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  She didn’t stir. She sat indifferent, away from the lure of his touch. Ratan Singh put his empty cup down and came close to her. The heavenly beauty of his wife stirred his desire. He held her tight in his arms and kissed her for a long time. Nestled in his embrace, she could feel that beneath his strong and powerful arms, his heart was crying incessantly. She could feel the pain in every part of his body. She knew that holding her in his arms eased his frayed nerves and lowered the heat of his humiliation.

  He collapsed on the bed. His eyes felt heavy and soon he was deep in sleep. She could hear the low and steady sound of his breathing.

  She rose from the bed and sat disdainfully near the quivering flame of the lamp. In its flickering, weak light she saw her faltering hopes. Tears coursed down her cheeks. She wiped them and took a deep breath. She could still feel the king’s fast and warm breathing. She wanted to ask him so many things. Unfortunately, all her questions remained unanswered. Resting her face on her long and delicate hands, she looked at the king who was fast asleep. She was pained to find that Ratan Singh, whom she had assumed to be a brave warrior, a protector of his clan, his dharma, his great culture and an apostle of high ideals and virtues, had betrayed her trust.

  Suddenly, she felt as if some shadowless figure, like an apparition, was moving about in the darkness. Raghav Chetan. She shuddered. She could hear his loud, derisive laugh. She looked around, but there was nobody. It was only a delusion; her mind playing tricks. This was not the first time that she had had such hallucinations. Of late, her thoughts had been muddled. When alone, she was often overtaken by such thoughts of him.

  She was reminded of that fateful evening six to seven months back.

  Mewar had always been the spiritual seat of the great acharyas, the spiritual preceptors of Jainism. In those days, Acharya Jinprabhusuri had visited Chittor. The revered monk was not just a scholar of the philosophy of Jainism. He was also a spiritual master who had reconciled various aspects of scriptural knowledge, paths of austerity and penance, literary sentiments and emotions, aesthetics and art. The central concern of his preaching and discourses was to spread the message of upholding the values of compassion, charity and good conduct in public life. In order to make his discourses more interesting, he frequently referred to mythology and folktales. His narration would leave the audience captivated. In those days, he was busy writing his well-known oeuvre, Vividh Tirtha Kalpa. The book included a special mention of the life and times during the reign of Ratan Singh’s father, Maharawal Samar Singh.

  Ratan Singh had deep reverence for his father. He used to collect important information about other states from the acharya who used to stay at Vatapradi, Anahilpatan, Stambhatirtha, Gopadri, among other places.

  That day, Ratan Singh went to the resting place of Jain munis to meet the acharya and to listen to his words of wisdom.

  From there, he went straight to Padmini Mahal. Earlier, the company of the acharya would make him happy. But that day, he returned with a heavy heart. He informed Padmini, ‘The acharya had paid a visit to the court of Sultan Ala-ud-Din in Delhi.’

  Normally, there would have been nothing unusual in this piece of information. Acharya Jinprabhusuri was a great scholar. He had the royal authorization to travel unobstructed through the length and breadth of the country. It was quite common for him to visit the courts of different kings. But the unusual seriousness with which this was conveyed indicated that something remained unsaid.

  ‘What did he say?’ Padmini asked out of curiosity.

  ‘He said he saw Raghav Chetan demonstrating his tantra vidya, his mysterious occult powers, in the court of the sultan of Delhi who appeared quite impressed. Also, he told the sultan something more.’

  ‘What did he tell him?’ she asked apprehensively.

  ‘That the queen of Chittor, Rani Padmini, is the real Padmini, the most beautiful woman. No woman in the sultan’s harem can come anywhere close to her in beauty and charm . . .’

  She could understand that Raghav Chetan had said so out of malice. Furious with him for his dubious activities, the Rajan had reprimanded him severely. She had never liked him when he was part of the court. His words had sounded hollow and insincere to her. She hated the sight of him. She recalled how obsequiously and villainously he grinned, showing his buck teeth.

  The Rawal king was quiet. Perhaps he had realized that in a fit of anger, he had made a mistake and that Raghav would avenge the mistreatment.

  Padmini shut her eyes. Her breathing was quick and shallow. Raghav. She had a bad feeling about him from the time he had stepped into her life. She could summon his face in her head by just remembering his name: tonsured head, his ears covered with stiff hair, his shaggy eyebrows joined together, bags under his eyes . . . he had looked like a shabby tramp. Accomplished in the art of chicanery, sycophancy and hypocrisy, he used to hang around the maharawal day in and day out, toadying to him. He used to talk with the pretence of humbleness. She had never liked his dramatics, his immodest self-publicity, his taking recourse to gratuitous overstatements and rhetoric. There was something about him that made her dislike him, yet the maharawal was completely won over.

  A person who is about to meet his doom is left with blunted wisdom.

  He was considered to be the one most dear to the maharawal, but not many liked him. But, as they say, God will not be pleased until the guru is propitiated. So, because the maharawal was obviously besotted with Raghav, many of the courtiers began to treat him with respect.

  From that time on, ‘talent’ began to be defined in a different context. Discrimination between man and man, ostentation, hypocrisy and arrogant show of knowledge became the values to be associated with it. Even the king was getting mired in misconceived notions. He started neglecting the affairs of the state and began to wallow in the luxuries and indulgences of palace life.

  The throne of the state is not a bed of roses. The Turks had already been eyeing Mewar, but the king had conveniently buried his head in the sand and allowed himself to be surrounded by flatterers and sycophants.

  His indulgence proved so fatal that his physical and mental strength, his courage and his fortitude began to dwindle. Sitting in Delhi, Sultan Ala-ud-Din continued to strike here and there at will. But Ratan Singh kept his eyes and ears closed, feigning ignorance. His ambition began to lose much of its fire and he was not as vigilant as he used to be. As a result, the enemy had moved stealthily enough to breathe down their necks. Instead of facing the situation bravely, the king seemed to be looking for an escape route.

  Padmini harboured strong resentment and bitterness against Ala-ud-Din. That he had the audacity to put forth a humiliating proposal to the king of Mewar was despicable. Yet, she did not have to do much soul-searching to know that her anger towards Ratan Singh was far more intense.

  In those days, no courtier or adviser was as close to the king as Raghav Chetan. He had won the king’s trust in full measure. He was a tantrik who had come from another state and was known to have acquired supernatural powers. Earlier, he had already impressed Raja Ram Dev, the king of Devagiri, with his mysterious skills. He was a sorcerer and had described his tantra vidya to Ratan Singh in great detail.

  He had told the king that in tantra, the ritualistic puja is aimed at the discovery of invisible powers of the universe by means of the hidden potential of man’s body and mind. The principal deities of the tantriks are Shakti, Shiva and their attendants. In tantra vidya theory, their forms are different from those commonly imagined. According to its philosophy, the Kundalini Shakti, or the serpent force, lies coiled in a dormant state in the Sushumna nerve of the spinal column. There are invisible chakras signifying energy centres in different points of our body. This dormant kundalini can be awakened by performing a devotional practice prescribed in the tantra. Once it is awakened, the practitioner can possess supernatural powers.

  He also told the king that the temples of the practitioners of tantra had no roofs because they performed their puja under
the open sky.

  Raghav Chetan used to resort to sorcery prescribed in the tantrik practice at a secluded spot and in complete silence. Apart from being a practitioner of mantra sadhana, he was a scholar of Sanskrit. He wrote two books in Sanskrit in which his poetic compositions were steeped in the shringar rasa or erotic sentiment. It was he who had once told the Rajan that according to ancient texts on eroticism, women had been divided into four categories in accordance with their physical charm and erotic appeal—Padmini, Chitrani, Hastini and Survani. A Padmini, rated the best, is delicate, good-natured, courteous and very beautiful. He quoted a Sanskrit verse:

  Padminī padmagandhā cha, pushpagandhā cha chitranī

  Hastinī madyagandhā cha, matsyagandhā cha survanī

  Padminī suryavadanī, chandravadanī cha chitranī

  Hastinī kamalavadanī, kāk vadnī cha survanī

  A Padmini is fragrant like a lotus; a Chitrani is scented like a flower; a Hastini is aromatic like an intoxicating substance, and a Survani smells like a fish. A Padmini’s body has the effulgence of the sun; a Chitrani’s body has the luminescence of the moon; a Hastini has the pinkish complexion of a lotus; and a Survani has the dark complexion of a crow.

  Padmini never appreciated such classification of women, nor did she like such elaborate descriptions of each and every part of a woman’s body. She considered it indecent.

  She deprecated this male chauvinism that allowed a man to judge the elegance of a woman’s body from the standpoint of his erotic mindset. Why is womanhood not seen in its totality—her absolute loyalty to her husband, her sense of dedication, tolerance, her feelings of love and affection? Why doesn’t he understand that the beauty of a woman is not confined to her body but that it transcends to her mind and soul. He should know that every woman is a beauty, specific to her individuality and, therefore, all women cannot be flocked or herded together in such groups.

  The realization in a woman that there is somebody who is deeply attached to her and loves her intensely creates a beauty that makes her attractive and charming. A feeling that somebody is infatuated with her adds grace and elegance to her personality. It is true that elegance is rooted in beauty. But beauty has several dimensions: beauty of body, beauty of mind, beauty of temperament, beauty of values inherited, beauty of the spirit to struggle on. Feelings are inextricably linked with the beauty of a woman.

  A man’s ego doesn’t allow him to know this, and even when he knows it, he doesn’t respect a woman’s feelings as he finds it unmanly.

  The name that she was given had a traditional belief attached to it. She was named Padmini after consulting learned priests.

  The word ‘padmini’ means not only a beautiful woman but also an assemblage of lotus flowers. But who would explain this to the maharawal . . . he was rather impressed by Raghav’s poetic language steeped in erotic sentiment. Raghav Chetan, meanwhile, took full advantage of this proximity to the king. He was talkative and impertinent. Besides, the privilege of being the king’s right hand earned him many benefits.

  Men were barred from entering the women’s apartment in the palace, but Raghav had contrived the king’s permission to visit it without restrictions. Riding his high horse, he would contemptuously bluff his way past all guards. He considered talking to the palace guards beneath his dignity.

  Almost everybody in the palace and the court was unhappy with him for his duplicitous conduct, but nobody dared say anything for fear of incurring the king’s wrath. If anybody had the courage to question him, it was Gora Rawat, a brave warrior. He had perhaps sensed that Raghav was more dangerous than a cobra, and if nothing was done to check him urgently, he would spew his venom on someone. But there is no knowing when a king, a yogi, fire or water will be pleased with you and treat you kindly; just as there is no way of knowing when they could turn around and be hostile.

  The stand Gora took against Raghav cost him dearly and he was suspended from the services of the state.

  Padmini could vividly picture the entire incident.

  That day, all preparations for hunting had been made. There was a place in Ahar village where the Berach flowed through the vast mountain range and descended on the plains. Nature’s beauty was in abundance there. It was a wildlife habitat. The Rajan had made up his mind to go hunting and also wander about in the woodland. His soldiers had already arrived.

  Before setting out, the king had visited Padmini in her room to take his leave of her. He had just taken her into his arms and held her face affectionately, when suddenly, his eyebrows arched, his eyes became stern and his face turned stony.

  ‘Ra . . . gha . . . v!’ he thundered. His loud and angry voice rocked the atmosphere, breaking the words into pieces.

  Taken aback, Padmini turned around and saw Raghav. He must have been peeping and had not expected to be spotted. Caught red-handed, he seemed shaken. The dazed expression on his face flickered like the severed tail of a lizard.

  ‘How dare you!’ Enraged by Raghav’s insolence, the king ground his teeth, his hands clenched into fists and his lips quivering.

  Nervously, Raghav shifted his stole from one shoulder to the other absent-mindedly. He had been very close to the king and knew his nature well. Never before had he seen the Rajan so furious. Frightened by the blazing fury in the king’s eyes, he lost his silver tongue. His face fell. He realized the gravity of his misconduct. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, he seemed completely drained of the courage to seek forgiveness. All his erudition, knowledge, his pretended vairagya or asceticism vanished instantly.

  The maharawal was wild with rage. His eyes turned red and his jaw was clenched. Nobody had known the Rawal king to tremble with fury. Their hearts shuddered with apprehension.

  ‘Throw this rascal out!’ he ordered the palace guards. His voice took on the pitch of uncontrollable anger. Two palace guards came forward and held Raghav tightly on either side. Raghav stood paralysed. This unexpected aggression had left him smouldering. His face had turned red.

  As Raghav was escorted out, Padmini caught a perverse glint of vengeance in his eyes. It was a momentary flicker and then the calm façade was back on his face. Padmini stood aghast at the theatrics she had glimpsed.

  Even after the tantrik had left, the king’s eyes had continued to blaze with anger. She was stunned to see his body tremble with rage and his eyes turn bloodshot. The attendants exchanged fearful looks and scurried away. The entire women’s apartment seemed to tremble with fear.

  Later they learnt that Raghav had fled to Delhi with all his ignominy, apprehending that he might be thrown into the underground cell. There he contrived to gain access to the sultan’s court.

  It was he who, by repeatedly describing Padmini and her rare beauty to Sultan Ala-ud-Din, nurtured and inflamed his carnal desires. Raghav did it with a single-minded purpose. He wanted to avenge his humiliation by creating circumstances under which Padmini would be forced to become Ala-ud-Din’s courtesan.

  Who could have imagined that such a minor incident in her life would blow up to such horrible proportions? Thoughts of impending disgrace, anguish and indignation riddled her heart. She got up and stood near the window.

  The growing darkness engulfed everything. She stared into space with intense sadness and grief crowding her mind.

  The cosmos is endless in its expanse. Countless galaxies of stars and planets are spread over it. Varun, the god of the sky, makes the sky move. Clusters of these celestial bodies are his eyes, with which he closely watches what everybody is doing.

  ‘Can’t you see the cruelty and wickedness of the sultan, Lord Varun? I don’t understand the mystery of your divine law,’ she said aloud, looking at the sky, appealing to the celestial Varun.

  It was past midnight when the Rajan woke up with a hangover. He had sobered up, but he was not completely awake. His eyes, red because of the storm whirling inside his head, looked drained and droopy. He scrunched up his eyes and looked around in dismay but stayed in bed in a semi-conscio
us state. It looked as though he was flailing about at the bottom of the sea. In between waking up and dozing off, he seemed to look at things as though they were phantasmagorical.

  He rose to his feet, but felt giddy. He tried to walk a few steps but stopped when he began to stagger. He managed to come close to Padmini and stared at her. The mad look in his eyes and the helpless restiveness on his face made her sob. She burst into tears. He didn’t try to console her. Instead, he stood as motionless as a rock. The room was drowned in suppressed silence. He tried to speak through his eyes, ‘Dear Padme! Bear this pain for a short while. This is the last attempt.’

  He looked pathetic, as though he were a weak and unprotected child. Suppressing her anguish, she bowed her head.

  I have to bear this pain. I don’t want my husband to feel that I intend to disobey him. If he wants me to undergo this suffering for the good of Mewar, then so be it.

  It made her heart ache. An all-powerful king diminished to this level of powerlessness! What a cruel stroke of fate!

  She had seen the king in an altogether different form. She wanted to beseech that form back: he with his head held high, his eyes lit up with a sense of pride; he who would not deign to look anywhere below the top of the mountain. There was nobody around who could have stood before the brilliance of his valour. Where was that king?

  Holding his stole in one hand, the king staggered out, refusing to meet her eyes. Her heart was filled with both anger and pity for him. The long history of Mewar’s pride and glory was coming to an end. She wanted to cry.

  The cruel night had passed and she was, with her hands extended, begging for a ray of light. Her hope, the king, had walked away instead of standing by her. The morning was lost on her.

  The pressure of apprehension, fear and its tremor continued to grow in her. On the shelf was a copy of Shrenika Charitra, an epic written by Acharya Jinprabhusuri. She took up the book and started reading it to mitigate her fear. It was her favourite book; one she had read a couple of times.