ‘Is honour so dear?’
Sarandha: ‘Yes.’
Shitala: ‘If he were your husband, you would have hidden him in your heart.’
Sarandha: ‘No, I would have stabbed him with a dagger.’
Shitala said sharply, ‘You will go around with him in your blouse—remember my words.’
Sarandha: ‘The day that happens, I will fulfil my vow.’
Three months after this, Aniruddh returned, having conquered Mehrauni, and a year later, Sarandha was married to Champat Rai, Raja of Orchha. But the conversation of that day kept pricking the hearts of the two women like thorns.
3
Raja Champat Rai was a very influential man. The whole Bundela community honoured him and acknowledged his sovereignty. As soon as he came to the throne, he stopped paying tax to the Mughal emperor, and began to expand his kingdom by force of arms. The Muslim armies attacked him again and again, but returned defeated each time.
It was at this time that Aniruddh got Sarandha married to Champat Rai. Her desire for a husband who would bring glory to the community was fulfilled. Although there were five queens in the king’s palace, Champat Rai soon realized that Sarandha was the one who worshipped him with her whole heart.
But certain events compelled Champat Rai to become dependent on the Mughal emperor. He left his kingdom in charge of his brother Pahar Singh, and went to Delhi. This was during the latter part of Shahjahan’s reign. Prince Dara Shukoh was looking after political affairs. This crown prince was courteous and large-hearted. He had heard tales of Champat Rai’s valour, so he honoured him greatly and gave him the valuable estate of Kalpi, which had an income of 900,000 rupees. This was the first time Champat Rai got a break from constant battle and conflict, and was able to enjoy a luxurious life. Now he amused and entertained himself day and night. The king indulged in pleasure, and the queens were delighted with their jewellery, but Sarandha became very sad and subdued. She stayed far from these pleasures, and the assemblies of dance and song seemed empty to her.
One day, Champat Rai said to Sarandha, ‘Saran, why are you so sad? I never see you laugh. Are you annoyed with me?’
Tears came to Sarandha’s eyes. She said, ‘Swamiji, why do you think so? If you are happy, I am happy too.’
Champat Rai: ‘Ever since we came here, I have stopped seeing that charming smile on your lotus-like face. You have not made me a paan with your own hands. You haven’t tied my turban or put my weapons on for me. Has the creeper of love begun to wither?’
Sarandha: ‘Lord of my life, you are asking questions to which I have no answer. The truth is, I feel very sad these days. I want to be happy but my heart feels burdened.’
Champat Rai was immersed in pleasure. So he could not understand why Sarandha was dissatisfied. He said, ‘I don’t see any reason for you to be sad. What comforts were there in Orchha that you don’t have here?’
Sarandha blushed. She said, ‘If I tell you, will you get annoyed?’
Champat Rai: ‘No. Say what you want.’
Sarandha: ‘In Orchha I was the queen of a king. Here, I am the maidservant of a landholder. In Orchha I was like Kaushalya in Ayodhya. Here, I am the wife of the emperor’s servant. The emperor before whom you bow your head respectfully today, trembled at your name yesterday. Having fallen from a queen to a maid, it’s not in my power to remain cheerful. You have bought this position and this luxurious life at a very high price.’
The veil fell from Champat Rai’s eyes. Until now, he had not realized the greatness of Sarandha’s spirit. As an orphan begins crying when his mother is mentioned, Champat Rai’s eyes filled with tears at the memory of Orchha. He held Sarandha to his heart with respectful love.
He began once more to be anxious about that uprooted settlement from which desire for wealth and fame had drawn him away.
4
A mother is overjoyed when she recovers her lost child. Bundelkhand was overjoyed when Champat Rai returned. Orchha’s fate l
ooked up. The drums began to beat once more, and pride in her race began to shine yet again in Sarandha’s lotus-like eyes.
Several months passed. Shahjahan fell ill. The fires of envy were already burning, and at this news the flames grew fierce. Preparations to march began. Princes Murad and Muhiuddin prepared their armies and marched from the Deccan. It was the rainy season. The fertile land, clad in many colours, displayed her beauty.
Murad and Muhiuddin, filled with high hopes, marched ahead. They reached the shores of the Chambal river near Dhaulpur, but here they found the emperor’s army ready to meet them.
The princes were now in trouble. The flooded river, like an ascetic’s sacrifice, was hard to cross. They sent a message to Champat Rai to come for God’s sake, and help their drowning ship get to port.
The king came into the palace and asked Sarandha, ‘What should I do?’
Sarandha: ‘You will have to help them.’
Champat Rai: ‘But helping them means making an enemy of Dara Shukoh.’
Sarandha: ‘That’s true, but we have to follow the tradition of helping one who asks for help.’
Champat Rai: ‘Beloved, you have not thought the matter through.’
Sarandha, ‘Lord of my life, I know well that this is a difficult path. We will have to shed our warriors’ blood like water, but we will do so and turn the waters of the Chambal red. Be sure that as long as the river keeps flowing it will sing the fame of our heroes. As long as even one Bundela remains, these drops of blood will shine on his brow like a tilak of saffron.’
Armies of clouds were gathering in the sky. A black cloud of Bundelas arose from the Orchha fort and set out at a swift pace towards Chambal. Every soldier was alight with the fervour of warfare. Sarandha embraced the two princes, gave the king a paan, and said, ‘The honour of the Bundelas is now in your hands.’
Today, every part of her was smiling and her heart was joyful. The Mughal princes were thrilled to see the Bundela army. The king was familiar with every inch of land in those parts. He hid the Bundelas in one area, and took the princes’ armies westward along the shores of the river. Dara Shukoh thought that the enemy planned to cross the river at some other ford. He withdrew his army from that ford. The Bundelas were waiting for this. They emerged and rode across the river. Champat Rai, having deceived Dara Shukoh, brought his army round and followed the Bundelas across the river. There was a seven-hour delay due to this manoeuvre, and when he reached he found that seven hundred Bundelas had been killed.
When they saw the king, the Bundelas’ courage was renewed. The princes’ army shouted ‘Allah-o-Akbar’ and charged again. The emperor’s army fell into commotion. The battle array broke up, hand-to-hand fighting began, and evening came on. The battleground was red with blood, and the sky was dark. A tremendous massacre was afoot. The emperor’s army was about to suppress the princes, when suddenly a wave of Bundelas arose from the west and fell upon the emperor’s soldiers with such force that they could not stand up to it. The battle they had almost won was lost. People were amazed, wondering where this divine help had come from. Simple folk believed that these were angels of victory, come to help the princes; but when Raja Champat Rai drew near, Sarandha descended from a horse and bowed her head at his feet. The king was filled with boundless joy. It was Sarandha who had come to their aid.
The battlefield presented a dreadful sight. Where decked-out warriors stood a little while ago, now lifeless corpses lay. From time immemorial, men have murdered their brothers for selfish gain.
Now the victorious army fell upon the loot. Thus far men had been fighting men. That was a picture of heroism and valour, but this was a regrettable vista of baseness and weakness. Earlier, men had become animals; now, they were worse than animals.
In this free-for-all, people noticed the general of the emperor’s army, the brave Bahadur Khan, lying prone. His horse stood by him, brushing away the flies with its tail. Champat Rai was a connoisseur of horses. He was charmed by this one. It was a very beautiful horse of Iraqi breed. Every limb was finely moulded; it had a leonine chest, a waist like a leopard. People were very surprised by its love and devotion to its master. The king ordered, ‘No one should harm this loving horse. Capture it alive. It will add to the lustre of my stables. I will load with wealth whoever brings it to me.’
Warriors sprang forward from all sides; but no one dared approach it. One tried cajoling it, another tried to catch it with a noose, but none of these strategies worked. The soldiers had all gathered to watch.
Then Sarandha emerged from her tent and went fearlessly up to the horse. She had the light of love, not of deceit, in her eyes. The horse bent its head. The queen put her hand on its neck and began stroking its back. The horse hid its face in her bosom. The queen took hold of its bridle and led it to the tent. The horse quietly walked behind her as if it had served her all its life. But it would have been better had the horse resisted Sarandha. This beautiful horse proved a golden deer to the royal family.1
5
The world is a battlefield. The general who sees an opportunity when it arises emerges victorious in this field. He retreats from disaster as precipitately as he strides forward at the right time. Such a hero is often the founder of a nation and history rains flowers of fame upon his name.
But some soldiers in this field know only how to stride forward, not how to retreat when faced with disaster. These valorous men throw away victory at the behest of principles. They will let their armies be wiped out, but they will not retreat. Few of them obtain victory in the world’s battleground, but their defeat is usually more glorious than victory. While experienced generals found nations, soldiers who give their life for honour and never flee from battle heighten national feeling and wed the nation to honour. Such soldiers may not be successful in this field of action, but when their names are mentioned in an assembly listeners applaud their fame with one voice. Sarandha was such a one who would give her life for honour.
Prince Muhiuddin went from the shores of the Chambal to Agra, accompanied by good fortune. When he reached Agra the goddess of victory prepared a throne for him.
He became the Emperor Aurangzeb who knew the value of good qualities. He forgave the offences of the emperor’s soldiers, restored them to their positions, and in recognition of Raja Champat Rai’s valuable contributions, he gave him a military title and rank. His estate now stretched from Orchha to Banaras and Banaras to the Yamuna river. The Bundela king was once more a subordinate of the emperor, he once again lost himself in pleasures, and Rani Sarandha again sank into depression.
Wali Bahadur Khan was a very well-spoken man. His charms soon made him a confidant of the Emperor Alamgir [Aurangzeb]. He was highly honoured at court.
Khan Sahib was very unhappy about having lost his horse.
One day, Prince Chhatrasal went riding on this horse. He rode past the Khan Sahib’s palace. Wali Bahadur was awaiting such an opportunity. He signalled to his servants. What could the prince do alone? He came home on foot and told Sarandha the whole story. The queen’s face flushed with anger. She said, ‘I am not sorry that the horse is gone. I’m sorry that you lost it and came back alive. Doesn’t the blood of the Bundelas flow in your veins? You might still have lost the horse, but you should have shown that it is not a joke to steal a Bundela child’s horse.’
So saying, she ordered twenty-five of her warriors to get ready. She took up arms herself and went with them to Wali Bahadur Khan’s residence. Khan Sahib had ridden the horse to court, so Sarandha went to court too. This created a commotion at court. Administrators gathered from all around to watch. Alamgir too came out. Men began preparing their swords and there was a huge din. So many eyes had seen Amar Singh’s sword shine in this same court. They remembered that incident now.2
Sarandha said aloud, ‘Khan Sahib, this is shameful. The military prowess you should have shown on the shores of the Chambal you showed today before a child. Was it right for you to snatch the horse from him?’
&nbs
p; Wali Bahadur Khan’s eyes were alight with rage. He said harshly, ‘What right has anyone to take my things?’
Rani: ‘It was not your thing but mine. I won it in battle and I have authority over it. Don’t you understand such a simple rule of warfare?’
Khan Sahib: ‘I cannot give up that horse, but you are welcome to my entire stable in its place.’
Rani: ‘I want my own horse.’
Khan Sahib: ‘I can give you jewels equivalent to its value, but I cannot give you the horse.’
Rani: ‘Then this will be decided by the sword.’
The Bundela warriors had drawn their swords and the court was about to be dyed in blood, when Emperor Alamgir came forward and said, ‘Rani Sahiba, please stop your soldiers. You will get the horse, but at a very high price.’
Rani: ‘I am willing to lose my all for it.’
Emperor: ‘Even your estate and title?’
Rani: ‘The estate and the title are nothing.’
Emperor: ‘And your kingdom too?’
Rani: ‘Yes, the kingdom too.’
Emperor: ‘For one horse?’
Rani: ‘No, for that which is the most valuable thing in the world.’
Emperor: ‘What is that?’
Rani: ‘One’s honour.’
In this way, the queen lost her large estate, her high position and her royal status, and also sowed thorns for the future. From this time up to his death, Champat Rai found no peace.
6
Raja Champat Rai once again returned to Orchha fort. He was deeply grieved at losing his title and estate, but he didn’t utter a word of complaint, because he knew Sarandha’s nature well. At this time, any complaint would have deeply injured her self-respect.
A few days passed peacefully, but the emperor had not forgotten Sarandha’s harsh words, and he did not know how to forgive. As soon as he had got rid of his brothers, he sent a large army to crush Champat Rai’s pride, and twenty-two experienced generals were allotted this task. Shubhkaran was the governor of a province under the Bundela king. He was a friend and classmate of Champat Rai. He took the responsibility of defeating Champat Rai. Several other Bundela chieftains turned away from the king and joined forces with Shubhkaran. A mighty battle ensued. Brothers’ swords turned red with blood. Although the king won this battle, it weakened him permanently. A neighbouring Bundela chieftain, who was a supporter of Champat Rai, now sought the emperor’s favour. Some supporters died, others proved treacherous. Even his close relatives began to betray him.
