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

Meera

By Debasree Chakraborti

Meera once again closed her eyes and began to sing:

“Hari, remove Janaki’s sorrow. Protect Draupadi’s honor, you who gave her endless cloth. For the sake of your devotees, O Lord, you take form yourself. You killed Hiranyakashipu without hesitation. You saved the drowning elephant from the river. Your maidservant Meera surrenders to you, O Giridhar, who relieves suffering everywhere in the world.”

After Uday Singh became Rana, he sent messengers many times to bring Meera back, but she never returned. The reason was her extremely bitter past experiences. She had loved Vikramjit like her own son, and during his time of hardship, she had gone back to Chittor to protect him. But in return, she came back with a heart full of insults and humiliation. No more—enough was enough. Let everyone face the fruits of their own deeds; why should Meera bear the burden of others’ karma? When she was younger, she did all this many times, but now she was older and wiser. Experience had wounded her deeply and made her mature. With the blood from her wounds, she wrote her songs of devotion, and these bhajans became her very life. She would not look back anymore. The time had come for her to be free.

Pratap said: He had kept the grief of his brother’s death very carefully buried deep in his heart, and that perhaps made him much more mature. And for whom should Meera send help now? Uday Singh? He was as much a coward as his elder brother Vikramjit. How could the son of Rana Sanga turn out to be such a coward? It truly amazes me. Whenever Chittor was attacked, Uday Singh would run away. When Sher Shah attacked Chittor, Uday Singh opened the royal treasury before him and said, “Loot whatever you want and leave.” He did the same even during Akbar’s time. And how much could the Rajput chiefs do? Uday Singh had not even made Rana Pratap his heir at first. Rana Pratap had to struggle greatly to claim his rightful inheritance. After Rana Sanga, if there was any truly heroic son in this family, it was Rana Pratap. All in between were unworthy

Because of Singh’s cowardice, Mewar became divided into two parts—Chittor and the plains came under Akbar, while the hill regions remained under Uday Singh. Yet Meerabai had once sent a group of tribal communities from Mewar to help Uday Singh. But Uday Singh did not grant them settlement in Udaipur. Later, these same people helped Rana Pratap in his wars against Akbar.

Between evening and night, the two of them were gazing at the sea. There was a tone of sorrow in Sandhya’s voice. She said, “I truly feel so much pain for Meerabai. Even after handling so many things single-handedly, she could not protect everything. And somehow it seems to me that all the responsibility was hers alone. No one else had any responsibility. If things turned out well, others took the credit, but if anything went wrong, Meerabai was blamed. Pratap, just think about it—our society has always placed women below men. But look at Meerabai. How, five hundred years ago, she alone shaped the politics of Rajasthan and even of India. We must not forget the time she lived in.”

Pratap replied, “That is exactly why Swami Vivekananda said that what fifty men cannot do, one woman can. But there’s another aspect—we must remember that Meerabai was not truly alone. She was connected to a vast network. Across India, the Bhakti movement was being organized. Even in Vrindavan and Dwarka, Meerabai did not find peace, because there she realized the greedy mentality of the temple priests and the heads of ashrams. She saw that those who claimed to be true Vaishnavas were more interested in outward display than genuine devotion. Instead of striving for God through solitude and meditation, they were more eager to gather crowds. This meant everything was superficial, with no real depth.”

Meerabai never believed in beating the drum to attract attention. She always used to say, “Only those who truly like my words and songs should come. Those who do not, need not come at all.” Through this, while her circle of admirers grew, her number of enemies also steadily increased. Meerabai spent most of her life surrounded by jealousy and hostility, yet she responded to even her bitterest enemies with affection and love.

She had tried to forget, but the same thing happened again. Failure forced her to withdraw from everything. In such moments, she often remembered her spiritual master, Ravidas. Ravidas used to say, “The true Guru is the one to whom you can surrender yourself completely. He alone is the Sadguru.” Though Ravidas was by caste a chamar, he was a man of true spiritual wisdom. As the saying goes, “There is no one higher than the Guru; therefore the Guru must be worshipped with utmost reverence. For the disease of worldly existence, there is no better healer than the Sadguru, just as there is no better physician.”

Meerabai often thought, “I will remain under the shelter of that supreme Guru.” With this thought, she would engage herself in devotion through song, singing:

“The glance of my Beloved is like a dagger of love.

When it strikes, I lose all sense and reason.

My body and mind are filled with love, intoxicated by devotion.”

While singing, Meerabai would often slip into deep meditative trance, leaving people astonished. How could a widowed princess of a royal family live the life of a homeless ascetic? Only by looking at Meerabai could one understand this truth.

In Vrindavan, many people recognized her, but in Dwarka, hardly anyone knew her. Even there, however, as a woman ascetic, she began to grow popular, something the prominent Gosains and scholars could not accept. They had large ashrams, vast networks of publicity, and yet fewer people came to them. But Meerabai, a destitute wandering ascetic, was drawing great crowds of devotees. This was intolerable. They began to say, “Meerabai cannot be allowed to stay in Dwarka for long. A woman’s greatest ornament is her honor. If that honor is destroyed, she will either think of suicide or run away. And if she chooses neither, then there are other ways to remove her.”

In Dwarka, Meerabai suffered several attacks over time. She used to hold gatherings where she explained the philosophy of Vaishnavism, and many people would attend these assemblies. One evening, outside the temple, she began a discussion gathering. There she was asked: “What is the main source of Mirabai’s bhajans?”

That evening, when she came to the gathering, Meerabai saw a huge crowd. She noticed many new faces among them. Whenever new people came to her assemblies, her heart trembled, for her past experiences had not been good. Lifting both her hands, she signaled everyone to sit and said: “The main source of my songs is devotion. To center one’s thoughts on devotion, and to live life through devotion—this is my inspiration

I compose my bhajans out of devotion, and if, by listening to them, anyone begins to think of freeing themselves from worldly bondage, if they surrender at the feet of Shri Krishna—then that itself is my liberation. The further I progress successfully on this path, the more I shall feel myself freed from the maze of birth and death. For I am trying to lift myself from this mud-soaked road of life and reach a green field, where beneath the blue sky I may behold Him directly and open myself fully.

A new face in the gathering stood up and asked Meerabai, “So, your Shri Krishna is the sky, is that right?”

Meerabai smiled and replied, “My Shri Krishna is you, all of you. To put it more clearly, He is my country. Everything that exists within a land, in its entirety, is Giridharji. And I am His handmaiden.”

The assembly broke into commotion. Some shouted, “Enough of your words! We know very well the crooked lanes of your so-called path of devotion. A widow who sings and dances in the streets—do we need anyone to tell us what kind of character that is?”

Meerabai closed her eyes, and tears streamed down her face. She began to sing:

“Make Meera a true servant of the Lord.

Release me from false illusions and snares.

Even if I make countless mistakes,

Let the boat of wisdom carry me across.”

Pratap remained silent for a while, gazing at the sea. How long he kept staring, neither he nor Sandhya knew. After a long time, Pratap said, “Sandhya, do you see this vast ocean? This ocean is Meerabai. Look at its immense, turbulent waves—see how they express their wildness. If this mighty ocean is Meera’s life, then what treasures lie hidden within it, none of us truly know. Such is her life.”

Towards the end, Meerabai’s health in Dwarka began to decline. At times she would faint, foam would come from her mouth. But never before, prior to coming to Dwarka, had such ailments been seen in her. Her body had grown extremely frail. For days she could not even step outside her ashram room.

About Meerabai

During my research, I learned that Meerabai used to be carried and seated on the stone platform (chatal) of the Ranchhodji Temple. There, leaning against the wall, she would gaze upon the Lord. In time, through the care of Champa and Chameli, she gradually recovered. But what could have been the cause of such illness? Was it only due to mental unrest that she fainted so often—or was poison involved? I have often thought that perhaps someone, out of enmity, had mixed something into her food, which left Meera sick for a long period. Unknowingly, she had turned into the enemy of many. On one side lay the filthy politics of Chittor and Merta, and on the other, the politics of the Vaishnav sects in Vrindavan and Dwarka. Caught between the two, Meerabai became strangely altered. After the loss of one loved one after another, in the final stage of her life, no one remained at her side except her devotees. But even that community of devotees gradually began to withdraw from her, driven away by conspiracies. Through such plotting, she was isolated from everything and left in loneliness.

It was during these days that one evening Meerabai was watching the sandhyarati at the Ranchhodji Temple. People came from far and wide to hear her sing, and perhaps it was for them alone that she was still alive.

Even after the evening ritual ended, Meerabai would sit in the temple for a while. That day too she remained seated. At that moment, three shadows appeared on the temple platform. Meera, absorbed in gazing at Ranchhodji, did not pay much attention. After all, countless people came and went in this temple every day. But then she heard a very familiar voice calling her: “Bai Sa!”

“Bai Sa”—that was how the people of Chittor addressed her. But who was calling her by that name now? Meerabai looked and saw three ascetics standing before her. Yet their faces were so harsh, they hardly looked like ascetics at all. Who were they?

Meerabai asked, “Who are you? I cannot quite recognize you.”

The visitors replied, “Rana Uday Singh has sent us. He has come to know that you are not safe in Dwarka. After Banbir was driven out of Chittor, he has taken refuge in Maharashtra. From there, he has been keeping contact with certain Vaishnav saints and is conspiring to have you removed.”

Meerabai knew well why Banbir wanted to eliminate her. For a long time, her two invisible hands had been secretly protecting Uday. If she were removed, Uday would become greatly weakened.

Champa and Chameli said to Meera, “Bai Sa, please go with them, let us return to Mewar.” But Meera felt they were in disguise. So she said, “But what proof do you have that you are not Banbir’s men? Show me the proof.”

They told Meerabai, “Whether you believe us or not is your choice, but you must come with us.”

Sandhya, after long research on Meerabai, I came to know two different accounts. First, that on that night Meera set out with the visitors on the road to Mewar. Later, Uday Singh kept her in a safe place. The second account is that the people who came that night were actually from the enemy side—they killed Meerabai, hid her body, and spread the story that before the temple of Ranchhodji was closed, she had gone inside saying she would spend the whole night in communion with God. But in the morning, when the temple was opened, she was nowhere to be found.

Here a few questions remain. At the final stage of her life, Meerabai was extremely unwell. With such a frail body, it was impossible for her to travel a long distance. Another point is that in both Vrindavan and Dwarka, the male tantric Gosain sects had turned into her enemies. They would never have allowed Meerabai to spend the night inside Ranchhodji’s temple—not even to enter the sanctum. For, in all the descriptions of her, she is always seen seated on the outer platform of the temple. I am not speaking of Chittor, but of Dwarka and Vrindavan.

Sandhya said, “There is another point, Pratap. The disappearance of Shri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu also took place inside the sanctum of the Jagannath Temple in Puri. Meerabai’s disappearance happened inside the sanctum of Dwarka’s Ranchhodji Temple. Many researchers believe Chaitanya’s disappearance was actually a murder. In Meerabai’s case, I feel the same. Because, Pratap, you yourself have said that in both Dwarka and Vrindavan Meerabai was insulted many times, and poison had been mixed into her food. We find the same in the case of Chaitanya—many attempts were made on his life before his disappearance.”

Pratap replied, “You are absolutely right. And then, look at the timing of Meerabai’s disappearance. It happened at such an hour when there were hardly any people in the temple precincts. Even today, there are none at that time. So, five hundred…”

Five hundred years ago, the temple premises used to be deserted. Because of her long illness, Meerabai at that time could barely stand on her own. Champa and Chameli’s task was to hold her and help her back to her ashram room. But after Meerabai’s disappearance, Champa and Chameli also astonishingly vanished without a trace. Meerabai was a saint; she could have merged into Ranchhodji, but what about Champa and Chameli? How could they vanish? There could be two reasons. First, they may have been eyewitnesses to Meerabai’s murder, and so they too were killed—just as Swarup and Gadadhar had been silenced at the time of Mahaprabhu. Another possibility is that Champa and Chameli themselves were allied with the conspirators, and so, taking advantage of the moment, they disappeared. Otherwise, who could have poisoned Meerabai’s food? Champa and Chameli were her constant companions, her shadows. No one else had the right to enter Meera’s chamber.

Whatever happened that day was carried out in extreme secrecy, at a time when there were no visitors in the temple. In those days the number of people was anyway very few. After the evening arati, no one remained in the temple. By then, with dusk falling, everything around would sink into sleep. So what exactly happened at that time could only have been known to a handful of people.

Sandhya said, “It is clear that Meerabai had many enemies. All her life, unknowingly, she created enemies in the very act of protecting her own people.”

Pratap said, “Yes, even those very close to her, people she trusted deeply, were secretly in contact with her enemies. The Bhakti movement that spread across India at that time, if you look at it superficially, seems simple. But it was not so simple. Individual pawns were carefully nurtured, used for work, and when their value was over, they were removed with equal care. The same thing happened with Meerabai.”

Sandhya asked, “Have you heard about the story regarding Jagat Gosain?”

Pratap replied, “Nonsense, I don’t believe such baseless stories. Look, even in this age, people do not view a woman’s success kindly. Every attempt is made to obstruct the journey of a successful woman. Now imagine how brutally it must have been done five hundred years ago—at a time when women were…”

She had been kept behind the veil, but in that age Meerabai stepped out from it and established herself as a fierce, protesting woman. So, would there not have been attempts to eliminate her? While living in Mewar, attempts were made on her life. Later, in Merta and Vrindavan too, she never felt secure—that is why she went to Dwarka. Yet even there, she was not safe. The reason was the politics and jealousy of a patriarchal society.

Nothing more is known about this Gadadhar Pandit. Where did this man come from to Merta, and where did he disappear to from Chittor? That too is unknown. But there existed a strange network spread across India. Do you know what I think? The heads of this network were people like Advaita Acharya in Bengal, who had created Vishwaroop and Mahaprabhu. This Gadadhar Pandit was in charge of Rajasthan. Someone must have sent him to Rao Dudaji of Merta. Otherwise, think—why would Rao Dudaji suddenly develop such a strange desire to dedicate his granddaughter at Krishna’s feet? Moreover, in the medieval social structure, the way he gave his granddaughter such freedom in upbringing was never possible in that era. We may say that Rao Dudaji was a very modern man, but within that framework of society, such actions would not have been possible without the backing of some greater power.

Meerabai had been very carefully and deliberately “created.” Whatever happened after her birth was the result of someone else’s subtle command. Even her marriage—otherwise, how could the daughter of a minor jagirdar of Merta be married to the crown prince of Chittor? At that time, was there any shortage of princesses in the Rajput royal households? Rana Sanga of Chittor himself wanted to be the sovereign of all India, and he too became part of that network.

Sandhya looked at Pratap and said, “Pratap, today I feel such pain for Meerabai. From birth her life passed through endless upheavals, and she endured suffering throughout. Perhaps, had there not been such control over her, her poetic genius could have blossomed even more. But it is also true that it was because of so many wounds and torments that her poetic voice took shape. Whatever the purpose behind her being shaped this way, Meerabai enjoyed far more freedom than most women of her time. She received education and learning. From mingling with common people to dancing and singing on the temple courtyards…”

At that time, no woman would even dream of doing such things. None of us are truly happy in our lives. However Meerabai’s life may have ended, for her entire life and her deeds, humanity will remember her forever. Even today, in our times, we cannot even imagine doing what she had the opportunity to do.

Pratap held Saanjh’s hand and said, “Saanjh, today on the seashore of Dwarka, our journey with Meerabai has come to an end. In these past few days, I have grown bound to you in a strange bond. From this shore of Dwarka, I wish for the two of us to begin our journey together.”

The roar of the sea drifted toward them. Saanjh lifted her sling bag onto her shoulder and stood up, her hair and scarf blowing in the sea breeze. Standing, she said, “A friend of the road should remain on the road. In these few days of friendship, we have enriched each other. The wealth we have given one another, I hope, will enrich our future lives.”

Pratap stood up too, and holding her hand, said, “But after being together for so long, not only our minds but even our bodies have become bound to each other. How can you deny that?”

Saanjh’s face was not visible, but from her posture it seemed as though this was another Saanjh—one Pratap did not know.

After a pause, Saanjh said, “Pratap, the body is only a shell. Just like this bag you see on my shoulder. If it is lost somehow or carried away by the sea, would I stop walking my path? Would I drown myself in the sea with it? No.”

Pratap pleaded with deep anguish, “Everything was fine until now, why are you suddenly leaving like this? Does my love mean nothing to you?”

Saanjh replied, “Pratap, one should not imprison the person they love; one should set them free. You are trying to imprison your love and stain it with the dullness of daily touch. Don’t do this. The small stretch of the path that we have walked together—try to make this memory eternal. And as for me, I did not come here seeking a partner to build a household with. I came here in search of someone else…”

Tonight I am leaving for Ahmedabad with him. From there, tomorrow night I have my flight to Kolkata.

Though the darkness concealed everything, it was clear that Pratap’s eyes were filled with tears, his emotions choking his words. He said, “If I had known earlier, I would never have built such a bond with you. This means you are fickle—you place no value on relationships.”

Saanjh stood silent for a while, then said, “You question my character because of this brief friendship of a few days? Yet you have been researching Meerabai and the Meerapanthis for years. But even after all this time, you have not been able to follow Meerabai’s ideals. Through her life, Meerabai showed that no place, no time, no person—none of these are anyone’s possession. To keep moving forward through one’s work—that is the true discipline of life. A seeker must continue walking the path through everything, but nothing should bind him. Neither attachment, greed, nor desire should have any hold on him. Remember, Meerabai founded the Meerapanthi tradition with the ideal of women’s freedom at its core. That is why the Meerapanthis still follow her principles to this day. As for me, I will never bind myself in domestic ties. As long as I live, I will walk forward on Mira’s path. If, on this journey forward, someday our paths cross again, perhaps we will walk together for a while once more. So I never said our relationship is broken. Our connection will never be severed. May the tree of our bond grow in a healthy way, nourished by light and air.”

Pratap said, “Saanjh, you must go back to the hotel to collect your luggage. Come, I’ll take you to the station from there.”

Saanjh extended her hand toward him, and Pratap held it as they began walking forward. Darkness spread all around, with only the roar of the sea echoing in the air. From a distance, the sound of a single-stringed ektara carried through the night, with Meerabai’s bhajan drifting in the wind:

“Had I known this before,

That love brings such sorrow,

I would have cried out in the streets of the city—

Do not give your heart to love.”

(Concludes) 

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, Part-37, Part-38, Part-39

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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.