Land of the Ranas

Siege of Chittorgarh, 1303

The torches flickered in the cavernous dimly lit hall, throwing ghostly shadows on the walls around.  The air was so thick and fraught with tension, not a muscle twitched in the  men seated around the table.  Lost in thought, the furrows on their brow deepening with every moment.  It was all over, Chittorgarh could no longer withstand the long siege by Allauddin Khilji. The Sultan had not forgotten the audacious midnight attack by Gora and Badal, to rescue  Ratan Singh from captivity.  The humiliation rankled him no end, nor could he ever forget the massacre of his men at the hands of the Rajputs. It was only a matter of time, before he would set out to avenge the humiliation he faced.

Ratan Singh, knew that he neither had the power to counter the long siege, nor could Chittorgarh hold out for long. And yet surrender to the enemy was not an option, if they had to go down, they would rather go down fighting. For eight long months, Chittorgarh had held out against the mighty Khilji Army, refusing to yield an inch. Twice had the invaders attempted to scale the hill, and were beaten back.  Arrows, munjaniqs, boulders, nothing had failed to kill the spirt of the fort. But time was running out, the garrison was getting depleted of reserves, the food stocks were dwindling.  It was apparent that the end was very much in sight. 

But that was not the main worry of  Ratan Singh, as a Rajput he was prepared for death on the battle field. Nor was he unduly worried about his beautiful wife Padmini, the reason why the Sultan made the siege in the first place. He knew she along with the other Rajput women of Chittorgarh, would consign themselves to the flames, than submit to the lust of the Muslim invaders and end up as slaves in their harem.  His worry was more related to the dream he had much earlier.

Between two flickering lamps, flanked by massive granite columns, the guardian deity, Ban Mata had appeared to him.  Radiant in hue, her eyes glowing with fire, her incadescent presence, lighting up the dark confines of the room. 

"I am hungry" she claimed, "for more sacrifice".

"Are you not satiated Mother?  For you, eight hundred of my men have given their lives, we are the only ones left, yet you seek more. What shall satisfy your hunger".

"You do not understand Ratan Singh, I seek the sacrifice of the royal blood, men who wear the royal insiginia of Chittorgarh.  And if twelve men who adorn the diadem, do not bleed for Chittorgarh, the land shall pass into another line".

The biggest fear of a Rajput was not death on the battlefield, he was prepared for it, from the day he was born.  The mortal fear was that his bloodline could end, and the kingdom could pass into another's hands.  Dying on the battlefield, was the highest honor a Rajput could aspire to, yet passing away without a bloodline to take over, was the worst form of disgrace ever. He was prepared to fight like a true Rajput till the end, and attain the Swarga of the Brave, but the fact that Chittorgarh could pass away from his line was what worried him more.  

"On each day let us enthrone a prince, whose sovereignity would be proclaimed by the kirnia( royal parasol), chattra( the red umbrellla) and the chamara( tail of a wild ox set in a golden handle to drive away flies).  For three days his decrees shall be supreme, and on the fourth he shall fight his enemy till the end on the battlefield"

The man who rose in appeal to Ratan Singh's call was Laksha, alias Lakshman Singh, a distant kin of his, who claimed direct descent from Bappa Rawal.  Hailing from the village of Sisodia near Nathdwara, which would become the name of his dynasty later on, they were a sub clan of the Guhilas. Ari, the eldest of his eight sons, offered himself , by virtue of his seniority. And after enjoying the royal honors for three days, on the fourth day, he entered into the battle field, where he fell fighting to the last.  Ari had earlier married Urmila, a beautiful lady belonging to the home of a poor farmer, their son was Hammir.

Ajay Singh, the second in the line offered himself, but Laksha dissuadded him, being his favorite son.  And so seven other sons, accepted the royal honor, issued decrees for three days, and on the fourth day they fell on the battlefield.

The time of reckoning had come, only Laksha, Ajay Singh were left now seated around the table with Ratan Singh. 

"Father , my brothers had died defending Chittorgarh, you had dissuaded me, as I was your favorite. But now the time has come for me to offer the sacrifice, allow me to offer myself. As a Rajput, what greater honor than can be,dying on the battlefield against the enemy".

"My son, a Rajput is prepared for sacrifice, the moment he is born. That is not his worry. The bigger worry is who shall continue his lineage.  The question here is not that of our sacrifice,  but after us whom.  To die at the hands of the Sultan is no disgrace, but dying with no blood line in sight would be catastrophic".

"Father, then let me go to the battlefield,  you are still there to prepare Chittorgarh for the next generation. " pleaded Ajay.

A deep sigh escaped the lips of Laksha, the wrinkles on his wizened face, deepening further, as he stroked his thick white beard, a face that had seen it all.

"My son, I am old, I have reached the end of my life.  If I have to leave this world, I might as well  do so, on the battlefield.  Defeat and victory are but twin imposters. Chittorgarh shall not pass from our bloodline ever.  Hammir is just a child, but he shall perpetuate our bloodline over Chittorgarh.  Take him away from here, rear him, protect him, he is our future".

Ajay Singh could no longer say no, he bowed and touched his father's feet. And then they hugged each other, there were no words exchanged between the father and son.  Just tears rolling from their eyes, as they held each other for one last time. Knowing they would never see each other again.

"Your sacrifice and that of my brothers will never go in vain father. I promise that from now on, every moment of my life shall be spent in grooming Hammir to avenge the insult to his ancestors. For now we shall lose Chittorgarh, but it shall not be forever. I promise on Eklingji, that Mewar shall be ours again, freed from the invaders".

Ajay, then proceeded to touch the feet of  Ratan Singh, who was overwhelmed by what he saw. 

"Chittorgarh shall forever remember the sacrifice of your family Ajay. You are not just saving Hammir, you are saving the very future of Chittorgarh. Go forth, with your followers, my men shall escort you safely  to Kelwara, where you shall reside hidden away from the enemy".

Ajay Singh, bowed, took a small dagger out of his cummerbund, and slashed his finger. As the blood dripped on to the floor, he spoke with resulote determination flashing in his eyes.

"I promise on my blood, Maharaj, that the sacrifice of my father and brothers shall never be in vain.  They sent me away, not just to protect this young lad, but to raise him as a fine warrior.  Chittorgarh was ours, and shall always be ours, even if the enemy captures it today, they shall not hold it for long. By the grace of Eklingji, I swear on Bani Devi, that we shall come back one day to take back Chittorgarh".

Ratan Singh, nodded both a sense of gratitude and sadness.  Once again the two men embraced,for an eternity there was just silence, in the room, tears rolling down the cheeks.

"Go Ajay Singh, you do not have time, the hour of reckoning beckons us"

And with a heavy heart,  Ajay Singh cradled the sleeping Hammir in his arms, and proceeded out of the castle in a secret route. Dressed in coarse clothing, and turbans, to look like common men, there were around twenty followers around him. A mournful silence had fallen over the group, as they proceeed along the dark cavernous tunnels, with the dim torch lights flickering all the way.  Ratan Singh, kept looking a the flickering torches, as they began to grow smaller, in the tunnel, till they disappeared out of sight.