Skip to main content

To Protect and Honour

Roopmati was dressed in her best clothes for the evening in honour of the Prince of Khandesh, as she approached the Mehfil. Wine poured with music as Baz Bahadur found himself humming the songs she presented with a smile on his face. Roopmati looked up at him through her veil, and she wore a smile as she sang. Although her face was not visible, Baz Bahadur knew it was on him. A sudden warmth gushed through his veins to his ears. It was then that Mubarak started praising Roopmati as she bowed. He was highly intoxicated, and his praises swept from her voice and singing to her beauty, the poetry that talked of her and finally a proposal to take her along and give her more luxuries than Malwa promised. Roopmati stepped back, a little shocked at his proposition, as Baz Bahadur stood up to make him stop. The Mehfil broke as Baz Bahadur ordered Mubarak’s men to let him sleep his high off in the guest wing, and he turned to see that Roopmati had already left.
Roopmati felt insulted at the praises of Mubarak and what he was insinuating. He was a good friend of the Sultan of Malwa, and she did not want to be a hindrance to their alliance. Did it mean Baz Bahadur would give her up to his friend? Was she to leave Malwa forever? So many thoughts crept into Roopmati’s mind and unsettled her to the core of her soul. She cried out in frustration, hoping to muffle her tears in the pillow once again. The sound of footsteps outside her chambers made her sit up, alarmed. Was Mubarak back? Did he want to finish what he started? Who gave him the direction to her chambers? The Sultan of Malwa? Before she could reach for something to protect herself with, the door was opened, and Baz Bahadur walked in. The guard was about to enter to light the lamps, but stopped at his hand gesture. Relief swept across Roopmati’s face when she saw his silhouette at the threshold. Without any thoughts or contemplation of consequences, she ran to the Sultan and fell at his feet, crying. “Please do not send me away from Malwa. Please don’t give me away to him.” Baz Bahadur was startled at first, and then he picked Roopmati up firmly by her shoulders and surprised her with a reassuring embrace. “You are not going anywhere. And you will no longer perform for anyone in public.” Roopmati broke out of his embrace, a little startled as tears trickled down her cheek. “Then what will I do? If I am not doing my appointed job? Will I be sent back home?” Baz Bahadur wiped away her tears gently and smiled. “I have something to confess.” Roopmati’s brows narrowed slightly as he held her hand. “The first time I set eyes on you, I had a will to possess you. My intention in summoning you here was not because I needed a musician. It was because I needed you.” Roopmati’s heart thumped on her chest as he continued. “Then I saw how scared you were, and realised you would perhaps never want me had I been so upfront with you. So I started focusing on your music. I had assumed I would stop obsessing over my thoughts of owning you if you were entertaining everyone. I was wrong. I had decided that you were nothing but a precious Gulokar in my Mehfil. But today I realised I can’t lose you.” Roopmati inhaled as he smiled. “I am grateful that you are my patron, Your Highness.” A sudden urgency took over Baz Bahadur’s being. “I am not talking about losing that. I am talking of losing YOU. I can’t.” His words made her throat feel dry. He wanted to kiss every inch of her body, savour the taste of her skin in his mouth, but almost like a teenager in love, Baz Bahadur wanted her to respect him, want him, love him in the most innocent ways he had ever loved.
“Come away with me to the hunting trip, Roopmati. Just you and I…”
“Then what? I will be shamed even more by the people…” Roopmati frowned. “I am a woman who sings. My respect, the very little I have left after today…”
“Come with me, as my queen then.” Baz Bahadur made her gasp. 
“You are intoxicated, Your Highness.” Roopmati was brash. “You know not what you imply.” She tried to move away from his embrace as he pulled her back to his chest. “You know what I imply. Is it that scary, Roopmati? To love me? To choose me?” Roopmati was at a loss for words. Love? She never gave the feeling much thought. She had lost her home and people she called her own; she was at the mercy of the Sultan now. Women in the palace hated her despite her kindness. Whom could she love? Was she even allowed to? Roopmati was standing before a man who respected her, took care of her, and defended her. He understood her love for music and shared her respect for art. She respected him immensely for that. Was all that love? Baz Bahadur was waiting for his answer.
“I will come with you to the hunting trip.” Roopmati barely managed to whisper. Baz Bahadur’s happiness knew no bounds. “Then I will declare you my queen before the trip, I promise.” He reassured her. Roopmati expected him to stay the night. But he did not. Instead, he went to check on Mubarak and sent him back that night itself. In a royal palace, even the walls had ears. These ears heard what  Roopmati was promised and formed lips to whisper the secrets of Baz Bahadur’s heart to the upper zenana. The queens grew sleepless in fear of losing their power.


Roopmati felt like she was in a dream. At first sceptical and almost scared of the idea of going hunting with Sultan Baz Bahadur alone, Roopmati soon realised that with each passing day, as the day of departure arrived, she became more and more excited, looking forward to the trip. To the ladies of the zenana, to whom Baz Bahadur had declared his intention of marrying Roopmati and elevating her position as the queen, Roopmati’s excitement read as a way to manipulate the Sultan. She had suddenly received a place in the upper palace dining hall, and every move she made, every smile she smiled was over-analysed to be something against his other queens. They were sure she was trying to snatch their power, the only thing they had left in the limits of the Jahaj Mahal, because their husband lost interest in them months after they had stepped into the palace. On one hand, that was the hope the chief Queen lived with. Soon after acquiring a precious gem or horses, Baz Bahadur often lost interest in them quite easily and moved on to the next unconquered territory. If that was the case, as she hoped and prayed, Roopmati’s happiness was short-lived. 


Only Roopmati knew that she never looked forward to the trip because she wanted to spend time with the Sultan. Of course, now that she was going to be his wife, she had to cater to his needs and serve him as he pleased, but Roopmati knew that away from the palace at Mandu, she would finally breathe, she would see the river, and explore the forest. To caged birds, freedom was all they lived for and hoped for. At first, Roopmati was intimidated by the way the Sultan of Malwa was showering her with gifts, promising to come visit her soon, once he had taken care of some administrative issues. Within a few days, Roopmati’s room needed more chests for her jewellery, more trunks for her new clothes and finally a talking parrot perched on a stand beside her jharokha to entertain her. Roopmati often stared at the bird longingly. Its leg was tied to the chain and the stand. It fluttered its wings and talked to her. One afternoon, when everyone was having their siesta, Roopmati tried to release the bird. She unchained it, held it delicately with both hands and went up to the lawn to release it. To her disappointment, Mithu kept flying back to her, confused by her gesture. Roopmati was sadder to realise Mithu had forgotten about his long-lost freedom and home. The thought of homemade Roopmati wonder how her father was. Could she send someone to look for him? Could she make a trip back home one last time? She would perhaps not like the small hut and poverty anymore, but it was still her home, where she grew up, with memories of her parents… Roopmati wondered if she could ask the Sultan as his wife. 


It seemed as though the day of their departure arrived in the blink of an eye. The entourage of elephants and horses was huge and intimidating as Roopmati bowed in courtesy to the Chief Queen. She waved her hand carelessly, dismissing her from her presence, but she smiled a smile that worried Roopmati. Was something wrong? She never smiled. She was taken away by the maid accompanying her to her designated palanquin. The Sultan was yet to arrive.

“Pardon my audacity, your highness.” The Prime Minister folded his hands in prayer. “If rumours are to be believed, Akbar is sending his men everywhere around Rajputana. Soon they will reach Malwa too. I don’t think you should take this hunting trip now…” The Sultan smiled at the minister.

“Have you ever been in love?” His question startled the man, “You have a wife, don’t you?” The man nodded. He had more than one. 

“Then you must know what Viraha feels like when you count the days to see them again?” The man looked uncomfortable. The Sultan smiled, amused. “Look, I am not going somewhere you can’t find me if anything happens…”

“What about your safety?” The minister asked worriedly.

“Roopmati’s prayers will keep me safe.” The Sultan adjusted his turban “You know the gods of every religion only listen to the purest souls.” The minister was silenced. He bowed and left to meet the council of ministers. They needed to know that this new musician girl must know some kind of witchcraft or sorcery to bind the Sultan to her in such a way that he did not care for his state or his people. They needed to make sure she did not harm them if they stood up against her.


The first time Roopmati saw the Sultan was when the entourage had stopped at a clearing for the day. She stared at his calm face as he instructed the men about the course of the trip and then turned to her with a smile.

“I apologise that I kept you waiting. My time is all yours now. Tell me what you want to do…” Roopmati was waiting for this moment.

“Can we take a stroll in the forest?” She asked, surprising him.

“A stroll?” He asked with narrowed brows. “We can take the horses for a ride…”

“I don’t know how to ride.” Roopmati bit her lips. Baz Bahadur smiled. He wouldn’t leave this opportunity to impress his bride. He gave her his hand. “I will teach you then, in the clearing beside the river.” Roopmati’s eyes shone. The river was nearby.


Baz Bahadur had no idea why Roopmati stood at the bank of the river for a moment in silence, and she was then on her knees, not caring for her clothes as she took some water from the Reva in her trembling hand and touched it to her forehead. She was in tears. Baz Bahadur cleared his throat.

“Is something wrong?” She shook her head. He waited for her to come back to the horses and smiled. “It's time for a ride.”


The next day, they reached the hunting house in the middle of the forest. By evening, they could hear the birds and animals around them, the crickets and bees buzzing, and the fireflies lighting up the trees. Roopmati stood in the open balustrade of the arch, looking at the darkness that engulfed the hunting house. Baz Bahadur crept up quietly behind her and held her by the waist, startling her.

“You are brave.” He whispered in her ears. Roopmati’s eyes narrowed questioningly at him, “Why?” She asked.

“Because any other person coming on their first hunt would have been intimidated to stay here.” He turned her towards him, “I was, as a child, when I came here with my grandfather.”

“You forget where I belong from, my lord?” Roopmati smiled dryly. “I have grown up…” She could not finish reminiscing about her childhood days. Baz Bahadur kissed her passionately as if he wanted to make her forget the stories of her roots and her home and melt away in his arms and drown in whatever he had to offer her. Roopmati, in her few years of puberty, had never known the touch of a man. This new, scary, painful, addictive feeling of desire was an unexplored territory for her. She submitted herself to him, sure of what he was doing, trusting him with all her heart. The days passed into months this way. In the morning, they would hunt; in the evenings, they would sing together, sip wine from the ivory cups, melt into each other’s arms and make love till dawn. The administrative letters started piling up, and her knitting kit lay in a corner gathering dust. Music and pleasure went hand in hand for Roopmati and Baz Bahadur. Often, he would sing to her verses of love, and she would sing back to him, expressing to each other their deepest affection and desires through the strings of the Sitar. 


One evening as they lay together in bed, Baz Bahadur remembered an old tradition, the groom gifted the bride something and upon its acceptance, the bride accepted his proposal. 

“Did the numerous gifts you sent me in the palace not count?” Roopmati asked, a little surprised. “Mithu… I wonder how he’s doing…”

“No, that was me courting you.” Baz Bahadur drew her closer in bed. “Tell me what you want…”

“Can you give me what I want?” Roopmati asked teasingly.

“I am the Sultan of Malwa; there is nothing I can’t do.” Baz Bahadur twirled the end of his moustache vainly, making Roopmati smile.

“I want the Reva to flow in Mandu.” Her words made him sit up, startled. “I want to bathe in her water, pray to her, see her every day…” His face now wore a frown. “Can you do that for me?” Roopmati asked almost like a challenge, “Of course you can’t.” 

The next day, Baz Bahadur ordered that they go back to Mandu. His sudden plans made Roopmati wonder if she had offended him in some way. It scared her. He was lost in thought and did not interact with her at the palace. Upon reaching the threshold of the Jahaj Mahal, he walked away without sparing her a glance. Roopmati was pale with fear. The news spread into the palace. The Chief Queen happily gave away her pearls to the maid who brought her the news. It was sooner than she expected. Roopmati spent the night talking to Mithu, going over the possible consequences of her stupidity.






Popular posts from this blog

The Reva Cries

Roopmati had watched the troops leave. She had stood behind the chief queen as she traditionally bid goodbye to her sons. She had waited for the Sultan to come to her. He did. He was confident that the sudden advancement of Akbar’s foster brother Adham Khan could be curbed. It was not war, just precaution. He reassured her. Malwa would never bow to the Timurids. And he would not let anything happen to her. To Her. Roopmati felt suffocated by her husband’s affectionate hug. She felt trapped in the scrutinising eyes of all the people in the palace. Angry, blaming eyes. She tried to pace herself and sing, but her voice cracked in fear. Her melody was drowned in tears. Every evening, a messenger would come to the chief queen with the news of war. Roopmati was kept in the darkness. She was not told about anything. She knew the rumours. She was a witch. A temptress who caused doom to the Sultan of Malwa. She was a spy of the enemy planted in his life to destroy him. She wondered if he came b...

Rani Padmini: The Valiant Queen

This story is a retelling of some parts of Malik Mohammad Jayasi's Padmavat, which was a historical fiction poem written in 1540, an odd 200 years after the siege of Chittorgarh by Allauddin Khilji. Historically, the Rajputs of Mewar didn't keep accounts of their queens, even by name, so the name Padmini or Padmavati was made up by Jayasi to represent the women of Chittor who chose the Jauhar. Historically speaking, Allauddin Khilji wanted the trade route to Surat for himself, which went through Mewar and Rana Ratan Singh, a patron of art, was not known for his military skills. So when Khilji surrounded the fort, the only way out was the Saka and Jauhar. Rani Padmini's Jauhar, as it is now popularly called, is also not the first Jauhar Khilji witnessed. The Jauhars of Ranthambore and Jaisalmer happened before he attacked Chittorgarh. Also, the act of Jauhar happened as early as the Greek invasions of Porus's state, when it is described as the "Mass immolation of Sa...

The Emperor's First Wife

  Ruqaiya Sultana Begum  was born to Babur's second surviving son, Hindal Mirza, and his wife, Sultanam Begum, in 1542 C.E., merely a few months after Hamida Banu gave birth to the heir Jalaluddin Mohammad Akbar. She was well-versed in Persian, Urdu and Arabic and was attracted to poetry and music. Being a proud descendant of the Timurid clan, most of Rukaiya's childhood was spent in Kabul, near the Bagh E Babur, built by Babur himself. From early childhood, she had seen the struggle of her family to regain their lost power in Hind. In 1551 C.E., just after her father died young at a battle for Humayun, leaving her and her mother in the harem of the emperor, it was Hamida Banu who wanted the marriage of Rukaiya to her first cousin, Akbar. Theirs was the first in-house marriage of the Mughals, soon to be followed by many more in the generations to come. At the mere age of nine, she had married the crown prince, and when Humayun won back Lahore, she was fifteen. At the mere age ...

Sisodiya: Kings, Queens and Princes (1538 - 1597)

I am back with another History post, this time it is on the wives and sons of Rana Udai Singh II of Mewar, his son and heir Maharana Pratap and Rana Amar Singh. This is a continuation of the Sisodia Family History I posted some time back. The information has been taken from Annals of Mewar by James Todd, Maharana Pratap by B.N. Rana, and Maharana Pratap by Rima Hooja.  Udai Singh II  was the son of Ranisa Karnawati and Rana Sangram Singh. He was born on 4th August 1 522, at Chittorgarh and died on 28th February 1 572 at Gogunda . He was the Ruler of the Sisodia Dynasty. He is believed to have  56 sons and 2 5 wives, apart from the many insignificant queens in his Rani Mahal. Here is a list of his main queens and their sons. Maharani Jaivanta Bai Songara of Jalore  was his chief queen and consort. Her son is Maharana Pratap. He was married to her before he went to war with Banbir, as her father, Akshayraj Rao, was a friend and ally of his father, Rana Sanga.  Saj...

Charumati's Love

T his is written based on folklore. This is a representative work of fiction and does not claim any historical happening in the conversations. This is to show the spirit of the women of Rajputana.  The year 1657.  Shah Jahan had taken ill and was rumoured to be dying in Agra Fort. He was about eighty, and the pressure of having an empire had taken a toll on his body. The seat of power was slowly shifting from Agra to Delhi since the prominence of the Laal Quila had increased, and if the news spread was to be believed, his sons were in a battle for the throne already. It was time each king chose sides once again. Dara Sikhoh was the eldest and the righteous Heir to the throne. He was believed to be a man who held high morals and was hence respected by both enemies and allies as well. Aurangzeb was his sibling and the youngest of the brothers. Short-tempered and cunning, he was always dreaded by the court. As Shah Jahan took ill, Aurangzeb took this as a golden opportunity to wa...

Prithviraj Chauhan: A Saga

Note: This piece is a work of fiction based on folklore and the Prithviraj Raso, an epic saga by Chand Bardai, who happened to be the court poet of Prithviraj Chauhan. The dates corresponding to wars, names of people and places are, however, historically fact-checked from various sources, including the works of Todd (semi-historical), The  Amir Khusrau and contemporary sources like R.C.Majumder. The incidents are fictionally woven. Rai Pithora Around the year 1140 A.D., Ajmer was ruled by Anangpal of the Tomara Dynasty. Delhi was the seat of power of the Sultanate, which was a constant power struggle for them. He managed to capture briefly most parts of west Rajputana, and present-day Haryana and Punjab were also part of his kingdom. The old king had a son and two daughters. His concern grew as his son Surya was not talented enough to rule Ajmer. His youngest daughter, Princess Karpuri Devi, was married to Someshwar Chauhan of the famous Chauhan clan. Their son, Rai Pithora, helped...

Nawab E Bengal

  Background: Nawab Alivardi Khan was ruling Bengal at the peak of Nawabi rule, expanding his strong empire. He had successfully suppressed the Marathas and had given a strong message to the British East India Company’s rising influence at Calcutta. Highly aware of the British Colonial policies across the globe, Nawab Alivardi Khan was strict with his policies and stronghold over Murshidabad, the then capital of Bengal (including present-day Bihar, Jharkhand, West Bengal, Orissa, and Bangladesh).  He had two daughters and no sons. Amina Begum was the elder one, followed by Ghaseti Begum. Amina had three sons with her husband and courtier, Ahmed Khan. The second son, Mirza Mohammad, fondly called Siraj-Ud-Daulah (light of the country)by his grandfather, was born in 1733C.E. He was his grandfather’s  favourite  because he was born while he won over the Marathas. Alivardi Khan never let the “fortune child” of the family out of his sight. Siraj grew up accompanying his g...

Teeja Saka Chittor Ra

 23rd February 1568.   The sun rose on the eastern horizon, not with the hope of a new day. But, with the horror of what was to follow. The first rays of the Sun God were met by the chants of “Jai Bhavani!” that echoed in the air of Chittorgarh. The Mewaris knew it was time. Four months back, when the Mughals camped at the base of the fort, a helpless Chittorgarh had watched. Rana Udai Singh had left with his closest aides to make the new city westwards, his capital. If rumours were to be believed, he had left behind a cavalry of 8000 soldiers, under Rao Jaimal of Merta and Rawat Patta of Kelwa, to look over the fort. He had also left behind some of his lesser queens and infant princes, as an assurance to the people that Chittorgarh was invincible. Their safety and hope had lived in Kunwar Pratap. Truth be said, they had already taken the Crown Prince as their King. Ever since Ranisa had left with him till he became the Senapati, he had time and again proved to be a better lea...

Bijolia: Her Home

Journey to Bijolia: Lost Kingdoms and Timeless Temples of Mewar Bijoliya translates to a stop between two cities. Nestled in Rajasthan’s Bhilwara district, Bijolia sits 55km from Bundi and 105km from Chittorgarh on the well-travelled Bundi-Chittorgarh road. Once part of Mewar, this seemingly sleepy town guards a rich and layered past: it was ruled from the 11th to the 13th century by the Punwars (or Parmar Rajputs) before falling under the Chauhan dynasty, who shifted the region’s capital to Bhilwara and constructed the imposing fort there. After a brief Chauhan rule, Bijolia was reclaimed by Rana Kumbha and became an integral part of the Mewar kingdom, with the Parmers serving as local Raos, representatives and stewards of the royal house. Despite its history and the famed Bijolia inscriptions (a treasure for historians), Bijolia has never found a seat on Rajasthan’s primary tourist circuit, especially if you’re venturing out by public transport or private car. While a handful of...

Indus Valley Civilisation: An Understanding

The River Of The Rig Veda: The mythical river Sarasvati is an unsolved mystery. Sarasvati means a river full of ponds or lakes. This indicated its course might have been through many such lakes or swamps. There are many references to this river in the Rig Vedas as the " Seventh River of the Aryavarta" and " The mother of floods", indicating it was an important river in the land, probably large and perennial and caused floods. Many excavated villages and cities along present-day parts of Haryana, Punjab, Rajasthan and Gujarat indicate the basin of the Sarasvati River. It is described in the Yajur Vedas as the one where the five rivers meet, and in the Brahmanas, there are indications of the disappearance of its lower course and how its large flow decreases.  The  Mahabharata  describes the ultimate drying up of the river before the ushering in of the  Kali Yuga . Many Puranas describe the civilisation lying between  the Ganga  and the  Saraswati . ...