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“Ranisa. Hukum” There was a hint of urgency in the maid in waiting’s voice as she rushed to the clearing where the tents were set up. Rani Pur Bai Solanki, the second queen, frowned at her sudden, alarming voice.
“Hush, Rama, the children are...” She checked the children’s tent, alarmed. They slept during the day and stayed awake at night, because the forestland was not safe, neither from animals nor the enemies.
“Ranisa, forgive me, it's Kunwarsa... He is back... but...” Pur Bai’s face lit up with a smile of hope that didn’t last long. “But?”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” The Maharani of Mewar had walked out of her camp, with the other queens in tow.
The maid bowed before her. “It’s Kunwarsa.”
“He is back?” She frowned. He was not supposed to be back so early until his father reached Dholan.
“So is Ranaji.” The maid looked scared. “There is a court called in an emergency. I came to inform you that Ranaji wanted everyone to be present.”
“Jija...” Pur Bai could see the tension mounting on her face.
“What did Kunwar Amar do?” The Maharani stopped the queen with a hand gesture and asked the maid.
In a clearing a few feet away from the camp stood the tall banyan tree under which the Maharana had called on his court. It was a mid-monsoon afternoon in 1582 A.D. in the dense forestland of the Aravalli. In front of the clearly displeased Maharana stood his twenty-two-year-old heir to the throne, head bowed. A whisper ran through the courtiers who exchanged clueless glances, and the leaves rustled in the moist breeze.
“Where are they?” The Maharana’s gruff voice led to silence. He stared at his son from the corner of his eye. “Where are they?” He asked a little louder.
“They... they.... in the palanquins.” He pointed at a line of palanquins standing heavily guarded.
“What did I instruct you to do?” He looked up at his father’s words.
“Tell me!” His voice echoed through the forest as the ladies appeared in the clearing behind the palanquins to witness the court in order.
The Maharani exchanged a puzzled and disappointed look with her husband before stepping towards the largest of the palanquins and carefully removing the veil. The lady inside looked scared and gasped at her. She looked a few years older than her firstborn. She gently put on a dignified smile and gestured at the lady to step out. She did so, along with a small child on her lap and a daughter around eight or nine. The Mughal jewellery and attire of the ladies were hard to miss. The other queens who stood behind the Maharani caught a glimpse of these fair-looking Turkish women with sharp features, from behind their veils.
“I am the Maharani of Mewar.” The scared women stared at the elderly lady who stood in front of them. There was a hint of warmth in her voice that seemed to ease her. She bowed in courtesy like she had been taught all her life in the Mughal Harem to bow to the royals. Her daughter quickly followed, making the queen smile.
“I am Mah Banu Begum, wife to Khan E Khana...” She stopped, alarmed. This was enemy land. The status of her husband could be a threat.
“Abdul Rahim, son of Bairam Khan. I know. What is your name?” The queen had smiled at the child, offering him a fruit he refused.
“Jana...” the princess whispered.
“These are the rest of the Harem.” Mah Banu Begum almost whispered, indicating the line of palanquins.
“Daata Hukum, I...” Kunwar Amar Singh stopped at his father’s stare.
“I told you to distract the Khan E Khana at Sherpura while I move...”
“Daata Hukum, when I reached Sherpura, he had already left for Dholan and was going your way. I only found his Harem there, so I...”
“So you forgot your code of conduct and captured them?” The Maharana looked visibly angry. Kunwar fell silent. At these words, the ladies turned to look at the court in progress.
“What difference does it make you from the enemies?” He said almost like a rebuke. “Is this what we taught you?” Amar Singh shook his head in silence.
“What did we teach you?” He asked again.
“To honour the women and our motherland equally.” Amar Singh whispered the line his mother made him repeat as a child. He could sense she was standing there, looking at him, clearly angrier than his father.
“You will make amendments for your mistakes.” Everyone stared at the king at his words.
It was then that the eager Jana Begum had peeped across the palanquin towards the Banyan tree. Beneath it sat a man, in kingly posture, his moustache twirling like the Rajputs she often saw in Lahore, his eyes brave and chivalrous enough not even to look in their direction when she was sure that he knew she was watching him. His broad shoulders were covered with armour, his spear sat beside him, the swords tucked in his belt, and in the afternoon sun, the red Safa with a bright golden sun shone on his head, just above the saffron tilak on his broad forehead. She had never seen such a personality.
“Hukum?” Kunwar Amar Singh looked perplexed at his father.
Khan E Khana Mirza Abdul Rahim, at the mere age of twenty-five, was among the most prominent of Akbar’s court talents. Not only was he a good advisor, son of Akbar’s once guardian and a deft warrior, but he was also impressing everyone with his poetry. Akbar was so impressed by his deeds for the Mughal court that he had already declared his daughter Jana to be married to his son Daniyal, who had just reached his teenage years.
Doubt shrouded Abdul Rahim’s mind as he scanned the abandoned encampments of his harem. There was no sign of struggle, but he knew how frequently the Mewari soldiers scaled the area. He was the new subedar of Ajmer; surely, the news of his taking command of Mewar expeditions had reached the Maharana through his spy network. Rahim was scared of the uncertainty that now shrouded the life of his wife, children and most importantly, the future bride of Prince Daniyal. He was answerable to them and to his Emperor.
The soldier came in a great hurry, prompting him to look up from the floor. The soldier shook his head in silence as Rahim’s heart skipped a beat.
“We have to search the forests deeper. If we don’t find them by nightfall, send a messenger to Bhama Shah that I am willing to talk to the Mewaris. Nothing should happen to my wife and...”
“ Mirza!” His chief commander made him stop as he came into the empty tent in urgency. “The palanquins are back.”
“What?” Abdul Rahim could not believe his ears as he rushed out after his men, only to find Jana running to him with joy. He stared at his wife and the harem ladies in disbelief.
“Ranima?” Amar Singh was greeted with cold silence in his mother’s tent, where he was called upon after he returned from Sherpura.
“Sit down.” He stared at his mother’s unreadable face in the flickering lamp of the tent and stood his ground, frozen.
She stopped at her book, watching him, and slowly kept it away.
“A few days ago, your Daata Hukum was in doubt about what will happen to Mewar after we are gone.” She spoke as she walked around the room, organising her books, the flowers in the vase, and the curtains. “I had smiled and assured him that I brought up my children well.” She sighed, making him look up. “Looks like I didn’t.”
“Ranima.” Amar Singh almost choked on his words as he rushed to his mother’s feet, holding her tight as he sat down on his knees in front of her. “It was a mistake.”
“A mistake, Amar?” She freed herself from his grip as she wiped away the coming tears. “A mistake that makes me question my upbringing and the enemy of your father’s dignity? You call that a mistake!” She stood still as Amar sat on the floor, looking defeated. She knelt down in front of him and cupped his face with her soft fingertips.
“My little boy knew better than this.” She said in a stone-cold voice. “I think I would suggest that your father crown Kunwar Chand as the heir to the throne. You clearly are not suitable.” Her words were met with silence.
“Enough now, Ajabdeh.” He stood up at his father’s words, quickly wiping off his tears. “You are being harsh on him now. He has learnt his lessons.”
“Ranaji, I, as a mother, can think he has. The queen of Mewar doesn’t.” She stood firm, eyeing her embarrassed son. “He has a family to set an example for. He is not a child anymore.”
“I admit he made a mistake. We all make mistakes, Ajabdeh. We all made mistakes!” He’d stared at her reassuringly as she nodded.
“It won’t happen again, Ranima, I promise.” Amar bowed to his mother, who now smiled, putting a gentle pat on his head. “I hope so.” Her voice was low as she watched him leave with a sigh.
“He will learn.” Her husband reassured her. “You will see.”
“I worry at times, he is so emotional and impulsive, it acts against him.” She shrugged.
Her husband smiled, amused. “Now, where did I see someone exactly like that?”
The Maharani of Mewar shook her head, smiling faintly.
“Rana Pratap Singh, I will make sure he is worthy of succeeding you and serving Mewar, I promise.”
“I don’t doubt that Ajabdeh Baisa. He is our son, he is yours. You can’t do anything wrong.” He smiled with a shrug to lighten her mood a little. He had seen her get a little weaker every day, and it worried him. He wanted to set up a new capital soon, and he wanted to stop the wars and gain back the rest of Mewar. Most importantly, he wanted her by his side. She smiled faintly and walked away, leaving him to watch her go.
“The Maharana sends his apologies to the Khan E Khana on behalf of his son for acting in a way not befitting a Rajput Royal. The Maharana assures the Khan E Khana that no harm had been done to his Harem and they have been returned with full honour, dignity and apologies by Kunwar Amar Singh, heir to the throne. Also, the Maharani sends her blessings to Shehzadi Jana with these gifts of apology.” The messenger read out the message indicating the gifts while the Mughal chief stood in silence. His wife smiled at him reassuringly.
“He had been so dignified in his manners as to not let a single man even stare at us all the while in court, while rebuking his son for his actions.” She told him.
“He also ordered an apology from him.” Jana chirped at her father, “Have you seen him?”
“Whom, my child?” Rahim asked his eager child, thanking the Almighty for her life.
“Maharana Pratap”, Jana spoke as her mother smiled, cuddling her son to sleep.
“No, I haven’t.” Abdul Rahim nodded.
“He is such a chivalrous king, so powerful.” Jana’s eyes lit up, “More than our Emperor.” Her parents exchanged a glance at each other, a little alarmed at her innocent words.
That night, a single lamp shone in the tent where Rahim watched his daughter sleep peacefully. He read the message that had accompanied them from the Mewaris and sighed. He had heard of the king and his chivalry. Today, his respect for him has increased. He penned down a letter to the Emperor telling him about the incident and requesting him to send another chief on the Mewar mission, as he would, probably in his gratitude, not be able to justify his enmity toward Mewar.
Later in his life, around ten years after this incident, Abdul Rahim quit the warrior life, took the name of Rahim Das, and decided to dedicate the rest of his life to preaching peace and poetry. His Dohas (two-liners) are still popular across India. He never forgot his gratitude to the Maharana, who changed his vision of enmity and wrote poems in honour of the Maharana while still being the chief of Ajmer.
“Dharm Rahsi, Rahsi Dhara,
Khas Jaro Khursan,
Amar Visambhar Uparon
Rako Naho Jo Ran”
being the most popular.
Many historians attribute the continuation of these lines to:
“All is Unstable in this world,
Land and Wealth will disappear
But the virtue of a great name lives forever.
Patta abandoned wealth and land
But never bowed the head
Alone of all the Princes of Hind,
He preserved the honour of his race.”
Interestingly, the poet refers to him as Patta, his pet name attributed to him by his cousin Prithviraj of Bikaner, who was also a courtier of Akbar and a poet contemporary to Rahim Das.
This incident of chivalry and honour, as well as respect towards women and not making them a pawn of politics or warfare, serves as a landmark folklore in the medieval history of India, which is full of women being exploited and mistreated by men in power, for politics and warfare. Maharana Pratap proved why he was a pioneer reformer in the truest sense.
Note: Abdul Rahim Mirza Khan E Khana
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Born in 1556AD at Lahore, the only mentioned son of Bairam Khan had moved to Agra with his stepmother, Salima Sultana Begum, later the second wife of Akbar, upon his father's untimely and mysterious death when he was merely four years old. At a very young age, he led wars across the Mughal territory and earned the title of Khan E Khana, which once belonged to his father, around 1573AD. He was also one of the nine gems in Akbar's court, being well-versed in both the Sanskrit and Persian languages and being a poet by choice. Married to Mah Banu Begum and father to Jana Begum, who was later married to Akbar's second son, Prince Daniyal, he was a prominent name in the Mughal court until 1591. Controlling the territory of Ajmer, he was a frequent visitor to the Sufi shrine. The latter part of his life was spent as a saint of the Bhakti movement, popularly known as Rahim Das, the "Hindu" poet for his extensive work in Sanskrit. His literature often spoke highly of valour and sacrifices, as well as morals attributed to the Rajputs. Rahim Das' Dohas or two-liners are very famous today across India. He was killed by Prince Salim's order upon the protest of his rebellion against Akbar, as well as not supporting Salim's accession to the throne over his son Khusrau.
