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  MRIDULA BEHARI

  PADMINI

  The Spirited Queen of Chittor

  Translated by Mitranand Kukreti

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Follow Penguin

  Copyright

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  PADMINI

  Mridula Behari is an award-winning Hindi writer. Since 1977, she has written several short stories, novels and plays for the theatre, radio and television. Her work has also appeared in several leading publications such as the Hindustan, Saptahik Hindustan, Dharmayug, Saarika and the Kadambini, besides being translated into other Indian languages. The most recent among her many awards is the Rajasthan Sahitya Akademi’s Meera Puraskar for 2008–09. She spends her time between Jaipur, Chicago and San Francisco.

  Mitranand Kukreti is a freelance writer, translator and journalist who has translated several short stories and poems, including one by former Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee. He has also translated a book on artist Amrita Sher-Gil from Hindi to English, besides translating into Hindi C.K. Prahalad’s bestseller The Fortune at the Bottom of the Pyramid. At present, he is working on a Hindi-English dictionary.

  To my mother, Annapurna Sinha

  Preface

  I do not remember how and when the idea of the story of Padmini, the Rajput queen of Chittor, took seed in my mind. But somewhere, the pebble of an idea dropped and the ripples it created stayed. Padmini was known for her surreal beauty. Literature has recorded how the extraordinary beauty of Helen of Troy and Cleopatra caused grief and misfortune. The story of Padmini, in medieval India, is yet another reiteration of this unpleasant truth. It stayed with me and I read everything I could about her in the ensuing years.

  I have portrayed Padmini exactly as I saw her through my mind’s eye. Was she merely a beautiful face? What were her thoughts, emotions and strengths? While writing this novel, I was careful with the descriptions of the surroundings, atmosphere, events and emotional nuances. This was to ensure that they conveyed the way this extraordinarily beautiful queen looked, thought, lived and suffered. But Padmini was not merely a beauty. She possessed an unbreakable tenacity of spirit and a sense of righteousness and responsibility in equal measure.

  In order to collect material on the life and times of Padmini, I trawled through various libraries in Rajasthan. Each small and seemingly trivial detail that I picked up from the ocean of books gave me immense pleasure. While going through historical works, and later ruminating over them, I realized that while Indian society has changed in many ways, it is still the same in many others.

  I wrote the beginning and end of this novel during my sojourn in Bikaner. During those days, my husband, Om Prakash Behari, a senior officer in the Indian Administrative Service, was posted there. Our residence was the grand Padma Nivas. I still wonder whether this story came to me as a mere coincidence or if my thought process was influenced by the ambience. When I started writing, I didn’t know how far my destination was, but I did have a strong desire to proceed.

  There was another important milestone associated with Padma Nivas. Before becoming the commissioner’s residence, it housed the Rajasthan Oriental Research Institute. Muni Jinvijay, the late Padma Shri archaeologist and scholar, was its honorary director. Muni, who both worked and lived at Padma Nivas, was a great source of information on Padmini’s life.

  During all these years, I felt a sense of mystical support around me. Was the spirit of Padmini watching over me while I wrote? I would like to believe so. The characters of Sugna, a chief attendant, and Likhvanbai, another attendant, whom I have woven into this novel, have not been mentioned in any poetic work, book or folklore. I feel it was Padmini who conjured them up for me.

  The legend of Padmini is well-known to the people of this country. Traditional bards and singers have been singing about her for years. The poets Malik Mohammad Jayasi and Hem Ratan, and the historians Farishta and Abul Fazal, have written about her glory. Jayasi, a contemporary of Sher Shah Suri (the other three lived later, during the time of Akbar), wrote the story of Padmini in poetic form for the first time. Padmavat, written in 1520 CE, included fictional incidents that lent romantic hues to the epic poem. Thus, some historians dismiss it as a figment of Jayasi’s imagination. Others, however, give credence to the historicity of the events he described. Muni Jinvijay was one of them.

  This novel is based on Gora Badal Padmini Chaupai by Hem Ratan, a little-known sixteenth-century work. Approximately seven decades ago, Muni Jinvijay chanced upon this work while surveying Jain archives. It took him a long time to collect and compile its different texts. It was due to the concerted efforts of Muni and his disciple Udai Singh Bhatnagar that it took on the form of a book in 1966.

  There is some controversy regarding Padmini’s place of birth. Hem Ratan described her as a princess of Singhal Dweep or present-day Sri Lanka. The well-known historian Colonel Todd, the author of Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan, was of the same opinion. But there appears to be no reason to believe that Padmini hailed from Sri Lanka. In many folktales, Poogal, a small town near Bikaner still known for the beauty of its women, has been described as her native place. The beautiful woman described in the famous folktale of love, ‘Dhola Maru’, belonged to Poogal. Padmini was the princess of the Pratihar dynasty that ruled Poogal during that time. However, these remain conjectures. It is for this reason that I have deliberately not mentioned Padmini’s native place. In my heart, however, I believe she belongs to Poogal.

  I have been fortunate to receive inputs from different people: a respected lady of Poogal provided an important piece of information; Suban Khan, who also belongs to the same place, gave me detailed information about the customs followed by royal families during marriage ceremonies; Sushilabai, wife of the former ruler of Bikaner, late Karni Singh, sourced significant information on this subject too. She herself is a direct descendant of the Sisod dynasty—the ruling family of Chittor. I also received valuable information about the rules, traditions and customs of royal families from a cross-section of people belonging to Rajput ruling dynasties. I am deeply grateful to all of them.

  My novel ends with Rani Padmini performing jauhar, or self-immolation, to save her honour after Mewar was defeated at the hands of Ala-ud-Din Khilji in Vikram Samvat (Vikram Era) 1360 (or 1303 CE). Chittor was then renamed Khizrabad. However, twenty-two years later, in Vikram Samvat 1382 (1325 CE), Hamir recaptured Mewar and Khizrabad became Chittor again. Under Hamir’s rule, Chittor’s power and honour reached new heights. A number of great warriors—Rana Kumbha, Rana Sanga and Maharana Pratap—were born into the Rajput dynasty.

  The primary source of my information was the Rajasthan State Archives in Bikaner, which has a large number of books and documents on the state’s history. Its former director Jitendra Kumar, a scholar of history, gave me useful material on Padmini. Kshama Sharma read out to me the poetry of Hem Ratan, written in Rajasthani, and took pains to explain it in detail. I am deeply indebted to all of them. Also, I am thankful to all the historians and writers whose works offered an insight into the world of Padmini.

  Mridula Behari

  Lost in thought, Padmini didn’t realize when her odhani slipped off her head. Ratan Singh gazed at her longingly, at her voluptuous body elegantly dressed in diaphanous silks, her delicately-sculpted midriff . . . her lips retaining the innate winsome smile with no trace of trauma . . . the same liquid eyes of a doe, and her voice as sweet as the mellifluous notes emanating from the strings of a veena. The glow on her face, as bright as ever, radiated only love and yearning even as irresi
stible charm dripped from her eyes. Outside, a thousand moons showered their coolness as though attempting to quench the fire of passion. From far-off woods, beyond the royal garden, came the sound of joyous peacocks.

  A cataclysmic terror gripped Mewar. A dense haze of fear and consternation had spread all over. Yet the pervasive shadow of gloom was not static. What was daunting was that the anxiety and fear only grew. Even the slightest footfall was enough to terrify people. The citizens of Mewar—which had survived countless wars—were unable to recollect a time when they had suffered such excruciating physical and mental trauma.

  It was hard to believe that this was the same place that had, until a few days ago, been wrapped in a protective canopy of love and care. No trace of that contentment remained. Everything seemed obliterated by the ominous dark clouds gathering on the horizon. Ala-ud-Din Khilji, the ruler of Delhi, along with his mighty army, had reached Chittor. A grim sense of foreboding spread all around like a pall of smoke. An imminent sense of danger hung in the air. It seemed as if they were all on the brink; anything could happen at any time.

  Chittor, the heart of Mewar, had weathered many storms. Senseless violence, brutality and large-scale destruction had swept the land; its skies had been on fire before. Yet, the centre of political and social activities had remained undaunted. How had Khilji’s mere presence reduced the capital to a mere shadow of its past?

  Since breaking into the palace-fort that housed a garrison of soldiers would have been next to impossible, Ala-ud-Din laid siege to the city of Chittorgarh. The movement of people was blockaded. Life came to a standstill. All activities, including business, came to a grinding halt.

  The sultan’s army plundered and killed, leaving behind a trail of devastation. Everything was in ruins. The wheel of oppression moved swiftly. Innocent men were slaughtered and women were raped. Bodies of villagers with their heads severed were presented to the sultan as war trophies. With each passing day, their atrocities grew more inhumane. Violence, bloodshed and arson—the horrors of death, destruction and ominous uncertainties loomed large.

  There was no stopping the brazen show of brute force.

  Sultan Khilji’s royal edict, which was received some time ago, was like a dagger plunged into the back. It had shocked and horrified not only Maharawal Ratan Singh, the king of Mewar, but the rulers of all adjoining states, particularly those who refused to submit to the sultan and had chosen to maintain their sovereignty.

  The royal edict, written on a scroll of silk, was a message from the sultan, a barbaric brute. It read: ‘Rani Padmini, the beautiful queen of the royal dynasty of Mewar, shall be handed over to the sultan. Failing this, the sultan will wage a battle against the king of Mewar and take her away by force.’

  In her room in the women’s apartment of the palace, Padmini stood by the window. Her glowing skin and chiselled features radiated her youth. She was no ordinary beauty. Her hair, her slender figure and the perfection of each feature resembled that of a celestial damsel. But at that moment she looked like a cursed princess.

  Padmini stared at the evening sun, its last shafts of light on the horizon. It seemed to portend the coming of a frightening, dark night. Her leaden eyes and shallow breathing seemed to reflect the failing light. A feeling of intense dejection had coiled up in her heart and seemed to have left her frozen.

  Outside, the badarans and baandis, bondmaids of different ranks, were talking loudly. Sugna, the bridesmaid, was sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, silently looking at her Ranisa. She watched as the setting winter sun seemed to paint the queen with golden translucence. She was troubled by the turbulence in the queen’s mind. They had been close since they were children. Having lived in Padmini’s company constantly, Sugna could read her mistress’s mind from the expressions flitting on her visage.

  She felt a knot of frustration building inside her when the queen, as if sensing Sugna’s eyes on her, spoke without turning towards her. ‘How horrid and devoid of any human feeling is the sultan to have invaded Chittor, Sugna! I’ve heard that today in Badnor he destroyed all the fields and the standing crops; dragged children out of their homes and killed them mercilessly; and dishonoured women. The devils spared no one.’ Padmini’s face was expressionless as the words poured out of her mouth, but Sugna knew that the queen’s heart was filled with anguish.

  Sugna hurried to assuage her anxiety. ‘You need not worry. It is impossible for anybody to defeat our Kshatriyas, the brave warriors of this land. Even after causing so much death and destruction, he has not succeeded in his mission. Two months have passed since he besieged the fort; he is still far from his goal.’

  ‘It is not so, Sugna!’ Padmini’s voice was low, as if lost in thought, as if talking to herself. ‘This sultan is different from the other rulers of this great country, Aryavart. He doesn’t follow any ethical principles in strategy-planning. He has violated each and every time-honoured principle of the battlefield. He has desecrated temples and idols of gods and goddesses.’

  She paused, tucked an invisible strand of hair behind her ear, and continued, ‘After sacking the kingdom of the Yadava king of Devagiri, Ramchandra, he took away his daughter Chhitai and married her, causing the king untold misery. And in Anahilpatan, during the period of the Baghela rulers, people lost their peace and happiness completely. His subedars, Ulug Khan and Alap Khan, ransacked the entire place and caused large-scale damage to life and property. Jain Acharya Kakkasuri narrated all this during his recent stay at the palace.’

  ‘But how did he come to know? Wasn’t he in Jabalipur at that time?’ Sugna countered.

  ‘He is the dharma guru of Samar Shah, the renowned trader of Anahilpatan, who is in close contact with Ulug Khan and Alap Khan. It is he who told Kakkasuri all that I have told you. He was telling us that they looted unique idols adorned with gold ornaments from the temple. The marauders walked off with the jewellery and melted the idols but not before damaging the noses. They broke into Jain temples and took away cartloads of precious statues, which they returned only after being paid a substantial amount. Not only this, Sugna! They brazenly abducted Malati Devi and Deval Kumari, the queens of the state, and presented them to the sultan of Delhi who kept them in his harem and treated them savagely. The sultan even wanted to take the queens and the daughter of Hamir, the king of Ranthambore, as prisoners and dump them in his hell-like harem. But before he could succeed, they jumped into the fire. He is an absolute monster. He considers only his sensual pleasure and nothing else. All his thoughts and deeds are centred around fulfilling his carnal desires. He makes fun of all ethical principles. He dismisses virtuousness as a mental aberration. None of the rulers, including Raja Karnadev, Raja Ramchandra and Raja Hamir, could escape his designs. He defeated all of them. The defeat of the rulers of his neighbouring states has weakened the maharawal’s morale. The siege appears to be stretching endlessly. No propitious signs are in sight. The sultan has rampaged through village after village. Nobody knows when this trail of devastation will end.’

  Sugna sighed in despair, adding, ‘They say he is so arrogant and power-drunk that he doesn’t listen to his own qazis and mullahs. He is totally irreligious. Otherwise, why would he desecrate idols of Hindu deities? He treats his own wife as an enemy. He killed her father, Jalal-ud-Din, who was also his uncle, and usurped the throne.’

  ‘What made him such a reckless butcher?’ asked Padmini with a heavy heart. Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘What could have made him so heartless? He thinks that it is his dharma to achieve everything that he wishes to. Why? Doesn’t he realize that a warrior without compassion is only an oppressor indulging in indiscriminate blood-letting?’

  Sugna stared back without answering.

  After a moment’s pause, Padmini continued, ‘The Rana of Sisod, Bhad Lakshman Singh, is engaged in a fight with the enemies of Malwa. If he were here, he would have found a way out. There are others too, like Gora Rawat, but the maharawal is still annoyed with him.’

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bsp; Sugna tried to calm her down saying, ‘Why are you so worried, Raj Rani? This will prove to be as transient as the passing clouds. Moreover, the maharawal is here to protect us all. There is no reason for you to be so worried.’

  ‘No, it isn’t so, Sugna! He has changed. He is always confused. He doesn’t seem to be able to think clearly or take a decision. Always consumed by guilt, he thinks he is responsible for this sorry state of affairs. Where have his heroic brilliance, his innate energy and agility, and his witty Kshatriya nature gone?’

  ‘Why don’t you reason with him that it is all due to the vicissitudes of the destiny of a ruler, that the astrologers of the state and the Raj Purohits Pallival are doing everything they can to placate the malevolent stars.’

  ‘He does not listen. All he says is that we were busy in merrymaking and had lost touch with our fighting skills. Our enemy is an expert in guerrilla warfare. Our soldiers may be brave, but is that enough? They are not equipped with present-day weapons and techniques. We didn’t do anything to upgrade our arsenal. And he would never consider the easy way out: that of disgracefully laying down his arms before the enemy. He would revolt against the very idea.’ Padmini found her voice cold and spiritless.

  ‘Even Lord Shiva performs lasya, the amorous dance form, but that does not mean he’ll shy away from performing the tandava, the dance of annihilation,’ said Sugna. ‘You should have convinced him forcefully that debilitating self-condemnation, self-pity and helplessness have no place in a king’s life.’ After a moment’s pause, looking at her queen, she added quietly, ‘You should never forget that even though the doer is a man, it is always a woman who inspires him to take up challenges. It is the inspiring words of a woman that set a man on the right path. There’s no doubt that your emotional support will motivate him to face this critical situation with renewed valour and zeal.’