Through this award-winning novel, the author has attempted to illuminate a lesser-known chapter of Meerabai’s life

Meera

By Debasree Chakraborti

After the letter ended, Meera turned to stone. In this environment—devoid of relatives and friends, surrounded by hostility—while victory celebrations were going on all around, she sat holding the news of her father’s death in her hands. Meera felt like crying out loudly to express her grief, but Providence had not granted her that right; she could not behave like an ordinary woman. For she herself had urged women to be strong—how then could she display her own weakness in this way? Meera looked at her Giridharji and thought, “Grandfather is ill now; if he hears the news of his son’s death in such a state, it will be impossible to save him.” Therefore, no matter what, Grandfather must not be told of this death. Meera took a reed pen and on a piece of cloth on the top she wrote, “Bapu-sa is dead. This news must not be given to Grandfather-sa. Yours, Meera.”

Meera dried the piece of cloth and sent it to Gadadhar Pandit through the hand of a maid. If he dispatched it with someone during the night, it would reach Merta by dawn. She addressed this message to her aunt. Then she went and stood by the window and saw that a round, platter-like moon had risen in the sky. In the moonlight, nature gleamed brightly. Meera noticed there was no shadow of grief anywhere—so why was she in pain? A few words she herself had once spoken came back to her mind. She had told many women, many times:

What is the use of wasting time chasing after that which must be renounced at the time of death?

This life is a deep labyrinth—one must simply keep moving forward, drawn by point after point of beckoning light. At the start of all our actions, we should begin with the utterance of Om Tat Sat.

Om — Pranava (Brahman), Tat — the soul (jiva), Sat — the world. The supreme expression of Brahman is the Veda. The supreme expression of the soul is knowledge of Brahman. The world is full of action. The supreme expression of action is sacrifice (yajna). Thus, in the mantra Om Tat Sat, the Veda, Brahman-knowledge, and sacrifice are implied. Therefore, at the start of all our actions, we should begin with the utterance of Om Tat Sat. The Pranava, or the sound “Om,” is the essence of the Vedas and the substance of Brahman.

On this subject, in the Gita, Lord Shri Krishna has said: “I am the taste in water, the radiance of the moon and the sun, the Om (Pranava) in the Vedas, the sound in space, and the manliness in men.”

In the Samadhipada of the Yoga Sutras, the supreme teacher of Yoga, Patanjali, has said:

Tasya vachakah pranavah. Taj-japas tad-artha-bhavanam.

The Pranava is the name of the Lord. Its repetition and contemplation are to be practiced.

Om or Pranava is the life-breath of mantras. Om is the primordial sound of creation—the active form of the formless, inactive Brahman. From this active form comes the unfolding of creation. Therefore, before beginning any task, one should utter Om Tat Sat, and during worship, the recitation of mantras should start with Om.

Meera silently uttered Om Tat Sat, then pressed her two hands firmly against the stone ledge of the window and thought: “Work is life. There is no place here for sorrow, grief, or anguish. For in this world, no one belongs to anyone. Each person they come to perform their own duties. When that duty is over, the soul must depart.

Just as no one bears the share of another’s work, no one will bear the weight of another’s death. Therefore, if one sits steeped in grief and anguish, one’s work will be hindered.

Many memories from childhood tried to surface in her mind. But Meera seemed to push them all away. Her mother’s death was the first blow in her life, wounding her young heart unknowingly. That was the first stage of her trial by fire. Since then, she had had to endure many such blows. While a child usually grows up between father and mother, Meera did not have that chance. Being raised in the hands of a man like Rao Dudaji—a man of iron—she had been hardened from the very beginning. Then came one blow after another, all the intrigues of the family, leaving her battered. At one point Meera had conveyed her sufferings to her grandfather through a messenger. She had told him of the vile politics within the royal family of Chittor.

In reply, her grandfather had written her a letter saying: “Meera, read the Gita—it will bring an end to all the sorrows of your life. The men and women of your own Rathore clan have conspired together, and because of this, you are unable to make a place for yourself in your new family. What is new in that? It has been so since time immemorial. Remember the words of Shri Krishna in the very first chapter of the Gita. There, Shri Krishna stops the chariot between the Kauravas and the Pandavas and says to Arjuna, ‘O Partha, from here behold the Kurus gathered together.’ The use of the word Kuru here is especially significant, for it refers to both the Pandavas and the Kauravas. The Lord wanted that, on hearing this word, a sense of affection for his kin would arise in Arjuna’s heart. However sinful they might be, they were of the same blood, his own relatives. Even if, by killing them, Arjuna were to gain the sovereignty of the entire world, he could never truly enjoy that happiness. Such thoughts would stir questions within him, and at that moment, the Lord would speak from his own lips the words of the Gita meant for the people of the Kali Yuga.

If there is a boil on the body, it should be lanced and cleaned at the very beginning; then no problem will remain in the future.

In real life, we ordinary people—no matter how many faults our relatives have—cannot see those faults because of our attachment. This delusion It happens like this. This is simply how I feel. It is a physical impulse. Unless one is freed from it, divine love can never awaken. Attachment to kin leads a person away from duty. So think of yourself as Arjuna—standing between your two families, judge the present situation for yourself.

Unknowingly, a few drops of tears fell from Meera’s eyes. She wiped them away, sighed deeply, and gazed at the extraordinary beauty of the full-moon night, thinking to herself: “What has happened is for the good. What is happening is for the good. What will happen will also be for the good. What have you lost, that you weep? What did you bring with you, that you have lost? What have you created, that has been destroyed? Whatever you have taken, you have taken from here. Whatever you have given, you have given here. What you have today belonged to someone else yesterday, and will belong to someone else tomorrow. Change is the law of the world.”

Thus time continued to flow like a river. Now, at the hour of the evening arati, Meera went and sat in the Kumabhshyam Temple. Sannyasis came here from far and wide. As before, Meera discussed various important matters with these ascetics. One day, two monks from Bengal arrived and began to sing the Gita Govinda. Hearing the melody of the song, tears came to Meera’s eyes, her throat choked with emotion. She too joined her voice with theirs in the song. Everyone understood the Brajabuli language. Hearing its meaning, the devotees were deeply moved.

At the end of the song, an old woman said to Meera, “After the prince’s death, looking at the condition of the royal family, I don’t see any worthy heir in such circumstances. I also hear there is intense rivalry among the brothers. Ranima, whose side will you take among them?”

Meera thought for a moment, then said, “On this matter, let me explain a verse from the Dhritarashtra Uvacha section of the Gita. Then the situation will be clear to you.”

Meera recited:

Dharmakshetre Kurukshetre samaveta yuyutsavah

Mamakah Pandavas chaiva kim akurvata Sanjaya.

Dhritarashtra Uvacha — King Dhritarashtra said: Dharmakshetre — in the field of dharma; Kurukshetre — in the place called Kurukshetra; samavetah — assembled; yuyutsavah — desiring battle; mamakah — my party (my sons); Pandavah — the sons of Pandu; cha — and; eva — indeed; kim — what; akurvata — did they do; Sanjaya — O Sanjaya.

“Having assembled in the holy land of Kurukshetra, eager for battle — my sons and the sons of Pandu — what then did they do? Tell me, O Sanjaya, for my heart is filled with doubt.”

If I explain these two lines, it will be easier for you to understand. The meaning is that Dhritarashtra asked: “O Sanjaya, having gathered at the holy land of Kurukshetra with the intention to fight, what did my sons and the sons of Pandu then do?”

In this verse, the word Dharmakshetra (field of dharma) is especially significant, because in the battlefield of Kurukshetra, Lord Shri Krishna stood on the side of Arjuna and the Pandavas. Dhritarashtra, father of the Kauravas such as Duryodhana, was extremely doubtful about the chances of victory for his sons. In his wavering mind, he therefore asked Sanjaya: “What did my sons and the sons of Pandu then do?” He was certain that both his sons and the sons of Pandu had gathered on the vast field of Kurukshetra to wage war, yet his inquiry was meaningful.

He did not want any compromise or reconciliation between the Pandavas and the Kauravas, but he wanted his sons’ fortune in the war to be secured. This was because the war was taking place at the sacred pilgrimage site of Kurukshetra. The Vedas say that Kurukshetra is a supremely holy place, worshiped even by the gods. Therefore, Dhritarashtra was anxious about the influence this holy site might have on the outcome of the war.

He knew very well that the auspicious influence of this sacred place would be imparted to Arjuna and the other sons of Pandu, for they were all deeply devoted to dharma. Sanjaya, being a disciple of Vyasa, had been blessed with divine sight, enabling him to see all that was happening in Kurukshetra while sitting at home.

Thus Dhritarashtra questioned him about the situation in the battlefield.

The Pandavas and Dhritarashtra’s sons belonged to the same lineage, but Dhritarashtra’s The sentiment is evident here: he considered only his own sons as Kauravas and deprived the sons of Pandu of their hereditary rights. In this way, through his relationship with his nephews—the sons of Pandu—one can grasp Dhritarashtra’s particular mindset. Just as weeds are removed from a paddy field, so too, from the very beginning of the Bhagavad Gita, we see that in the battlefield of Kurukshetra, the Lord Himself, the establisher of dharma, was present to utterly uproot Dhritarashtra’s sinful sons and to restore the pious great souls under the righteous leadership of Yudhishthira. Beyond the Vedic and historical significance, the importance of the words Dharmakshetra and Kurukshetra can be understood in the context of the entire philosophical vision of the Gita.

The Pandavas, having never had their father with them, always regarded Dhritarashtra as their own father; they accepted his words—whether just or unjust—with bowed heads. But Dhritarashtra never once considered the Pandavas his own sons. He always wished for his sons to be the sole heirs to the entire kingdom, and he wanted to remove the Pandavas like weeds. That is why, when Duryodhana poisoned Bhima’s food and threw him into the river, or when Draupadi was humiliated in the dice hall, Dhritarashtra kept silent. If at that time he had regarded Pandavas and Kauravas equally, and had not condoned Duryodhana’s wrongful deeds, the war of Kurukshetra might have been avoided.

Therefore, I wish for no kind of civil war. I wish for peace in Chittor. That is why I will never commit injustice by taking any one person’s side. The Rana of Chittor is alive—he will, using his own judgment, decide the successor to Chittor.

For a while, all was quiet. From the orchard next to the Kumbh Shyam temple came the chirping of crickets. At this time, two or three elderly women stay in the temple; all of them live in the villages within Chittor fort. Their families have served the royal house for generations. They said to Meerabai, “We have never read the Gita. We only know that the Gita is our holy scripture, but we do not know what is written in it. Ranima, if you could sometimes explain the Gita to us, it would be wonderful.

Meera said, “I was thinking the same. It is time to reveal the mysteries of this scripture. In the present circumstances, its application to human life and society is extremely necessary.”

There was a brief silence, and then the two monks from Bengal said to Meera, “Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu wishes to unite all the Hindu kings of India. Given the current crisis in Chittor, he has advised you to be cautious, and you may communicate with him through a messenger whenever needed. And one more thing, Mirabai—we have come to deliver news to you: the Sultan of Malwa, Mahmud Shah, and the Sultan of Gujarat, Muzaffar Shah, are jointly planning to attack Mewar.”

Hearing this, Meera’s very soul trembled. That night, she secretly sent this news through her messenger to her father-in-law, Rana Sanga, in his palace.

Place: Chittorgarh Fort

The early morning has a completely different character. At this time, the world slowly begins to stir into activity. Meera now lives in Rana Kumbha’s palace. From the back of this palace, one can see far into the distance with perfect clarity. After bathing, Meera rises every morning, first offering worship to Giridharji, and then devoting some time to composing verses.

For she must fulfill her husband’s last wish. Bhojraj had perceived that extraordinary creative spirit within Meera and would never have allowed such a rare gift to fade away, for he understood that Meera had come to offer some exceptional treasures to the cultural treasury of Aryavarta. He had spent his life trying to keep her path free of obstacles, and even in his dying moments, he had cherished that same wish. Therefore, every morning after worship, Meera spends some time writing, and then goes to Gadadhar Pandit at the Kumbh Shyam temple. There, women from Chittor and the surrounding areas gather daily, and Meera holds discussions with them.

Standing by the window for a while, Meera saw a few royal officers riding on horseback in the distance. Her body felt especially weary today; she had not slept well the previous night. The reason was that she had sent a message to Rana Sanga through Gadadhar Pandit’s messenger. She had stood by this very window until deep into the night, waiting for a reply. Gadadhar Pandit had told her that if the message reached safely, someone would signal from the far distance with the light of a torch. And if no one came, it would mean the Rana was in danger.

Meera had stood there with her heart full of anxiety, until, around midnight, a tiny point of light flickered in the distance. Seeing this, Meera felt reassured. But having slept poorly, her body now felt strangely numb. She had barely managed to close her eyes before the first light of dawn broke.

That day too, early in the morning, Meera had just finished her bath and was sitting down for worship when Pannabai entered, bringing with her her son Chandan, Karmetbai’s two sons Vikramjit and Uday Singh, and her daughter Uda.

Seeing them, Meera exclaimed with delight, “Today my worship is truly fulfilled—Giridharji has sent His representatives to me so early in the morning; what more could I wish for? Come, Pannabai, sit here with them, today we shall all worship together.”

Looking at Udabai, Meera said, “Today Uda looks just like little Radha. When I was as small as Uda, I too used to dress up so beautifully and join my mother in offering worship to Thakurji.”

As Meera began the rituals, little Chandan and Uday Singh started crawling around the palace hall. Meera’s maidservants kept a watchful eye on them, while Pannabai, with Vikramjit and Udabai, watched the worship. At that moment, the sound of heavy footsteps rang out. Meera sensed that someone was approaching her palace. She preferred to conduct her morning worship in peace, but the sound of those steps made it clear that a haughty man was about to enter.

Her guess proved correct. Rana Sanga’s illegitimate nephew, Banvir, walked into her palace. The moment he saw Karmetbai’s children there, Banvir became visibly displeased. Meera could clearly read his state of mind just by looking at his face, yet she showed him no discourtesy. She simply said, “Come, Banvir, sit down. We will speak after I finish my worship.”

That day, Meera could not concentrate fully on her devotions. No matter how she tried, her mind would not settle. It felt as if a dark, ominous cloud was slowly engulfing all the auspicious energy around her. Uday Singh and Chandan were happily playing together, but suddenly Uday began to cry intensely. This was unexpected—Uday was not one to weep so easily. When Pannabai had brought him into the palace, his face had been as bright as a sunflower.

Meera turned to see Uday, crawling, had gone very close to where Banvir was sitting. Settling down there, he looked at Banvir and pouted as he cried. Banvir, however, was glaring at Vikramjit with a look of deep contempt. Seeing Meera watching him, he made an effort to appear more composed.

That day, Banvir’s arrival stirred a terrible apprehension in Meera’s heart.

After Banvir left, Pannabai said to her, “Rani-sa, did you see the look in that man’s eyes? How terrifying! I was afraid to even glance at him. And the way he warned you—that too was unusual.”

When leaving, Banvir had told Meera that she should confine herself to worship and prayer, and that if she interfered in any other matter, she would no longer be able to stay in Chittor. This meant that someone had sent him as a messenger. Whoever it was, their intentions were not good.

After Banvir’s departure, one of the maidservants said to Meera, “For this, Rani Dhanbai is to blame. The way she has become so ruthless in her bid for the throne—it’s truly disturbing to think about.”

Meera had erased all notions of high and low from her life. That was why she would often engage in various philosophical discussions even with her maidservants. Meera said, “Right at the beginning of the Shrimad Bhagavad Gita, the Lord warns us through the example of Dhritarashtra. In this context, King Dhritarashtra represents Queen Dhanbai.”

Pannabai replied, “Rani-sa, we are ignorant women. If you explain it a little, we can understand.”

Meera said, “Dhritarashtra was born blind, so the charioteer Sanjaya, through his divine vision, would narrate to him a detailed account of the battle. At that moment, Dhritarashtra commanded Sanjaya:

Dharmakshetre Kurukshetre samavetā yuyutsavah

Māmakah Pāndavāśchaiva kimakurvata Sanjaya?

We ourselves sow the seeds of hostility within our families and societies.

In the Gita, the words māmakah pāndavāśchaiva are an expression of that hostility. Let me give a brief explanation. The Pandavas regarded Dhritarashtra as equal to their own father and followed all his orders. Here, in addition to the word māmaka (‘my own’), the use of the word pāndava (‘sons of Pandu’) reveals Dhritarashtra’s inner attitude—he never considered the Pandavas as his own sons; to him, they were merely the sons of his brother. Often, the feelings in a person’s mind find expression in their choice of words. Here, Dhritarashtra’s mindset is revealed It became evident. For this reason, Dhritarashtra had to suffer the grief of the destruction of his own lineage. From this we learn that it is wrong to create the divide of “mine” and “yours” within one’s own family, village, or city and to spread the fire of separation. No one can ever truly thrive from it, because the wildfire of division slowly engulfs us all. It was from the very distinction of “my sons and Pandu’s sons” that the field for the war of Kurukshetra was prepared. The seeds of envy that Dhritarashtra sowed among his sons ultimately led to the destruction of his dynasty.

There are many families where elders instill the seeds of hostility among their own children. But this never brings anyone any good. Those who light such a fire are themselves consumed by that same blaze.

To the elders of the family, the Gita gives this advice: what you have achieved once belonged to someone else; therefore, what you possess has come from here, and you do not have the right to cling to it. Step aside for the next generation and move forward. Gradually free yourself from all attachments, for without doing so, liberation is not possible. Strive to free yourself from the entanglement of the cycle of life and death.

This is why Hindu scriptures forbid keeping banyan or peepal trees in the home—because each branch of such a tree symbolizes attachment, which holds the soil firmly in its grip. The Gita speaks of becoming free from all attachments. If the elders of a family do not take the path of liberation and instead bind themselves with the ties of worldly desires and cravings, then the next generation too cannot attain freedom. For from deprivation, attachment and desire only grow stronger.

The scriptures never give us false teachings. If each person were to guide their life by the lessons of the scriptures, human civilization and society would surely find a new direction. That is why every man and woman should read the Gita—because if the wisdom of the Gita is applied in daily life, such problems do not arise.

Queen Dhanbai is now plotting a vile conspiracy to place Ratan on the throne, and people like Banvir are taking advantage of it. But no one is born wicked. Once, Banvir too was as innocent and pure a boy as Uday or Chandan. Yet under the pressure of environment and circumstance, he has become the Banvir of today. It is because we all live in an unrighteous environment. That is why it is so necessary to establish a spiritual atmosphere. The maidservants were astonished at Meera’s words—how beautifully she explained the harshest truths of life. One maid, unable to restrain herself, asked, “Rani-sa, at this age, when such a great calamity has befallen your destiny, do you never feel any desire?”

Meera smiled gently and said, “You mean the desire for sexual union, don’t you? I understand—this question might naturally come to your minds: what is the desire for union, really? It is much like a disease—when it itches, you feel a kind of pleasure, but the more you scratch, the more the urge to scratch increases, until eventually it leads to bleeding. Yet humans are so foolish that they think such things bring the greatest happiness. It is like the camel eating thorns—the camel loves eating thorns, and while doing so, its mouth gets cut and bleeds, but it tastes the blood and thinks, ‘Ah, how delicious these thorns are.’

“Through sexual union, a person loses the very essence of life—semen—and thus becomes incapable of performing any great deeds. For the sake of a fleeting pleasure, people even sacrifice their lives. This is illusion. This illusion binds the soul to the material world. Therefore, if one seeks liberation from the material world, one must renounce lust.

“Any relationship that binds the soul in obligations is a form of slavery. That is why it is necessary to be free from attachment, otherwise liberation from this body is not possible. As long as there is a body, there will be these bonds of servitude. One must gradually free oneself from all forms of attachment.

“In truth, everything is a kind of emptiness. Nothing truly exists. Present identities, pride, ego, influence, status—none of these remain. Once on the funeral pyre, everything is finished. Only one’s deeds remain. But even those deeds are no longer mine after death.

“They remain as if in a dream—someone once existed, and their actions. The verses I am composing now as a Vaishnava poet may remain, but only under the name ‘Meerabai.’ That is all that will survive. Yet whatever served as the catalyst behind the creation of my ‘self’ will vanish like camphor. Nothing will remain except the work. All else is false. That is why I am gradually trying to free myself from all attachment. If I had a husband and children, I would fulfill every duty toward them, but I would do so with complete detachment from myself, focusing only on the work itself.

Meanwhile, upon receiving news from Meera’s messenger about the possibility of an enemy attack, Rana Sanga returned to Chittor. Nearly a month passed in the meantime, during which the Rana had rebuilt and strengthened his army.

Then came the day in question. Rajmata Ratan Kuwar Jhali was gravely ill. She was sitting on a white mattress spread in a corner of her chamber, while intense rays of sunlight streamed in through the nearby jharokha (arched window). In that beam of light, hundreds of specks of dust floated in the air. Meerabai was gazing intently in that direction.

Ratan Jhali asked, “Meera, what are you thinking about?”

Meera, still looking at the dust motes floating in the sunbeam, replied, “There are many invisible enemies around us, Dadi-sa, which the naked eye cannot see—yet they are extremely powerful.”

Outside, the sound of nakara drums and war trumpets was echoing. All of Chittorgarh was decked out for war today, for the Rana was heading into a fierce battle. The sounds of war music were rising from every direction.

In a voice heavy with fatigue, Ratan Jhali said, “I have called for Sanga; he will be here in a little while. Then you can tell him everything. Your father-in-law loves you dearly and values your wisdom greatly.”

Meera’s heart, however, was restless. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. For the past few days, she had been carrying within her the terrible vision of Chittor’s future. If Rana Sanga could see the picture she saw, perhaps this situation would never have arisen.

Just then, the Rana entered the Rajmata’s palace.

Bowing before her, he said, “Ma-sa, today I go into a terrible battle. Please bless me, so that I may return victorious.”

The Rajmata placed both her hands upon Rana Sanga’s head and blessed him, saying, “May you be victorious.”

Meera then stepped forward and welcomed the Rana by marking his forehead with a tilak. She touched flowers from Giridharji’s idol to his head and chest, then closed her eyes and murmured a prayer under her breath. After placing the ceremonial plate down, she bowed before her father-in-law. At that moment, the Rajmata said, “Today, Meera wishes to tell you something. Listen to her words before you go to battle,” the Rajmata said.

From outside, the sounds of war drums and trumpets floated in. Sitting beside his mother, the Rana said, “Speak, Meera. I will not go to battle without hearing what you have to say.”

Meerabai said, “Take Rani Karmet Bai and her children with you.”

The Rana, surprised, asked, “But how can I take them along in the midst of such a terrible war?”

Meerabai came forward and sat before the Rana. “You do not know, but within this fort, a terrible power has risen—one that wishes to remove Karmet Bai’s children.”

Rana Sanga asked, “Maldev?”

“Not just Maldev, Bapu-sa,” Meera replied. “There is another—Banvir.”

At the mention of Banvir’s name, the Rajmata said, “I had long ago told you to send that illegitimate boy far away from Chittor, but you did not listen to me.”

The Rana said, “Yes, a mistake indeed, Ma-sa. Among illegitimate children, the desire for power is often the strongest.”

Meera continued, “The other day, Banvir came to my palace. At the time, Pannabai was showing Giridharji’s worship to Uday, Uda, Chandan, and Vikramjit. I too was absorbed in the worship. When I saw Banvir, I was truly surprised. I turned and saw him staring fiercely at Vikram.

When he noticed me looking, he changed his expression and bowed to Giridharji.

I could sense that he had come to me with some ill intent. When my worship was over, I gave him prasad along with the others and asked, ‘Now tell me—what brings you to my palace today?’

Banvir looked carefully around my palace and said, ‘You seem to be doing quite well here. You spend your days in prayer and worship—very good. Try to ensure that you can live like this forever.

Then he looked at Vikramjit with a fierce, predatory glare and said, “Do not take any steps that would force you to leave Chittor and go far away.”

When he had finished speaking, he bowed to Giridharji and left. I understood that he had been sent as a messenger to deliver these words.

Rana Sanga said, “Uday is too young; I cannot take him to the battlefield. There will be no arrangements there for a small child’s food or medical needs. Besides, the one you fear is the obstacle in their way—Vikram. I will take Karmet Bai and Vikramjit with me instead. Let Udabai and Uday Singh stay with Pannabai. They will do nothing to them.”

Meera thought to herself that Bapu-sa was right. Vikramjit was Ratan Singh’s rival, so Uday Singh or Udabai were in no real danger.

Meerabai said, “Go to battle without worry. I will personally take care of Uday and Uda.”

Rana Sanga was silent for a while, deep in thought. The furrow between his brows and the look in his eyes showed that his mind was greatly burdened. After some contemplation, he said, “Ma-sa, I am grateful to you. That day, it was because of you that Meera did not have to become a sati. Even now, when I think of what would have become of Chittor without Meera, my heart trembles. I am grateful to Rao Dudaji, who trained his granddaughter in the ways of politics. Before her, I myself am like a child. That night, had Meera not sent me a message through the messenger, I would never have known of the enemy’s attack. It is for this reason that I allow Meera to keep contact with saints, ascetics, and all the people of Mewar. Because of her, I have had my entire subjects stand beside me. Ma-sa, you will be astonished to hear that the tribals of Kumbhalgarh have jointly expressed their desire to join me in battle. For all this, I am indebted to Meera.”

Meera said, “Bapu-sa, now that you have the support of the Kumbhalgarh tribals, your army must have become very strong, has it not?”

As she said this, Meera looked at her father-in-law in such a way that it seemed she was trying to read a particular thought in Rana Sanga’s mind.

Rana Sanga said, “Meera, our army has grown so strong that the enemy will scatter before it like dust.”

A trace of concern appeared between Meera’s eyebrows.

She said, “Bapu-sa, the Gita says that in politics, no matter how weak the enemy may seem or how strong one’s own side may be, one should never consider the enemy to be weak, nor should thoughts of neglect or complacency be allowed to arise. That is why, in the Mahabharata war, for the sake of caution, Duryodhana described the Pandava army to Dronacharya, saying:

‘Asmakam tu vishishta ye tannibodha dwijottama,

Nayaka mama sainyasya samjnartham tan bravimi te.’

But you are going to fight a righteous war (dharmayuddha), and so the Lord Himself will be on your side. The side that has both righteousness and God on it exerts a great influence on everyone — even on the most sinful and wicked persons. Not only that, but its influence extends to animals, birds, trees, vines, and all living things. For righteousness and God are eternal. No matter how powerful any worldly force may be, it is impermanent, that is, mortal. You will be victorious, have no fear.”

Rana Sanga said, “Meera, today I feel as though I am Arjuna himself. To free me from delusion, you have descended today in the form of Krishna; placing me between the two armies, you are showing me the true path. Like Arjuna, I say to you, ‘O Achyuta, place my chariot between the two armies.’”

Meera said, “Bapu-sa, free yourself from attachment to all perishable wealth and possessions, remember Shri Krishna, and dedicate yourself to the destruction of evil forces for the welfare of humanity. One who harbors attachment and infatuation for perishable riches, and in whose heart dwell unrighteousness, injustice, and ill intent, has no real strength. Such a person becomes hollow within and can never be fearless.

On the other hand, one who is devoted to following his own dharma and takes refuge in the Lord is never afraid. He remains ever certain and fearless. Therefore, all seekers who desire their own welfare should abandon unrighteousness, injustice, and all such evils in every way, and, surrendering solely at the feet of the Lord, should strive for the Lord’s delight that is why performing righteous acts is a duty. One should never, for the sake of worldly importance or lured by the temptations of pleasure, take refuge in unrighteousness. In the Mahabharata, Arjuna rejected the fully armed Narayani Sena and chose the unarmed Lord Shri Krishna. But Duryodhana rejected the Lord and chose the Narayani Sena.

The significance of this is that Arjuna’s gaze was fixed on the Lord, while Duryodhana’s gaze was fixed on grandeur and wealth. The one whose gaze is fixed upon the Lord has a strong heart, for the Lord’s strength is the only true strength.

“Bapu-sa, this is why you are feeling such strength within — because God Himself is with you. The common people of Mewar are a symbol of that divine presence.”

Rana Sanga placed both hands on Meera’s head and blessed her, saying, “May the radiance of your wisdom light up the entire world.”

The Queen Mother folded her hands in reverence and said, “All this is by the grace of my Guru, Saint Raidasji; it is because of him that we have Meera.”

Rana Sanga said, “Mother-sa, now grant me your permission.”

The Queen Mother embraced her son, kissed him on the forehead, and said, “Return victorious.”

After Ranaji left, Ratan Jhali said to Meera, “Meera, I feel so low in spirit. Sing me a song — whenever I hear you sing, all my sorrows vanish.”

Meera stood before the jharokha, where the sun’s rays mixed with drifting dust particles fell upon her body, and began to sing:

“Khaane ko tarasao,

thare kaaran kul jag chhadiya,

ab the kyon bisarao,

khaane ko tarasao,

Meera janam janam ri daasi,

bhakta pejh nibhaya.”

 

“I have hungered for you;

for your sake, I abandoned my family and the world.

Now why would you forget me?

I have hungered for you;

Meera is your servant, birth after birth,

upholding the honor of your devotee.”

(Continues)

Click here for Part-1, Part-2, Part-3, Part-4, Part-5, Part-6, Part-7, Part-8, Part-9, Part-10, Part-11, Part-12, Part-13, Part-14, Part-15, Part-16, Part-17, Part-18, Part-19, Part-20, Part-21, Part-22, Part-23, Part-24, Part-25, 

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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.