1192 AD
A woman in her late twenties is gazing out of a window. She is inside the tallest tower of a fort. Outside the window, there are corpses—mutilated, burnt, raped and fires. The woman is tall, her posture perfect. Her skin was liquid gold burning in the harshness of Delhi sun. Her hair was arranged in a bun kept together by a chudamani. Blood was dripping from the dagger in her hand and she was standing with one foot above two corpses. She was clad entirely in a red Sari and fully decked in ornaments.
"Maharani Sa," A Daasi came running, then stopped to process the scene, "Why is there blood in your hands? It's not fit for the Empress...who are these corpses at your feet?"
"I'm a Rajput," the woman's lips curled into a smirk, "And the duty of a queen is to punish those who eye the respect of womenfolk."
"They are at the gates," the Daasi said, "Those barbarians from Ghajnavi."
"I can see," the woman said, "Is everything ready?"
"Are you sure Maharani Sa?" The Daasi was now trembling.
"How many women are saved?" the queen asked.
"Some had already chosen death after being defiled. Some didn't want to be saved after those soldiers of Ghori killed their babies before their very eyes and...but every woman and child who could be saved has been saved."
"Any news of the menfolk who've been held prisoners?"
"No."
"Is...", the woman's voice cracked for the first time.
"The princess is safe, Maharani Sa. The lineage of Chauhan Dynasty won't end," the Daasi said proudly, "Maharani Sa, there's still time..."
"Ghori has seen my painting," the woman said, applying the blood on her dagger on her cheeks to accentuate the colour of her cheeks, and applied the blood on her lips, "Even if I hide, his dogs will sniff me out and kill the entire family of the person giving me refuge."
"Maharani Sa..."
"Pranaam Manjari," the woman folded her hands, "Jauhar ro bakhat aa gayo hai."
The woman whispered, "Prithvi! Thaari Sanyogita thaari pratiksha karegi!"
The Queen walked and the Daasi picked up the dust left from her footprints and touched her forehead, and said, "Na rahvego Ghajnavi, na rahvego Ghori Sultaan, par sadiyon baad bhi gaayi jaavegi inki kahaani—Maharaani Sanyogita aur Samrat Prithviraj Chauhan."
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A Forgotten Song
General FictionHe was a King. She was a princess. They loved and were separated in the cruelest of ways. After Eight Hundred years, most people have forgotten the valiant king Prithviraj Chauhan and his second love after his motherland, Princess Sanyogita. But not...
