Through this award-winning novel, the author has attempted to illuminate a lesser-known chapter of Meerabai’s life
Meera
By Debasree Chakraborti
A peacock was perched on the window sill — one that Meera held very dear. She walked over, gently picked it up in her arms, and, caressing it, said, “Kunwarji, if I tell you that I have no say in this marriage — what would you do then?”
Kunwar Bhojraj stood up and walked to the window. Looking out, he said,
“Tomorrow, I’ll return to Mewar and tell my father that I am not worthy of Meera.”
For a moment, the atmosphere in the room became heavy with silence. Meera responded,
“Such words don’t suit the mouth of a Sisodia Rajput.”
“You are not like other women, Meera,” Bhojraj said softly.
Meera asked, “You won’t have any regrets?”
Kunwar Bhojraj replied, “Meera, there’s no denying that a deep wound would remain in my heart for a lifetime — a pain I can already feel beginning now.”
There was now the heat of the desert in Meera’s voice. She said, “You’ve fallen in love with me, haven’t you, Kunwarji? There’s no escaping it now. The moment you stepped into this room, your eyes told me everything.”
Kunwar Bhojraj was stunned by Meera’s words. How easily she had spoken such a deep truth. A woman of such strength and presence — and yet there was such gentle simplicity in her nature. He now felt as though Meera truly belonged to their family already.
Kunwar Bhojraj asked, “Meera, how did you know?”
Still stroking the peacock, Meera sat down in her place and said, “Because I too am in love with someone. That’s how I understood.”
Then Meera began to sing:
“Mere to Giridhar Gopal, dusaro na koi,
Jaake sir mor mukut, mor pati soyi.”
(For me, there is only Giridhar Gopal, no one else;
He who wears the peacock feather crown — He alone is my husband.)
Meera smiled gently and looked at Kunwar Bhojraj.
“Kunwarji, how did you like my song?”
Kunwar Bhojraj said, “I came seeking a bride for myself, only to hear from her own lips that she loves someone else.
So tell me — how should I feel?”
Meera gave a shy smile and replied, “Kunwarji, my Giridharji resides within you. It is because He is within you that you’ve appeared before me in this form today. Now try to understand the meaning of my song.”
Kunwarji’s face lit up like a full moon. With a teasing tone, he asked, “After marriage, will you still spend all your time devoted to Giridharji? Or will you spare some for me too?”
Letting the peacock fly from her arms, Meera said, “Giridharji lives within all living beings. After marriage, I want to serve the people of Mewar. I don’t want to be just their queen — I want to be a part of their family.”
Kunwarji responded, “Meera, that is my dream too.”
Holding the peacock in his hands, Kunwar Bhojraj came and stood before Meera. Through the open window, moonlight from the waxing phase poured between them. From a distant village, the song of the Banjaras echoed — welcoming a new chapter in history:
“Kesariya baalam aayo ni,
Padharo mhare desh.
Kesariya baalam aayo sa,
Padharo mhare desh,
Aayo mhare desh ni…”
And thus began the royal preparations for the wedding between Mewar and Merta. Rao Dudaji instructed Veeramdevji and Ratan Singh that Meera’s wedding should be celebrated with such grandeur that it would set a precedent in the history of Rajasthan.
Jaimal said, “Not just that — we must ensure that the guests from Mewar are received and hosted with utmost care.”
Rao Dudaji nodded and said, “Jaimal is absolutely right. From here on…”
“We must ensure that none of them return with even the slightest negative impression,” said Rao Dudaji. “Merta may be smaller than Mewar in terms of territory, but the hearts of Merta’s people — and its ruler — must leave an indelible mark on every guest.”
The diamond artisans of Johari Bazaar in Jaipur crafted Meera’s wedding jewelry. Lehenga artisans from Jodhpur designed her wedding attire and sent it to the diamond craftsmen, who then embedded glittering gems onto the multicolored silk lehenga with intricate zardozi work. Her bridal bangles were made by traditional artisans from Pushkar. Jaipur’s renowned craftsman Ronakchand designed her bridal shoes, embedding diamonds on fine silk fabric.
Expert cooks from all across Rajputana, known for their mastery of specific regional dishes, were brought to prepare the elaborate wedding feast. A vast courtyard behind Merta Fort was set up for cooking. The aroma of ghee-rich food spread across the region, filling the air with festive joy.
The entire town of Merta was decked out with flowers of every hue. Homes near and far — even the smallest huts on the barren horizon — were decorated with garlands. From afar, Merta Fort appeared like an enormous bouquet of flowers. A grand floral arch, made of ten varieties of blooms, was installed at the main entrance of the fort. A red carpet stretched beneath it, with walls of dense blossoms lining either side. Inside the palace, the women’s quarters were adorned with flowers of countless shades. The courtyard of Giridharji’s temple was so breathtakingly beautiful that even the celestial garden of heaven, Nandan Kanan, might have felt ashamed.
On the night before the wedding, a grand celebration of music and dance was arranged. That morning, Meera drew a swastika symbol on a column in her palace and performed the Thamba Puja — a ritual to bless the pillars of the house. After the ceremony, Rao Dudaji folded his hands in prayer and said,
“O Giridhar, may the bond between our two families be eternally strong.”
At midday, the Teldaan (oil ceremony) began. Meera’s aunt prepared a mixture of mustard oil, turmeric, and curd, and lovingly applied it to Meera’s face.
In front of royal guests from across Rajputana, Merta’s finest dancers and musicians performed. Meera, seated between her aunt and Ramabai on the palace balcony, watched the dances with a serene smile.
While the entire kingdom of Merta was immersed in joyful celebration for their princess’s wedding, one person sat quietly shedding tears — it was Jaimal. Meera was not just his sister, she was his companion since childhood. Meera, too, felt a strange heaviness in her heart. Slowly, she walked inside her palace and found Jaimal sitting with two wooden puppets in his hands — the same puppets they used to play with in their childhood.
Tears were flowing from Jaimal’s eyes, drop by drop, falling onto the puppets. Meera quietly sat down in a corner of the room. She didn’t know what to say. She could feel her brother’s emotions deep within her own heart, and it tore her apart.
A deep, silent desert wind passed between the two siblings. The music from the celebration outside could no longer be heard in that quiet room. Meera’s pet peacock flew in through the window and settled in her lap. She felt it trembling. As she looked into its eyes, she noticed tears there too. Meera gently wrapped it in her arms and kissed its head.
Then she turned to Jaimal. He looked at her and asked, “Will you remember me on Bhai Dooj, Meera?”
This time, Meera couldn’t hold back her tears. They streamed down both cheeks as she sighed deeply and said,
“Brother, until my last breath, I will observe Bhai Dooj for your protection. No matter how far I may be, on this special day, I will always wait for you. And even if you cannot come to receive the ceremonial mark, I will still fast and offer prayers to Giridharji for your well-being. I will mark the wall with a ceremonial tika in your name.”
Hearing this, Jaimal covered his face with the puppets and began to sob. These puppets had always been kept with great care in Meera’s palace. Meera said softly,
“Brother, these puppets are the symbol of our childhood — one is you, the other is me. I’m giving them to you now. Whenever you miss me, look at them closely. You’ll see in them the beautiful days of our childhood, and they’ll bring comfort to your heart.”
As the two siblings wept silently, their sorrow… (Continues)
Click here for Part-1, Part-2, Part-3, Part-4, Part-5, Part-6, Part-7, Part-8, Part-9,
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Debasree Chakraborti is a renowned novel writer of Bengali language. Based in Kolkata, West Bengal, India, she has done Master’s in Modern History from the Kolkata University, and authored some thirty books, mostly the novels, with historical perspective and themes. Her novel is ‘Maharaja Dahir’ that covers the history of Sindh from 662, the year of first attack on Sindh by the Arab armies till date, was published last year and translated by Nasir Aijaz into Sindhi language.
