Baz Bahadur's Decision

 Upon the scenes of Malwa’s plains

Reva meanders in ripples and waves.

She witnesses stories only she could tell

Of Love, revenge, lust and pain.

The Reva blesses the land with her fertility and nurturing. She also stands witness to the thousands of stories, known and unknown, told and untold on its banks. Here is a tale that Reva tells hundreds of years later as she meanders still through the land that was once called Malwa. 

Hunting had, from time immemorial, been the pursuit of entertainment for many royals. The luxury of hunting for pleasure was only reserved for the rich and powerful, and the king, often accompanied by his friends, would visit the forestlands on the bank of the Reva for the sighting of deer, boars and if they were lucky enough, then even tigers. His ears were alert enough to observe the rustling of leaves in the winter afternoon or the call of a barking deer nearby. The chirping birds witnessed the hunting party galloping through the forest, trying to stay low and not alarm them enough for the prey to be alerted. The Sultan of Malwa led the party of hunters. He stopped, alerted as he could now hear the stream of Reva, and he sensed he was away from the core area on one side of the forestland. He was about to raise his hand and order his attendant to set up the resting camps for a while when a sound made him freeze. The sound of someone’s voice could be faintly heard over the water and chirping birds, and she appeared to be singing. The Sultan was curious. He was a lover of art and a patron to many. Thousands visited his court and performed at his Mehfil, but he had never heard such a beautiful voice. Intrigued, he ordered his party to stay where they were and turned his horse towards the sound of music. 

The shepherdess had been ordered by her father to guard their grazing animals while he had his afternoon meal. She sat on a rock, adjusting her shabby drape as she unmindfully put a wildflower in her messy bun and hummed to herself. The beads around her neck made an ornament that neither shone nor was studded with gems, yet her eyes sparkled in a content very few in the palace had. A smile lingered on the edge of her lips as the humming voice soon took over the sound of the water. In her imagination, the Reva sang along with her. The birds were their band of musicians. She remembered how her mother often said that music was a way to be spiritually connected with nature. Perhaps she was right. She looked across the grazing ground as she sang to make sure none of the animals were missing. If they were, her father would give her an earful. 

The Sultan had stopped his horse away from her view in the forestland. He left the animal near a tree and tiptoed towards the sound, only to stop behind a bush as he heard her sing. He seemed to be hypnotised by her voice. As his throat went dry, he noticed how the unaware maiden smiled to herself as she sang, her lips lingering in a smile as she seemed to look up straight at him. The Sultan’s heart made a funny leap. He was amused at himself behaving like a teenager who had just had his first eye lock with a woman. The middle-aged man had many concubines and queens in his Mahal back home in the capital of Mandu, yet he did not remember seeing a woman as innocent as her. Her eyes soon turned away from his direction towards the river. An older man appeared as she stopped, alarmed and stood up, head lowered. A sudden pang of jealousy aroused the Sultan. Was the man her husband? A lover? He watched the man hand over what appeared to be a bundle to the woman before he sat down on the rock she had been sitting on a while ago. And just like that, the pure seat had turned to stone. The Sultan did not waste his time as he followed her discreetly to the humble hut she stepped into. 

He was in a dilemma whether to approach her or go back to his entourage. If she were married, perhaps such a sudden approach would scare her. He needed to find out more about her before he could have her. Yes, have her. It did not matter if she was with another man. Or even loved him. He was the Sultan of Malwa. He could buy the poor man off or even threaten him. But he needed to have her at any cost now that he had set his eyes on her. She made him react like a teenager experiencing their first feelings of love. The primitive need of a man to possess everything he wants, things that looked good, that were of great value and that he could show off, were never restrained by morality. He sent his attendant off to get him more information. Meanwhile, the king’s visits to his hunting ground increased. The sudden interest of the king towards these expeditions surprised his close associates. He would disappear for hours at a time. Little did they know that he found himself a perfect seat among the bushes to watch her sing as she watched the Reva flow by. 

The king of Malwa was Sultan Bayezid Baz Bahadur. While Humayun was regaining his hold on Delhi, and Sher Shah’s death led to his state being in utter chaos under his generals, the Rajputs were struggling to keep their hold on the land of Malwa, which seemed to be tucked away in the lap of the Reva in a blissful state when he was crowned king. Baz Bahadur was a great poet and music enthusiast himself, and his court was often filled with famous poets and musicians. Unlike his father, Baz Bahadur preferred to focus on his luxury, hunt and listen to poets debating rather than put his mind to building a strong army or anticipating a potential enemy attack. The young Akbar had taken over the throne of Humayun, yet Baz Bahadur failed to see any potential threat to his land. Perhaps one could say he was not meant to be a ruler. Not every great warrior can be a great king. Not every good human could be a good ruler. But by the time he meets this mysterious maiden in the forest, Baz Bahadur has managed to make a name for himself as an artist and musician more than a king.

Roopmati was the motherless child of her poor shepherd father. Ideally, she should have been married by then, but her poor father could neither afford a dowry nor the goodwill to find matches who would befit her upbringing, beauty and talent. The teenager was innocent, delicate like a flower and her father’s world. They had settled into the routine monotony that engulfed their uneventful life when one day the storm came. And Roopmati had no idea that she was at the eye of it. She would remain in the eye of it for a long time. The woman was used to her secluded life as a lower caste woman in the forest with nobody but her father to know her. But when a king’s attendant reached their doorsteps, she was scared. Was he there because her father did not repay a loan? Or has he failed to pay his taxes? Were they going to imprison him? It was impossible to understand the conversation between the man and her father from indoors. They were out in the courtyard speaking in a whisper. Roopmati said a silent prayer. Let her father be safe. When her father did step into the hut, she was surprised. He appeared to be smiling. The lamp flickered as he sat down in front of her, his voice joyous as he announced that she had caught the eye of the Sultan in the forest. What did that mean? Roopmati enquired. It meant that an entourage was to arrive from the palace the next morning and take her there. Alone? The man nodded as his smile faded a little. He was mesmerised by her singing. He was a patron of music. So he was known to pick out musicians from across the land and let them live in his palace. She had to perform and would be provided for. It was a better life that he was offering than any man’s hand in marriage, her father said. Roopmati looked up at his face as she choked. A few days earlier, her father looked grim when he stepped into the hut after a tiring day in the market and informed her that a merchant had set eyes on her. He wanted to marry her, but his demanded dowry was too much for the old man to provide. Roopmati wondered how this man was and if he would make a good husband. Perhaps she would help him at work and bear him children. Perhaps by some miracle, her father would get the dowry. But now, was he trying to get rid of her?

“When will I come back?” Her innocent question made her father sigh. Honestly, he was not naïve. He knew how his daughter’s beauty surpassed her talent and how the Sultan was also well-known for the women he kept in his Jahaj Mahal. How he never bothered to marry them before he bedded them, even if they came from good families. Someone as timid and poor as Roopmati could never be allowed to leave.

“Think of the life you will have, the luxuries you will be provided with, everything you dreamt of can come true, and you can sing like there’s no tomorrow.” Her father’s words made her face turn pale as she felt a lump in her throat. Who was this man she never knew and why was he after her? Roopmati ran out of her hut in the moonlight and found her way to the quiet bank of the Reva. The water shone like pearl drops in the moonbeam, and she splashed some on her face to prevent her tears from falling on her cheeks. She then stared at the river. The other bank was engulfed in darkness, with silhouettes of the trees drawing her attention. There was something eerie in the darkness. It intrigued the mind and scared her. Like her future did. She let her fingers touch the cold water. A sudden thought scared her. The capital was far away from the river. Could she ever see it again? Touch the waters she grew up beside?