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, Dwarka

Saanj and Pratap, after offering prayers at the temple of Ranchhodji a little while ago, are now sitting by the sea. At sunset, nature is wrapped in a saffron glow, and even the waves of the ocean have taken on an ochre hue. It feels as though groups of monks are rushing in from the shore of the vast ocean. The sight is truly magnificent. After a while, a few monks came and began performing the ocean’s aarti. Behind them, a few others stood ringing cymbals and bells.

Saanj asked Pratap, “Pratap, tell me something — after returning to Vrindavan from Mewar, what happened to Meera?”

Meera was not well after arriving in Vrindavan. Various rumors began to spread about her. The sixteen years following Meera’s renunciation of Mewar completely changed the course of India’s history. Sher Shah captured Chittor. His authority over Delhi was firmly established. Humayun’s condition became dire. During this time, Uday Singh was supported in every possible way by Veeramdevji of Medta, so that he could be protected and later revive Mewar under his leadership.

Saanj, many say that behind all this was Meera herself. She secretly protected Uday. She had a deep maternal affection for him. Though she herself was never a mother, in Uday she felt the presence of her own child. Uday was her son in every sense; she never saw him merely as a younger brother-in-law. It was as though she had carried the misfortune of Mewar with her back to Vrindavan. She had left Vrindavan with the thought of spending her last years in Mewar, but her sudden return gave rise to gossip.

The slanderers began spreading rumors that Meera Bai was responsible for the death of Rana Vikramjit of Chittor. Her sudden departure to Chittor, and then, on the very day she set out from there, Vikramjit’s unnatural death — these coincidences raised many suspicions in the minds of the critics. Meanwhile, Banbir did not remain in Chittor for long…

He (Banbir) could not hold on to power; he was dethroned, and Uday Singh became the Rana. Once Uday Singh became Rana, he began to receive support from Medta and other powerful Rajput chiefs.

But Meera’s life turned into a dreadful dark dungeon. Even though she immersed herself completely in spirituality, hostility would not leave her. As a woman, her immense popularity was something even the Goswami community of Vrindavan could not accept. Saanj, you would be astonished to know that during her stay in Vrindavan, there were several attempts made to kill Meera Bai.

Once, she had gone with Champa and Chameli to bathe in the Yamuna. While Champa and Chameli sat at the ghat, Meera Bai was bathing in the river. Suddenly, Meera Bai cried out in distress, “Champa! Chameli! Save me, Kaliya Naag is pulling at my feet!” Now, we all know that the serpent Kaliya does not exist. So we can assume that some hidden enemy, skilled in diving, had come underwater to drown Meera in the Yamuna and murder her. On that occasion, Champa and Chameli saved her, but had she died that day, her death would most likely have been attributed to Kaliya Naag.

Toward the end, hardly anyone came to meet her in earnest. That is why she wrote: people no longer truly love one another. Narrowness has crept into human hearts. Out of self-interest, everyone has lost faith in each other. Yet, it is through small human love that one finds the way to the vast and the infinite. If one cannot love people, how will one love God? The greatest fulfillment lies not in receiving, but in giving oneself. In offering oneself lies the true strength that leads to the ultimate truth. But nowadays, no one wants to hear such words; everyone mocks them.

Still, there was one faith she continued to nurture within her heart. She would say: “The one you seek to know dwells within you, he is part of your very consciousness. Because he resides within you, you search for him outside. What is needed is yearning — a love that renounces all. Only then will he respond.”

But in the end, Meera could no longer remain in Vrindavan. By then, Kabir and Nanak had passed away. In Puri, Chaitanya Mahaprabhu had departed from this world. His…

Earlier, Chaitanya’s elder brother, Vishvarupa, had already departed. After Shri Chaitanya’s passing, one after another the Vaishnava monks began to disappear. A few years after Chaitanya’s departure, even Nityananda merged into Shyamsundar. It was mysteriously shown that one after another, the monks were merging into deities. At that time, Meera Bai sought refuge in Dwarka.

Do you know what I feel, Saanj? I think Meera Bai must have realized in some way that she was not safe in Vrindavan. Perhaps for the sake of survival, she took shelter in Dwarka. From speaking with the followers of the Meerapanth, I learned that Meera would not accept food prepared by anyone else; she ate only the food she prepared herself.

Saanj replied, “Then perhaps she had found proof that poison was being mixed into her food. That’s why she refused to accept anything not prepared by her own hands. Don’t you see? Before Mahaprabhu’s departure, the terrible madness that took hold of him — I believe even he was poisoned through his food. Otherwise, such an intelligent, rational, and balanced man would never have met such an end.”

Pratap sat staring at the sea. The crimson glow of the sinking sun reflected in the waters. His voice now carried a profound depth.

He said, “Saanj, what we see from the outside — within it there is another world, the real world. The danger comes when that hidden world is exposed outwardly. Then comes not only disgrace but often death. The same happened in the case of Meera Bai. She was driven out of Vrindavan with slander. They accused her of mingling with courtesans.

When she sat meditating beneath the Bansivat on the banks of the Yamuna, it was said that a courtesan used to watch her with deep devotion. When that courtesan was seen repeatedly in Meera’s circle of discussion, she was attacked within the assembly itself:

‘Aren’t you ashamed? As a saintly woman, how can you give a courtesan a place in your circle of devotees?’

In reply, Meera said: ‘No one is born a courtesan. It is society that has given her this identity. No one chooses to become a courtesan — it is society that makes her one. Before pointing fingers at her, we must first point fingers at ourselves.’”

We must point the finger at ourselves as well. Are we not, in some way, courtesans too? The body is not everything. In the struggle for survival in this world, do we not also barter away our inner soul? The body is but the chariot, while the soul is the charioteer. To dishonor that charioteer is the gravest sin. The woman you call a courtesan is, in truth, seeking a path of ascent from hell. She is striving to raise her soul to a higher plane. That is why she has come into the company of saints.

Hearing Meera’s words, everyone began chanting sadhu, sadhu in approval. At that moment, questions arose from different corners of the assembly: “Tell us something today about courtesans — their origin and their social position in ancient India.”

Meera replied: “Courtesans existed even in ancient India. To satisfy the demands of a patriarchal society, courtesans were created by society itself. In fact, they can be traced back to the Rigveda, India’s oldest scripture. As old as Vedic society is, so is the antiquity of prostitution. From the time society began accepting male ownership over women, prostitution began. From that point on, whenever a woman, outside the limits set by her family, offered her body to a man in exchange for wealth or material gain, she was branded as a courtesan or harlot.

The entire institution of courtesans revolved around female beauty and youth. According to the Vedic scriptures, the pursuit of Dharma, Artha, and Kama formed the Trivarga, the threefold goal of life. Ancient Indian literature connected desire (Kama) with both Dharma (righteousness) and Artha (wealth). The scriptures prescribed that Kama was complementary to Dharma and Artha.

In ancient India, with state funding and patronage, certain girls were trained from childhood in the sixty-four arts (Chausath Kalas) to become refined companions of men. Under state benevolence, these women, skilled in the arts of desire, entered adulthood with their bodies as their capital, stepping into a livelihood based on material gain.

It is impossible to trace exactly when women first began offering their bodies in exchange for value, but it can be said that once marriage and the family became established in society, and women lost their independence, courtesans were created to fulfill male needs. In the Vedic age, courtesans even had scriptural sanction. In the Chandogya Upanishad, the boy Satyakama Jabala, who had no knowledge of his father’s identity, was initiated into brahmacharya by Rishi Gautama. When Satyakama asked his mother, Jabala, about his father’s lineage…”

She (Jabala) could not give him what he wanted — the name of his father. She simply spoke the truth. Clearly, she did not hide anything. In the Vedic age, within the religious and social environment of that time, no one questioned Satyakama’s lack of paternal identity. Then why should it be questioned today? Jabala was never cast aside as a courtesan. If they were acknowledged back then, why not today?

Just as courtesans enjoyed royal patronage, they also paid regular taxes to the king. In return, the state granted them protection. There were also various punishments prescribed in case of any crime committed against a courtesan. Both the Arthashastra and the Smriti Shastras contain detailed regulations about this. In a caste-divided society where women held little value, courtesans were given legitimacy for their livelihood because of men’s needs. Patriarchy protected courtesans for its own interest.

One devotee asked: “Well then, how ancient is the existence of devadasis in temples? Was this practice present in religious places in ancient times as well?”

Meera paused for a moment and then replied: “It is difficult to say exactly when the devadasi system originated. However, the Arthashastra of Kautilya does mention them. Their duty was to perform dances in front of the deity during rituals and aartis. That was their primary role. Their secondary role was to satisfy the desires of the temple priests.

The devadasis were essentially courtesans of the temple. They received their sustenance from the temple authorities. And not just the priests — often, wealthy pilgrims who came to the temple seeking spiritual merit also had to be pleased by them.

Now arises the question: where did these devadasis come from? Many times, due to poverty, or in the case of illegitimate daughters, parents would either donate their child to the temple or abandon her in the temple premises. With royal approval and the support of temple priests, these girls were trained in music, dance, and the arts of pleasure, thus becoming devadasis.

Sometimes, a wealthy man could even purchase a devadasi from the temple. In that case, she was spared from being shared by many. Practices like these still exist today. Although the devadasis were given a place in the temple, society never gave them a place of honor.”

At this point, Meera stretched out both her hands toward that helpless woman and called her close.

No one had ever called her in such a way before, so at first she was stunned. Her body, her hands, her feet — everything seemed rooted to the ground.

She could not decide what to do. Then Meera Bai rose from her seat, went to her, lifted her by both arms, embraced her, and stood holding her for a while. After that, she turned toward the crowd and said: “Ancient society knew that, like every other profession, prostitution too was created to serve a section of society’s needs. A little girl is never born a courtesan. It is society that makes her one for its own needs. Yet the same society gives her neither place nor honor.

Vatsyayana compared the courtesan to a commodity. To reduce a human being to a mere object reveals the poverty of society. This is the greatest stigma upon it. The most astonishing fact is that prostitution arose and spread with the sanction of the lawgivers themselves. In ancient literature, men’s visits to courtesans were encouraged. They gave many instructions on how women should preserve their chastity, but they imposed no such restrictions on men.

Society branded a woman as a courtesan for being polygamous, but men who were equally — if not more — promiscuous, were never branded the same. Indeed, the greater guilt lies with men, because a woman is forced into prostitution, whereas a man becomes promiscuous by his own choice.”

Around this question of Meera’s, Vrindavan grew agitated. How could a woman speak such things!

“Look, Saanj, we must remember the time,” Pratap continued. “Five hundred years ago, for Meera Bai to argue in this way and attempt to establish courtesans within society was an act of immense courage. But light and darkness always coexist. Meera’s followers also began to grow in number.

Yet through long years of social hostility and pressure, Meera Bai grew profoundly lonely. She became strangely detached, lost within herself. The circles of Vaishnava philosophy continued, but Meera Bai drifted further and further into her inner absorption. Even while speaking, that divine trance could be felt in her.

As she spoke for long hours about the Vrindavan Lila of Shri Krishna, she would fall into ecstasy. Sometimes, while in the middle of speaking, she would suddenly drift inward, retreat to a corner of the ashram, and sink into meditation. In that meditation, Vrindavan’s…

In her meditations, Kunjbihari would appear before her. Seeing her Kunjbihari, Meera would sing to herself:

“Aaj ho dekhyo Giridhari, sundar badan, Madan ki shobha, chitvan aniyaari.”

(“Today I beheld Giridhari, with a beautiful face, more radiant than Cupid, whose glance is beyond compare.”)

But even here, little by little, she became isolated. Meera decided she would no longer remain in Vrindavan, for slander and neglect seemed never to leave her side. For how many years can one endure such scorn? At a certain point in life, such things no longer appeal to the heart. Meera Bai, along with Champa and Chameli, resolved to leave Vrindavan.

On the night before their departure, Champa asked Meera, “Bai Sa, so many people say so many things against you, yet you never protest. And they will not see your leaving Vrindavan kindly either. They will spread rumors that you fled out of fear.”

That night, Meera’s face was hidden in the darkness, but her voice carried a strange detachment. She said, “They behaved badly with me — that is their deed, and they will face its consequence. Who am I to punish them? If I were to behave badly with them in return, what difference would remain between them and me? I no longer find any joy in such things. I do not wish to stir in the mud of the world. Wherever I see mire, from there I will go far away.”

In the darkness, no one’s face could be seen. Either Champa or Chameli said, “Bai Sa, wherever you go, their people will follow. How long will you keep running away like this?”

Again, there was silence for a long while. Then Meera said quietly, “Until death comes… until then.”

Pratap continued, “After this, Meera Bai left Vrindavan and arrived in Dwarka. There she lived like an ordinary renunciate, taking shelter in the temple of Ranchhodji.”

Saanj asked, “Tell me, is there any history behind such a strange name as Ranchhodji?”

Pratap replied, “It truly is a curious name. Yes, there is a history behind it…”

I don’t know for sure, but there is a story. Let me tell you that story. After Shri Krishna killed Kansa and took over Mathura, Kansa’s wife went to her father Jarasandha and told him of her grief. Hearing of his daughter’s sorrow, Jarasandha attacked Mathura. Then Shri Krishna, taking his family with him, retreated to Dwarka. Since he abandoned the battlefield, one of the Lord’s names became Ranchhodji—“He who fled the battle.”

The original idol of this temple is now in Dakor, in Kheda near Ahmedabad. It is said that the Lord appeared in a dream to one of His devotees and instructed him to bring Ranchhodji from Dwarka to Dakor. The Lord also told him that if the priests refused to part with the idol, then he should give them as much gold as the idol weighed, and they would hand it over. Following this divine command, that devotee brought Ranchhodji to Dakor. If you go there, you will find that the hymns dedicated to Ranchhodji often recount this story.

But let us leave the matter of Ranchhodji aside now, and I will begin telling you about Meera Bai’s Dwarka years. Every morning and evening, Meera Bai would sit on the platform of Ranchhodji’s temple and sing devotional songs. One day, immersed in her singing, she sang:

“Dwarika ko baas ho mohi, Dwarika ko baas.

Shankh chakra hu, gada padma hu, te mite jam traas.

Sakal teerath Gomati me, karat sada nivaas.

Shankh jhalari jhanjhan baje, sada mukh ki raas.

Tajyo deloi bes patigrih, tajye sampatti raaji.

Dasi Meera maran aayi, tum hai ayo sab laaji.”

(The meaning: “May I dwell in Dwarka, the abode of the Lord with conch, discus, mace, and lotus, where all fear of Yama is destroyed. All the holy pilgrimages abide in the Gomati river. The conch and cymbals resound, and the eternal rasa lila plays upon His lips. I have abandoned husband, home, and wealth. Servant Meera comes at death’s door, O Lord, only You can uphold my honor.”)

The devotees coming to the temple passed her by. Here, Meera Bai was only an ordinary yogini. The princess of Chittor had no treasure other than devotion. Yet, even in her simplicity, she was extraordinary. When the song ended, she set her ektara aside and leaned back against the wall. Just then, Champa and Chameli came and said, “Bai Sa, Anant Mishra has arrived from Chittor.”

Meera Bai gave no reply and simply rested her back against the wall. At the mere mention of Chittor, the old wounds in her heart began to bleed again. That which is past, she no longer wished to cling to. She no longer wanted to look back. The clear, beautiful gift that God had given her…

He had once dragged her life into the mire, and she no longer wished to look back at that swamp. Chittor! The very name was entangled with dirty politics, family feuds, and violence. If someone had come from Chittor, it could only mean they had come to take her back there. But Chittor was now a land of ashes. Defeated by Akbar, Udai Singh had fled. Through the messenger of her trusted scholar Gadadhar Pandit, Meera had received the news: even though the Rajput chiefs fought valiantly, they could not save Chittor in the end. When the chief commander fell in battle, the women within the fortress began to prepare for jauhar (self-immolation). It is said that at first Emperor Akbar did not realize that Chittor had been defeated, but seeing fire and smoke rising from the fort, he understood that jauhar had begun—meaning Chittor had fallen.

This invitation from Udai Singh was nothing new. At the time of his coronation, he had already sent Meera Bai a letter:

“Bai Sa, today none of the great elders of Chittor remain alive. From childhood until now, you have protected me. The Rajput chiefs themselves told me that I grew up in your arms, on your lap. They say you even considered me as your own Giridharji. Then why have you gone so far away now? Without you my coronation is incomplete. I wish to see you by my side when I am crowned.”

To this, Meera Bai had replied:

“Udai, wherever I may be, I always pray for your well-being. But today I have distanced myself from the foul intrigues of the worldly court. When I lived in Chittor, all who were there were worthy of my reverence. I received much love and respect from them. But now I have reached the noonday of my life, and at this age it does not please me to suffer humiliation at the hands of my juniors. I am sending you flowers offered to Giridharji and the prasada of Ranchhodji—He will be the one to protect you.”

Later, when Akbar attacked Chittor, Udai Singh once again sent an emissary to invite Meera. But she rejected that summons as well.

Evening fell. This Gadadhar Pandit was a most extraordinary figure, a man of mystery, whose…

On that point I did not find any direct information, but even if Meera Bai herself was not directly involved in the politics of Chittor, the men of Gadadhar Pandit had gathered the Rajput chiefs together to aid Udai Singh. Gadadhar’s people summoned all the sardars, urging the generals and soldiers to fulfill their duty and rousing them with patriotism. A message had been sent to Chander’s envoy Shalusprapati Sahidas, to the Kailbapatis, to the lord of Bagor Sang, and to the feudatories of other clans. Among them were the Chauhans of Koteria and Vaidla, the Paramaras of Brijalli, Sankorpati Prithviraj, and Jitabata Lunakarn. All of them, it was said, would support Udai Singh in the war against Akbar.

Hearing this, Meera Bai felt reassured—for truly, this was a war of independence, and defeat here would mean the end of the Hindu people. During that time, she continued to keep herself informed of Chittor’s affairs through the messengers.

Sanjh said, “Truly, it is impossible to fully understand the character of Meera Bai—how many different forms exist within one being. At times I am amazed. In different places she seems to embody entirely different states of mind. From the outside, she looks like an ascetic woman, but inside she carries another form altogether. Truly, she cannot be understood.”

Pratap said, “Look at her network—from Dwarka she continued to influence the politics of Chittor and all of Rajasthan. Just as our Chaitanya Mahaprabhu influenced the politics of Odisha and Bengal, so did she.”

Sanjh replied, “Then this means that the Bhakti movement and its saints were deeply tied to politics.”

Pratap answered, “Of course it was so. Otherwise, how else could she, under the guise of a spiritual woman, have directed the politics of Rajasthan? Think about it. But let us leave that aside for now and return to the matter of Meera Bai and Udai Singh. Sanjh, here I want to make a brief comparison between Akbar and Udai Singh. They were roughly of the same age. But although Udai Singh was the son of Chittor’s proud line—descended from Rawal, Samar Singh, Veer Hamvir, and Sangram Singh—he was not, like Akbar, a shrewd, hard-working, and farsighted ruler. That is why Udai Singh was defeated in this war.”

But the history of this war was extremely dreadful. In the battle between Akbar and Udai Singh, Meera Bai lost one of her most precious treasures—something that left a deep impact on her life.

When Emperor Akbar was preparing to attack Mewar with sixty thousand soldiers, one night a rider galloped into the fort of Merta. In the darkness, between the flickering torchlight and the shadows on the fortress walls, the silhouette of a horseman appeared. The pounding of hooves echoed through the stillness of the fort.

Jaimal was in the northern palace of the fort. At night he usually preferred to rest quietly in his own way. But that night he was pacing restlessly from one end of the chamber to the other. Just then, an intruder appeared with the guards. On the wall, the restless shadows of two figures in conversation flickered. Out of the darkness came the sound of a vast army on the move, and gradually the dark canvas transformed into the image of a brightly lit day.

This great army was marching toward Chittor, led by Merta’s Rana Jaimal. When the army reached the outskirts of Ajmer, arrows suddenly rained down from all directions. Jaimal realized that they had been ambushed by the looting Rawat tribes of the Aravallis. But in such a situation, they could not afford to waste strength fighting bandits—for the defense of the motherland was their foremost duty. Moreover, Jaimal had been entrusted with this immense responsibility by someone he could not disobey.

All his life he had received affection and love from that person, yet he had never been able to give anything in return. Now, at last, he had the chance to repay that bond of Bhai Dooj. So, no matter what, he would fulfill this duty.

With Jaimal in this army were his brother-in-law Patt and his dear friend Pratap. At this moment, friend Pratap asked Jaimal: “Āṭe yā baṭe?” (Will you stand or will you retreat?). Then Jaimal shouted back, “Baṭe!” (We will stand!).

Receiving the signal from Jaimal, the soldiers left behind their wealth and possessions and marched forward. The Rawat bandits, delighted with the loot, were nonetheless troubled by a nagging question: What exactly did that word “baṭe” mean, and why had these men abandoned their riches instead of fighting? This question robbed the Rawat chief of his sleep that night.

Then he decided that he must find the answer. The Rawat chief, along with his companions, went to Nathdwara. At that time, Jaimal was offering worship to Shri Nathji in Nathdwara. When the Rawat chief met him, he asked, “Why did you leave without fighting? And what does ‘Āṭe yā Baṭe’ mean?”

Jaimal replied, “We will not waste our strength fighting you. We must march forward to protect Chittor from the Mughals.”

Hearing this, tears welled up in the Rawat chief’s eyes. He placed his turban at Jaimal’s feet and asked his own forces to join Jaimal’s army.

In response, Jaimal said, “You must give up looting and instead try to block Akbar’s army.”

Thus, Jaimal reached Chittor with his troops.

Saanjh added, “This Jaimal was indeed a very brave warrior.”

Smiling, Saanjh said further, “Of course—and you see, Jaimal had been rebellious and courageous since his childhood. From the very nature of a child one can often understand what he will grow into in the future.”

Pratap said, “When Jaimal reached Chittor, he began to safely escort the people of Chittor outside the fort. At that very time came the news that Emperor Akbar had surrounded the fort of Chittor with his army. Udai Singh was powerless to act, so he left everything to Jaimal.”

Saanjh said, “There was a reason behind this—and that reason was Meera Bai. Udai Singh himself was greatly dependent on Meera Bai, and he knew that Meera Bai had sent Jaimal for his protection.”

On Jaimal’s command, the nine gates of the Chittor fort were shut. Eight thousand Rajput soldiers remained inside the fortress. The war continued for five long months. The Mughals tried to tunnel beneath the walls of the fort to enter, while the Rajputs filled in those tunnels. When the Mughals blew up the walls with gunpowder, the Rajputs rebuilt them. The situation became so dire that even earth itself was in short supply. The Rajputs had to buy a bucket of soil from Mughal soldiers at the price of a gold mohur.

At this time Emperor Akbar sent a proposal to Jaimal, offering that he…

If Chittor were handed over to the emperor, then he would appoint Jaimal as the Rana of Chittor along with Merta. But Jaimal replied that as long as he lived, Akbar would never be able to conquer Chittor.

Yet what a tragedy—one night while Jaimal was standing and overseeing the repair of the fort walls, Emperor Akbar himself aimed and fired a cannonball at him. The shot struck Jaimal’s leg, which gradually became infected. Meanwhile, the stored provisions also began to run out.

In such dire circumstances, a harsh decision was made inside the fort. They resolved to perform jauhar and saka, for no other path remained open before them.

The jauhar kund was purified with Ganga water, sandalwood was laid inside it, and then it was set aflame. After this, several thousand Rajput women touched their husbands’ feet, offered their respects, took a last glance, circumambulated the jauhar kund, and leapt into the flames.

Afterward, the eight thousand soldiers kept vigil through the night. At dawn, they bathed, dressed in white kurta-pajamas, tied saffron-colored scarves with coconuts around their waists, and marked their foreheads with tilak made from the ashes of the jauhar kund. Then they began worshipping the Mother Goddess. For in truth, after jauhar, the Rajput army became like famished tigers.

Meanwhile, in the dark of night, when the Mughal army saw the flames rising from Chittor fort, they realized that jauhar had begun. The next morning, the final battle commenced.

At sunrise, one by one, the gates of Chittor fort opened, and from them emerged the brave warriors. Since Jaimal’s leg was wounded, he could not mount a horse, so he was carried on the shoulders of the valiant Patta Rathore to the battlefield. Jaimal and Kalla then fought with all their strength, wielding arms and legs alike in fierce combat. The Mughal soldiers were torn apart in the onslaught of the Rajputs. The waters of the Gomati River turned red with blood.

In this battle, a total of forty-eight thousand soldiers perished. Among them were eight thousand Rajput warriors, but before dying, they took forty thousand Mughal soldiers with them.

Emperor Akbar had always known how to honor the brave. He had heard tales of Chaturbhujji, but upon witnessing the valor of Jaimal and Patta with his own eyes, he saw before him the living embodiment of that legendary figure. Akbar, being one who respected heroes, had statues of Jaimal and Patta made from the likeness of those warriors of Chittorgarh, and with great procession, he took them to Agra. Along the way, thousands of people showered offerings upon those statues.

They showered flowers. Then, upon reaching Agra, those two statues were installed on either side of the Agra Fort. Even today, in the households of Rajputana, idols of Jaimal and Patta are worshipped.

Sanjh asked, “What happened to Meera Bai after Jaimal’s death? Since she loved him deeply, his death must surely have affected her!”

Pratap replied, “Women of Kshatriya families are always mentally very strong. Knowing well that Jaimal might die in battle, Meera Bai herself had sent him to defend Chittor. Jaimal embraced the death of a warrior while fighting. After his death, however, Meera Bai’s life did not come to a standstill. But she completely withdrew herself from political affairs. She never again extended any support to Uday Singh. A deep psychological reason might have worked behind this. Perhaps Meera realized that she had already given everything to Mewar. It is true that she had dedicated most of her life for the welfare of Chittor. Everything has its limits, and her giving of herself for Mewar had reached its final boundary. That is why she stepped aside. Perhaps Meera was seeking complete entry into the spiritual world, searching for a path of liberation from worldly life. For if we look closely at her entire life, we see that Meera Bai never lived for herself. Her whole existence was dedicated to the well-being of others. From the moment of her birth, she had been offered at the feet of Krishna; but by the final stage of her life, her outlook had changed to a great extent. That is perhaps why she suddenly vanished. I will speak of that disappearance later. But first, listen to how she reacted when Uday Singh sent his emissary to her! At that time, to Meera, Chittor and fire were synonymous. Why should she return to that all-consuming inferno again? As these thoughts crossed her mind, she closed her eyes, heaved a long sigh, and said, ‘Let me live a little now. I no longer enjoy worldly dealings. I no longer like them! Tell them to go away. Tell them Bai Sa is dead.’” (Continues)

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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.