The fort loomed ahead bathed in the light of the full moon, haunting and beautiful, a silent sentinel standing guard over the city sprawled below. The heat and noise of the day had given way to eerie silence and soft breezes. The gates were closed, the tourists and locals gone back to their hotels, and homes. But not me. I was in the mood for something clandestine.
I sat hidden in the shadows of trees whose names I did not know, listening to the rustling of their leaves, and waiting for Manyata and her boyfriend to arrive.
They were supposed to be there half an hour ago.
As I sat waiting for them I thought about what I'd learnt about the fort earlier today.
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Our guide was a short, bald man with a flare for dramatics. "You are now walking in a place that was built hundreds of years ago, way back in the 7th century, kings walked here then, lost perhaps in thoughts of invading rulers or failed crops or beautiful wives..."
I'd tuned him out, preferring to read about the fort's history from the guide book I'd purchased. We walked through the massive fort, stopping at spots that were of historical interest or had interesting stories about them.
Some time into the tour, our guide launched into the story of Rani Padmini. A queen so beautiful that Allaudin Khilji of the Khilji dynasty— the reigning Sultan of Delhi, waged a war just for a glimpse of her beauty.
That caught my attention.
"Khilji was obsessed with Rani Padmini. The tales of her beauty were known far and wide. To see if the rumours were true, the king laid siege to the fort. An ambitious man, he wanted the queen and her kingdom for himself.
Months into the siege, Khilji called for a truce. The khilji king and the ruler of the fort, Rawal Ratan Singh, Padmini's husband, met. Khilji said that he would end the siege and return to Delhi if he were allowed only a glimpse of the queen. Rawal Ratan Singh agreed to this mad request and a special arrangement of mirrors was made so that khilji could see Padmini from the men's palace without the two of them having to come face to face," The guide paused, we were in a room filled with people in a picture clicking frenzy. An old looking mirror hung above.
It was the room of the infamous viewing.
"After he saw her though," he said, as we continued walking, "khilji was determined to have her. So, he killed Ratan Singh as the king came out to send him off from the fort. The queen Rani Padmini, was no ordinary woman, she was a brave Rajput, and she continued to fight khilji even after her husband's death. Alas, khilji was stronger. Sensing defeat Rani Padmini along with hundreds of other Rajput women committed jauhar!"
"Jauhar?" I asked, closing my guide book.
"Self immolation. Death by fire. The women preferred death over defeat. To die rather than live as slaves and trophies of their enemies. Hence it came to be that Rani Padmini, dressed in a beautiful red joda, jumped into the Jouhar kund and committed suicide." The guide took off his cowboy hat and folded his hands in prayer as we stood silently on a large patch of grass, brown and dead in some places— nothing extraordinary remained to mark it as the place of the mass suicide.
"Jouhar was a sacred practice and this place—it's a sad place— sad and haunted. The caretakers and the guards of the fort refuse to come near this particular area after dark. They claim to have heard the gut wrenching screams and the pitiful cries of the women and children who died here. At this very spot. Hundreds of women and children. Dead." He said, emphasizing the numbers.
The guide's words had sent excitement bells ringing in my head. Madly enough I wanted to see the fort at night and Manya had been just as excited about it.
