Through this award-winning novel, the author has attempted to illuminate a lesser-known chapter of Meerabai’s life
Meera
By Debasree Chakraborti
Place: Vrindavan
Twilight sees Champa and Chameli walking with Meera on the road to Vrindavan. Before bidding a final farewell to Merta, Meera bowed for the last time before the deity of Chaturbhujji, then touched every tree, flower, and butterfly in the garden with tender affection, giving them her parting embrace. Twilight also witnesses how Merta’s peacocks, butterflies, and cuckoos follow behind Meera as she journeys toward Vrindavan.
Pratap said, “In the Bhakti movement of India, the simultaneous rise of so many saints within a hundred years was not an easy matter. Behind this lay a profound social and political context that acted as a catalyst. Before the rise of Meera Bai, for a long time foreign rulers had exploited India, and this had a devastating effect on Hinduism. Hindus were being forced into conversion. On the other hand, under the burden of superstition within Hinduism, people of lower castes were compelled to convert. In such a situation, these saints arose to protect Hindu dharma. At this time, a group of Vaishnava scholars such as Raghunandan compiled special portions from ancient scriptures in an effort to preserve Hinduism. But ordinary people lacked the ability to grasp the core meanings of these scriptures. That is why saints like these emerged — to present the refined essence of Hinduism to the masses.
But Saanjh, these saints did not begin their movements in the same manner everywhere. Their methods varied from place to place. Guru Nanak, for example, preached devotion to the formless God in his own way. On the other hand, Shri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu sought to erase all divisions among people of every class by spreading the chanting of the Hare Krishna name across India, and he established his representatives in Vrindavan. When Shri Chaitanya was devoted to uniting India in Krishna’s name, Meera Bai in Rajputana was spreading Krishna’s name into almost every household, before finally arriving in Vrindavan. From the text Bhaktamal, I had learned that Meera converted many into Vaishnavism — Jains, Shaivas, Shaktas, Muslims, and even non-Aryans.
Do you know, Saanjh, from this period onwards a strange transformation occurred in the iconography of Vishnu. Instead of the four-armed Vishnu, the image of flute-playing Krishna began to spread. Shamsuddin Iltutmish destroyed all the temples in Ajmer and established the Adhai Din ka Jhopra. From then gradually, Vaishnavism became firmly established in Rajputana. But enough of that, let me return to Meera.
In Vrindavan, Meera had to undergo a kind of trial. When she expressed the desire to meet Jiva Goswami, he refused, saying that he never met with women.
When this news reached Meera, she replied, “I had thought that in Vrindavan there is only one man — Purushottam Shri Krishna — and all others are his attendants, his companions in divine play. You will not meet me because I am a woman? Then what are you?”
Hearing Meera’s reasoning, Goswamiji later did agree to meet her. Gradually, she became deeply absorbed in Vrindavan. In the ashram of the devotee Sanatan she began her new life. Here she served Giridharji all day and sang to herself. After coming to Vrindavan, her spiritual life advanced greatly. For after her marriage she had grown weary of the vile political conflicts of the royal household. In Vrindavan, besides composing her own hymns, she also began to study Vaishnava philosophy.
Here a profound transformation came over her mind. She often wondered why she had become entangled in so many arguments during her years at Chittor and Merta. For a Vaishnava, arguing is as sinful as any other vice. In Vrindavan, she felt that she had not truly molded herself into a genuine Vaishnava. Sage Narada had said, one should never argue. The Vedas too declare: “Naisha tarkena matirapaneya achintyo khalu ye bhaga nastam tarken yo jayet.” Vasudev Sarvabhauma had said:
“Why should one engage in argument with the jackals of logic?
How then can the mouth utter the holy name of Krishna?”
In Vrindavan, through association with saints and daily scriptural discussions, Meera’s thoughts began to change. She remembered Jiva Goswami. At first, she had been captivated by his vast scholarship and longed to engage in scriptural debate with him. But he initially refused, saying that discussion with women might disrupt his spiritual practice.
To this, Meera had replied, “Why do you think yourself a man? In Vrindavan there is only one true man — the flute-bearing Krishna, lover of Radha. If you consider yourself a man, then Bansidhari Krishna must leave Vrindavan. Would you wish that?”
Jiva Goswami had no answer to this. He agreed to engage in discussion with her. From their conversations, Meera realized his learning was vast as the ocean, yet he never argued. He sought scientific explanations behind both worldly and spiritual activities. Yet his elder brother, Rupa Goswami, though a conqueror of scholars, was as tranquil as the ocean’s depths, never arguing nor associating with logicians. This is why, when Jiva Goswami once engaged in debate with an arrogant scholar, he was rebuked by Rupa Goswami — a story much told in Vrindavan, which Meera had heard even before meeting him.
After arriving here, Meera was torn by inner conflict. She often thought that all this time she had treated reason as the path to liberation, giving less importance to devotion. In Vrindavan she discovered a new way. Very early in the morning, when she went to bathe in the Yamuna, she saw Sanatan absorbed in worship in the temple, far ahead of her in the path of devotion. Meera hastened toward the Yamuna. The first rays of dawn were just falling upon the river. Emerging from her bath, her entire body glowed with a saffron aura. Before her stood the Bansivat tree. Without delay, Meera went and sat beneath it. From the time of her arrival, she would sit daily under Bansivat, meditate, and then sing. That day was no different. After meditation she began to sing:
“Play the flute, Giridhar Lal, play the flute.
Take the seven notes and let the murali resound.
On the banks of Kalindi, I hear its sweet call.
All my pitchers, all my chores I abandon,
Summoned by the flute to the kadamba groves.
Even when restrained, the flute’s call forever reaches me.
O Lord, you have stolen away my treasure of love,
All my wealth of the mind. Tell me now, when will you set me free?”
When her song ended, Meera looked up and saw the devotees sitting before her, listening with rapt attention, their faces glowing with deep devotion. Clad in wet garments after her bath, absorbed in meditation, Meera looked like a saintess from afar. Just as bees rush toward the lotus, devotees were drawn to the power of her song and her form. At their request, she began to hold daily gatherings on Vaishnava philosophy.
One evening, Meera convened such a discussion in the ashram courtyard. By then her fame had spread far and wide. Crowds of people came to hear her expound on Vaishnava teachings. Her words carried such depth that the listeners lost awareness of their physical selves, swept away in a current of spiritual ecstasy.
Pratap said, “Saanjh, on the day I speak of, Meera was explaining the essence of Vaishnavism. She said:
‘The human mind is not composed of the same elements in everyone. There are variations. Each person has both noble and ignoble tendencies, but in different proportions. If lust, anger, violence, and hatred dominate, such a person is said to have pashu-bhava (animal nature). If compassion, kindness, devotion, and gratitude prevail, such a person is said to have deva-bhava (divine nature). The lowest state of mind is animal-like, the ordinary state is human, and the highest is divine.
The evolution of these states is intertwined with the history of life’s evolution itself. Differences in temperament are largely innate, though circumstances also influence them.
For the welfare of the world, whosoever, in whatever place, form, or language, tramples animal nature and establishes justice and compassion — that person is a true Vaishnava. Whoever, stern yet sweet in tone, declares that even if heaven itself were to shatter, the reign of justice must prevail — that person is a true Vaishnava. Vaishnavism is the religion of justice and peace. All are equal, none is the master of another, all are each other’s helpers, and every living being is worthy of compassion. No one may injure another for selfish gain. This dharma sees the mighty and the mosquito with the same eyes. It admits no indulgence, no luxury, no hierarchy. This dharma raises humans from the animal state to the human state, and from the human to the divine. Through the name and worship of Krishna, animal impulses vanish from the mind, and the craving to consume other beings disappears. This is the essence of Vaishnavism. Whoever is filled with hatred, arrogance, lust, or greed is no Vaishnava. Religion without inner substance is nothing but a shell.
Whoever directly experiences the loving hladini shakti, who rises or strives to rise from bestiality to divinity through love — that one is a true Vaishnava. The core teaching of Vaishnavism is to become humbler than a blade of grass, more patient than a tree, to forget one’s selfhood, and to dedicate one’s life for the sake of others. Vaishnavism is the religion of those endowed with divine nature.’
Before ending her discourse, Meera said, ‘I shall conclude with the words of Saint Kabir, who said:
“My long-cherished hope — when will that blessed day come,
When all human hearts will smile in supreme love?
When, in the name of the Creator, in this mortal world,
The banner of love and victory shall fly?”’”
Brothers will embrace each other in joy, forgetting all divisions.
Everyone’s heart will long to dedicate themselves to the welfare of others.
All will perceive the immortal beauty within one another.
The ruler, the king, and God Himself—only the scepter of rule will be pure love; the goal of all will be radiant knowledge and fragrant devotion.
The day this happens, that day the chief purpose of Vaishnavism will be fulfilled. That is why it is written in the Rigveda:
“Bhadram no apibataya manah” — meaning, we must guide our minds along the path of righteousness.
Because of the charm of Mirabai’s style of speech, the number of devotees grew day by day. People from villages around Vrindavan also rushed to catch a glimpse of her. Mira—on one side, a princess, daughter of a king, on the other, the bride of the royal family of Mewar—yet how simple her way of life! Looking at Mira, no one could guess she was a queen. Renouncing all pleasures and worldly desires, she lived like an ascetic. Another great attraction of Mirabai was her beauty. Her radiant beauty seemed to light up everything around her. Humans are worshippers of beauty, and Mira attracted people with her glow.
At the dusk of the medieval world, Mirabai, though a woman, lived according to her own will. Whenever restraints were imposed on her, they never lasted long. That itself was no small protest. By her own life, she built a strong rebellion against the patriarchal society.
Sanjh said, “Pratap, one thing is clear—that after coming to Vrindavan, the spiritual chapter of Mira’s life began. I mean it in that sense.”
Pratap replied, “You are right. Mira’s spiritual journey, in that sense, truly began in Vrindavan. Devotees spent long hours discussing with her. They discussed Vaishnavism and philosophy. Mirabai described the essence of religion in such simple words, in a way they had never heard before. These discussions would take place beneath the Bansivat tree by the Yamuna. One day the devotees asked Mira, ‘What is Vaishnavism? When did it arise? Please tell us something about it.’”
Mirabai said, “Vaishnavism is an ancient religion. But when exactly it arose, there is no definite way of knowing today. About the marriage customs of the early Vaishnavas, nothing is known either. Nor can we clearly say how Vaishnavas worshipped during the times of the Ramayana, Mahabharata, or the Puranas. But there is no doubt that devotion is very ancient. Reading the Vedic hymns makes it clear that they are filled with devotion and reverence for the gods. I will present one annotation:
‘Dataro bhimatanam, bhaktebhyo’ — meaning, those who grant the desires of devotees, they are the gods.”
Upon the rituals of the Aranyakas and Upanishads was established the path of devotion. Therefore, Ramanuja, Madhvacharya, Baladeva and other devotional Vedantists accepted the Upanishads as their epic foundation. In the Katha Upanishad and in the four Vedas there are some discussions of devotion. Nilakantha, in his commentary on the Mahabharata, mentions the Vedic origins of devotion. However, the word “bhakti” itself is not very ancient—it is not found in the Vedas or earliest Upanishads. The word first appears at the end of the sixth chapter of the Shvetashvatara Upanishad:
“Yasya deve para bhaktir yatha deve tatha gurau,
Tasyete kathita hyarthah prakashante mahatmanah.”
Meaning, the truths spoken here are revealed only to the great soul who has supreme devotion to God and equal devotion to his guru. In this verse, the personality of God is strongly affirmed. What is referred to here as Deva is essentially what we now call Bhagavata-Vigraha (the divine form of God).
The Shvetashvatara Upanishad is later than the other ancient Upanishads, but just before the Bhagavad Gita. It seems that from this verse, the technical term “bhakti” arose. After its mention there, the word “bhakti” gained wide prominence in the Bhagavad Gita. In other parts of the Mahabharata too, especially in the Narayanīya Parva, in the words of the dying Bhishma, we find references to the technical sense of “bhakti.”
But in truth, none of this detailed knowledge is necessary. One should meditate on God from the heart, serve living beings, and move forward with goodwill. Devotion to God is the ultimate essence. One must experience that divinity within oneself, establish divine qualities within, and dedicate one’s life to serving the world.
Hearing Mirabai’s words, everyone was astonished. In Vrindavan her teachings spread from mouth to mouth. But detractors were never absent. Even there, people criticized her. Mira sang ceaselessly, danced in ecstasy—many could not accept it. They said, “What kind of devotee is this, who spends the whole day singing? She rejects caste distinctions and says everyone is equal. She mingles with everyone. She doesn’t even look like a queen.”
Champa and Chameli told Mira, “Bai Sa, people here also criticize you. They say that being a woman, you are too popular, and out of envy, they mock you. They say, ‘No one will remember your songs. Your songs are only filled with desire. Soon everyone will forget you.’”
Mira simply smiled. She said, “They judge everyone by their own outlook on life. If we do the same, what difference will there be between them and us? Then we too become like them, isn’t it so?” Hearing this, Champa and Chameli wept.
In Vrindavan, enemies arose openly against her. Earlier they only criticized her in her absence, but now they attacked her publicly in her gatherings. Mira recognized many of them, for they were always present, trying to humiliate her with their questions.
One day someone asked, “Tell us, who is a true Vaishnava?”
Mira paused, looked at him, and replied, “One who worships Vishnu is a Vaishnava.”
Immediately, they pressed further, “That is too short, we cannot understand. Please explain properly.”
Realizing their intent was to insult her in public, Mira calmly smiled and said, “A true Vaishnava is one who treats all beings equally, behaves with Vaishnava-like conduct, and dedicates all actions to Lord Vishnu.”
She then quoted:
“Lobham moham mada-krodha-kamadi-rahita, sukhi, Krishna-sharana, sadhu-sahishnu, sama-darshana.”
Again they insisted, “Still we don’t understand, please explain more.”
Mira replied, “One who surrenders completely at Krishna’s feet, renounces all attachments, remains joyful in heart, sees all equally, and endures suffering—that person is a Vaishnava.”
And she recited further verses describing a Vaishnava—content, self-controlled, devoted to Hari’s feet, peaceful, free from malice, humble, pure, compassionate, detached from pride and enmity.
Her answers silenced the critics.
Mira then said to all, “Those who love me, who feel enriched by my words, may attend my gatherings. Those who think my singing, dancing, and discussions offend propriety—please do not come. Everything is karma. Those who come here act by one kind of karma; those who avoid, by another. Two different kinds of minds cannot always be one. In the Bhaktamala, there is a beautiful story I wish to share…”
She then narrated the story of the thief who disguised himself as a saint, only to be transformed by divine grace when the king offered his daughter to him. The thief renounced his old ways and surrendered to God.
Mira concluded: “From this, we learn that association with saints is the only way to attain God.”
She quoted from the Bhagavata Purana, where Krishna Himself told Uddhava that not yoga, nor sankhya, nor austerities, nor sacrifices, nor rituals, nor pilgrimages—none equal the power of saintly association, which can liberate even birds, beasts, and outcasts.
That day in the gathering, Mira was praised with cries of victory. Even those who came to oppose her bowed their heads, and eventually became her devotees.
Thus, time flowed on. Meanwhile, many from Chittor visited Vrindavan and met Mirabai. On returning, they said, “Bai Sa did well to leave Chittor. Away from its dirty politics, her spiritual growth blossomed. Like a lotus unable to bloom in muddy waters, Mira bloomed only after coming to Vrindavan.”
Mirabai herself felt the same, and gradually established herself firmly in Vrindavan.
After Mira left Chittor, it seemed the city was left orphaned. From the day she had arrived, she had protected it, but after her departure…It seemed as if everything had come to an end. Everyone began to blame Vikramjit for Meera’s departure from Chittor. Moreover, due to Vikramjit’s inept rule, fires of rebellion flared up all around. In such a dreadful situation, the Rajput nobles invited Bahadur Shah, the Sultan of Gujarat, to attack Chittor in order to dethrone Vikramjit.
One deep night, torches flared along the borders of Chittor. From the fort’s ramparts, the sentries thought there had been a fire at the frontier. Messengers disguised in nearby villages tried to peer out from the bushes to see who these men were. It was clear that a foreign enemy was attacking, but where they had actually come from remained uncertain. In the darkness of night, the attacking king’s banner could not be recognized. After an entire night of trying, at dawn the torchlight revealed the flag of Bahadur Shah.
From all corners of Chittor, horsemen sped toward the fort to bring the news. Hearing of Bahadur Shah’s assault, Rana Vikramjit was seized with terror—for he had not yet forgotten the dreadful experience of being in the Sultan’s presence. After his father’s defeat and the humiliating treaty that followed, he had been forced to live a captive’s life inside the Sultan’s harem. The Sultan had forgotten that Vikramjit was but a child. That was why he had subjected him to his vile, lustful impulses. Day after day, the Sultan’s lust consumed him, robbing Vikramjit of his manhood.
This was the reason he was different from everyone else. Vikramjit knew that because of this, the people of Chittor—his own mother Karmetbai included—did not like him. How could his character have been formed otherwise? At the very age when character should have been shaped, what a terrible life he had been forced to endure—a life so shameful he dared not speak of it to anyone. And who was there to confide in? No one had ever thought of him as their own, no one had cared to know his sorrow. He had thought of Meerabai as his own, dearest of all. Yet, the loathsome image of her that he had been shown filled his heart with contempt for her.
But that impression of Meera had been planted by Banbir. Even today Vikramjit had not fully believed what Banbir said about her. Still, Banbir was the one he trusted most. It was by believing Banbir’s words that he had treated Meerabai so harshly. Vikramjit also knew that defeat at the hands of the Sultan of Gujarat was inevitable. But what if, after his defeat, the Sultan imprisoned him again? Then that vile life would begin all over again. No—never again. Having once escaped, he would never return to that life under any circumstances.
With these thoughts tormenting him, before the first light of dawn, Vikramjit abandoned Chittor and set out in disguise on the road to Bundi. As soon as news of the Rana’s flight spread like wildfire, the people of Chittor were thrown into panic. After Rana Sanga’s death, the army of Chittor had grown terribly weak. Years without warfare had dulled both their weapons and the strength of the soldiers. In Rana Sanga’s time, before every battle, he would summon the chiefs, devise a strategy of war, and only after long preparations would the march to battle begin.
But after Rana Sanga’s death, two Ranas had ascended the throne. Of them, though the people of Chittor had reluctantly accepted Ratan Singh as their ruler, Vikramjit they could never accept. Once again, the women of every household in Chittor began to prepare themselves for sati.
Meanwhile, when the news of Vikramjit’s flight reached Queen Dhanbai and Karmetbai, Queen Dhanbai said, “I have long cherished the wish to take part directly in battle, and today that wish is about to come true. Clad in battle armor, with weapons in hand, I shall fight on the battlefield myself. Commander, instruct the soldiers to make ready.”
Queen Karmetbai replied, “It is impossible for us alone to defeat the Sultan of Gujarat. We must seek the support of a greater power. I have heard that the Mughal Emperor Humayun is a most compassionate and learned man. For this, we can surely appeal to Humayun for help.”
Queen Dhanbai said, “Karmetbai, if that is possible, it would indeed be wonderful. Do one thing—write a letter to Emperor Humayun at once.”
Karmetbai said, “Yes, I have thought of a way. I believe if we follow this path, we shall surely succeed.”
Dhanbai asked, “What way have you found? Tell me clearly.”
Karmetbai replied, “There is no bond deeper than that of a brother and sister. Therefore, I shall send a rakhi to Emperor Humayun. Along with that rakhi will go a letter in which I will appeal to him for aid. Queen Dhanbai said, “There can be no better proposal than this. By tonight, a messenger will set out for Agra with your letter and the rakhi.”
That night, Karmetbai wrote a letter to Emperor Humayun:
“Respected Brother,
At the outset of this letter, I offer you my deepest respects. Today, your unfortunate sister, along with the thousands of sisters who shelter under her, stands at the threshold of death. Chittor is under attack by the Sultan of Gujarat. After the death of my late husband, the backbone of Chittor has been broken. In such a situation, I appeal to you for help. Protect us, dear brother.
Yours,
Your sister, Karmetbai.”
(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, Part-26, Part-27, Part-28, Part-29, Part-30, Part-31, Part-32, Part-33, Part-34, Part-35, Part-36,
__________________
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.
