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

[From childhood, the author’s deep fascination with Meerabai’s songs led them to visit Meerabai’s birthplace, Kurki village, in 2012. Located 80 kilometers from Ajmer, Merta is a small settlement that the author also visited in pursuit of their novel. Even today, Meerabai’s birthplace in Kurki remains intact. Upon arriving in Kurki, the author met an elderly man, Maun Singh Rathore. The old man informed the author that there are nine forts between Jodhpur and Kurki, with the Kurki Fort being the most significant. That day, sitting in a corner of the fort, the elderly man began singing, “Kurki tera kotra nai khuti ki naak.”

The author strongly believes that before writing about any historical figure or a significant historical chapter, it is essential to visit the places associated with them. This is because, for generations, local people have preserved countless stories and legends about these historical figures or events. Within these oral traditions, the true history is often hidden, passed down through generations by the ancestors of the local people. Before writing about Meerabai, the author traveled to all the places associated with her and spent long hours conversing with the locals.

While researching Chaitanya’s disappearance, the author uncovered many mysterious aspects of Meerabai’s life. Beneath the exterior of a Vaishnav saint, a different side of Meerabai emerged—a woman with a keen political vision. This Meerabai was not only an extraordinary saint-queen with remarkable political insight but also a social reformer. From childhood, while residing inside the royal palace, she established the “Meerapanthi” community, which remains active even after 500 years. Under Meerabai’s leadership, this community played a crucial role in women’s empowerment and strongly opposed the practice of Sati. Even today, in Kurki village, many stories and legends about the Meerapanthis are passed down orally.

The author relied on information gathered from the residents of Kurki and Merta, as well as various books, to begin writing this novel. Merta was the capital of Meerabai’s grandfather, Rao Dudaji. After Meerabai’s mother passed away, Rao Dudaji brought her to Merta. The author personally witnessed the ruins of the Merta fort, which Rao Dudaji had built. A part of the fort still stands beside a vast lake, where, according to local accounts, pink lotus flowers bloomed 500 years ago, just as they do today. Standing amidst the ruins of Merta Fort, gazing at the lake, the author felt as though they were witnessing scenes from the past unfold before their eyes. The remnants of the fort can still be found scattered over a vast area.

At the heart of Merta, a palace remains preserved under the Rajasthan government’s care. Local belief suggests that Meerabai lived in this palace. In one corner of the palace, the Chaturbhuj temple still stands as a witness to 500 years of history. It is said that both Meerabai and Rao Dudaji worshipped here. Even today, the same idol of Chaturbhuj is worshipped in this temple. A statue of Meerabai has also been installed in one corner of the temple, inscribed with her birth year as 1561 Samvat (1504 AD), her marriage year as 1573 Samvat (1516 AD), and her death year as 1607 Samvat (1550 AD). A memorial dedicated to Meerabai in Merta also bears the same inscription regarding her birth and death. This suggests that she passed away at the age of just 46.

Through this novel, the author has attempted to illuminate a lesser-known chapter of Meerabai’s life. At the end of this 46-year-long journey, they have also sought to unravel some of the mysteries surrounding Meerabai’s disappearance. After 500 years, it is incredibly difficult to make definitive claims. However, through a logical approach, the author has strived to arrive at a plausible conclusion.]

Meera

By Debasree Chakraborti

The night’s darkness has not yet lifted, but the dawn’s ambiance has begun to resonate in nature. The calls of peacocks can be heard from all around. Saanjh is lying on her bed, lost in thought as she gazes at the picture. In one corner of the room, a dim light is burning, illuminating the scene slightly. With the surroundings feeling quite suffocating due to being enclosed, she has opened a window in one corner, allowing a breeze to enter the room, creating a pleasant tinkling sound on the southern chandelier. In her right hand, she holds a page from an ancient manuscript, and Saanjh begins to recite the words written on that page in her mind:

“Now, to chant the name of Hari,

All the people have become butter thieves;

Worshipping him, the renouncer.

Whoever steals away the enchanting flute,

Is taken by the Gopi;

Tied in knots of millions of strings,

Along with the charming beloved.

By the grace of Jashomati, the butter-maker,

Whoever graces her feet,

Is the young Shyam, the charming boy;

Chaitanya is his name.

Wearing the yellow robe in divine grace,

What a beautiful form!

Gaur Krishna’s devotee, Meera,

With her tongue, sings for Krishna.”

That is, she has now become absorbed in the love of Hari’s name. Everywhere in the world, he is the butter thief, yet here, he has embodied the appearance of a renouncer. Now, having left the enchanting flute and the Gopis behind, he has covered his head and donned a kaupina (loincloth). The young Shyam, who was bound by the feet of his mother Yashomati for stealing butter, has taken on the name Chaitanya as the charming new Gauranga. To display the essence of the yellow robe, he has tied a kaupina around his waist. Meera, the devotee of Gaur Krishna, is always chanting the name of Krishna with her tongue.

Each of these words reveals many unknown truths. Saanjh, a girl from Kolkata, came all the way from the eastern part of India to seek the meaning of each word. What connection could there possibly be between Gauranga in Nabadwip, Bengal, and some distant queen in the western region, that she would compose such an impressive verse? The only interpretation is that a communication was established between these two brilliant points, the straight line between them being extremely long, containing a deep mystery within it. This is why, before coming here, she had rushed from Jaipur to the village of Kuurki in search of answers.

Saanjh’s eyes seemed to be enveloped in sleep. With her eyes closed, she envisioned a vast desert landscape, a small settlement of Kuurki veiled in white smoke amidst the arid land. In such a scorching environment, gradually, the blanket of night’s darkness enveloped the entire village. On the northern hillside of the village stood a large fort, its lights extinguished in every room; only one room in the south emitted a light. The villagers were eagerly awaiting some special moment. In this settlement, the wife of Ratan Singh, of the Mertiya branch of the Rathore dynasty, the Veer Kuwari, was writhing in the pains of childbirth. Today, none of the fires in the village had been lit. Everyone was waiting to invite their expected heir. In the northern room of the palace, Rani Ji sat anxiously, awaiting a critical news. A sense of unease flowed through her mind. She had previously given birth to a son, but he could not be saved, so it was natural for her to feel a cloud of worry gathering in her heart. Rani Ji could not sit still in one place. Would she be able to preserve her lineage, or would Kuurki, like many other settlements, be lost to the relentless storm of the desert?

In every stone of the Kuurki fort lies a poignant story of establishing self-respect, a respect that had to be earned through personal effort. Rao Ranmall’s son, Jodha, was the founder of Jodhpur city. His youngest son, Dudaji, is the father of Ratan Singh. Through various trials and battles, including sibling rivalry and attacks from surrounding enemies, Dudaji and his sons had to establish their own existence.

But at such a moment, when a terrible wound has been inflicted in the western part of India due to long foreign invasions, fire is burning across the entire subcontinent. On one side, the Lodi Empire in Delhi is going through a dreadful day; in Bengal, Husain Shah reigns, a ruler whom even the Sultan of Delhi respects. Meanwhile, Jaunpur has lost its independence and has faded into darkness. The King of Odisha, Pratapaditya, is battered by enemy attacks, and the Sultan of Malwa, Ghiyath al-Din, along with his two sons, is entangled in a struggle for the throne. Distant Sindh and Multan are beset by political turmoil. From Kandahar, Shah Beg is roaring at the main gate of Sindh. In such a scenario, if no future heir is left for their family, small communities like theirs will be lost forever in the political whirlpool.

In the ceaseless flow of time, alongside the thoughts of Ratan Singh of Kurki Fort, another deep thread of contemplation kept weaving itself. This current of thought was far more mature than Ratan Singh’s and wrapped in a profound philosophical depth. Far away from Kurki Fort, in the desert expanse of Rajasthan, the mind of Rao Dudaji, the ruler of a small settlement named Merta, was greatly unsettled today.

In front of the fort, beside the vast reservoir, stood the temple of Chaturbhujji. The evening worship had just concluded a little while ago, and the priest, Gadadhar, was still inside the temple. The light of the lamps streamed out from within. Dudaji kept pacing back and forth on the temple courtyard, muttering something to himself. He was not usually a man of such restless disposition — yet even after the usual evening rituals had ended, he still…He would sit with the priest Gadadharji and discuss matters of religion. This was his daily habit, but today even that daily ritual was being shaken by a distant desert storm.

Though himself a son of a Kshatriya lineage, he was a staunchly anti-war man. He believed that war was a stain on human civilization. Rao Dudaji had never willingly engaged in war; he thought of war as a kind of plague — a plague flowing through the continuous stream of human civilization that desperately needed to be ended. Infected by this demonic epidemic, humans had become thirsty for each other’s blood and flesh. Dudaji believed that the selfish mindset of Kshatriya pride, narrow ambitions, unnecessary arrogance, and caste hatred had turned people cruel. Humanity had nearly forgotten the noble ideals of love and peace.

In the evening, lamps were arranged on the temple’s outer walls. Dudaji, while pacing back and forth, reached the rear of the temple, where there was an idol of the Narasimha incarnation. The light of the lamps fell upon that fearsome form. Looking at the idol, he suddenly felt that the primal savagery of the wild still lurked within humankind — just as the cave-dwelling primitive man had survived by fighting nature and other creatures, that ancient instinct still flowed secretly through them today. Even now, man slaughters helpless animals to satiate hunger, and at the same time kills his own kind, flooding the earth with blood, raising false flags of victory over heaps of corpses.

Amid this vast desert expanse, he had managed to transform Merta into the only paradise on earth, like heaven’s own Nandankanan. Among the people of Merta, he had awakened the great ideals of peace and non-violence. But the state of other parts of this vast land was pitiful. There, the Rajputs were destroying themselves by fighting among themselves. Rao Dudaji had received news that many Rajput kings were inviting foreign enemies. But they failed to understand that these very foreigners they were inviting would eventually destroy them too.

But this greed, this violence and struggle for power — these are what have blinded them.

As these thoughts crossed his mind, lightning flashed across the sky, and its brilliance reflected on the surface of the lake. A stormy wind was blowing. Dudaji looked around carefully — yet the lamps continued to burn steadily. In such weather, they should have been extinguished, but instead, they glowed even brighter. What a strange sense of peace prevailed all around. After many years, there was finally a sign of impending rain. To Dudaji, Merta felt like a piece of paradise. But for generations, every ruler of Rajputana had kept their eyes on Merta — it had not been spared attacks. Yet Rao Dudaji himself had never once thought of attacking anyone.

The Rajputs believed that conquering kingdoms and killing were the true duties of a Kshatriya. That’s why they mocked Rao Dudaji, thinking he had lost his Kshatriya spirit. But for Dudaji, true Kshatriya dharma meant the welfare and protection of his people. He did not worry only about the people of Merta — he worried for all the people of Rajasthan. Dudaji wanted to unite the entire Rajput community. He wanted the Rajputs to forget all violence and hatred and stand together to protect their motherland.

Standing behind the southern wall of the temple, he gazed at the lake. Chaturbhujji had transformed his life; since childhood, a secret current of peace and love had flowed within him, which grew stronger over time. Yes, he had fulfilled his Kshatriya duties too — but only for the welfare of his subjects. Looking at the thumb of his left hand, he saw it was scarred. On any birth or death anniversary within his family, he would cut his thumb with his sword and mark his forehead with a tilak. Now, after many years, that day was approaching again. He had placed his sword before Chaturbhujji and offered his prayers. As soon as the messenger arrived with the news, he would again mark himself with the tilak at the call of the new arrival.

Now it was only a matter of time. Other days passed in religious discourse, but today, at the moment of the heir’s arrival, a change had come over the flow of his thoughts.

Rao Dudaji’s state of mind is much like that of the mythical snake Manidhar — he does not misuse his venom, but keeps a watchful eye on all sides while diligently guarding his gem. He never attacks anyone unnecessarily.

Rao Dudaji feels that human beings are somewhat like wooden puppets — their hands and feet are bound by invisible strings which God Himself holds, controlling their every move. A person’s fate rests in the hands of this unseen destiny; from birth to death, life is steered by fate alone. Today he is deeply reminded of his father, Jodhaji. Jodhaji was an exceptionally brave warrior and a wise king. At the mere mention of his name, his enemies would tremble like trees struck by a violent storm. Jodhaji’s presence was like a fearsome desert tempest.

Through Rajasthani folklore, it was widely said among the people that Rao Jodhaji’s sword was so massive that the part inside its scabbard was equal to the part that remained outside. That sword was as heavy as Shiva’s divine bow Pinaka — so heavy that no one but Jodhaji could lift it. Within Jodhaji lay the power to hold back the fiercest waves of the ocean. Rao Dudaji had accompanied his father to war many times.

He had seen his father fight from up close. Those battles were terrifying. In those moments, Jodhaji would take on the form of Nataraja, dancing the destruction of his enemies. It was this terrible strength and boundless power that enabled him to build an extraordinary city amid the vast desert. Thousands of people came seeking their fortune and began to settle in this city. He made provisions for the livelihood of several thousand families. In this way, Jodhaji came to be revered as a god among men.

Rao Dudaji himself dislikes war, but his father was a man who loved battle. Jodhaji’s sword always bore the stain of blood. Dudaji never saw the true color of his father’s blade — it always remained smeared in red. This war-loving man’s sword came to symbolize violence and clan conflict. Rao Dudaji himself never yet, human life is but a puppet in the hands of destiny. So, despite his reluctance, he had to go to war.

Today he is deeply unsettled — he has no control even over his own thoughts. Despite being a man who stood firmly against war, he was never defeated in battle. For within him, his father’s influence ran very deep. That heroic spirit made him victorious in war, while at the same time, his mother’s influence was equally profound within him. Rao Dudaji’s mother was a devotee of Lord Krishna and was personally a staunch opponent of war. Since childhood, his mother’s devotion and the gentle faith of her religion had shaped him. On one hand, he became a man who despised war, yet under his father’s influence, he also became a fierce warrior. Often he was torn and wounded between these two selves.

This oasis of peace that was Rao Dudaji’s Merta — he had won that too through war. This Merta, won by bloodshed, once smouldered like a burning coal amid unrest and turmoil. He transformed that burning coal into a diamond. Now the people here live in peace and contentment. It was only after acquiring Merta that this deep philosophical insight awakened strongly within him — that any place can be turned into a Nandan Kanan (a heavenly garden) by erasing violence and hatred.

Today, he remembers those days of battle with Megha Sabl very vividly. His father, Jodhaji, had personally sent him and his brother Veersingh to fight this fearsome demon. Megha Sabl, the ruler of the small Rajputana kingdom of Jetharan, was immensely powerful. With a fierce passion for conquest and mighty strength, he was as formidable as Jodhaji himself. Megha’s power was such that the kingdoms of Rajputana would tremble at his name just as a tiny lamb shivers at the sound of thunderclouds.

Such was destiny — he and his brother Veersingh had become puppets in the hands of fate. Fully aware of everything, they surrendered themselves to fortune. Jodhaji wished to test his sons’ kshatriya dharma — the warrior’s code. And so he sent them to face a fearsome warrior like Megha.

He knew very well what the outcome might be, but… It was absolutely crucial to test the strength of the heir to his kingdom.

Meanwhile, Megha was not willing to fight face-to-face. He had been attacked many times before by Jodhaji, and in those battles, countless of his soldiers had perished. Even now, he still saw Jodhaji’s blood-drenched sword in his dreams. So this time, he would not fight directly — he would have to use another method of warfare.

Dudaji did not want to fight Megha Sabl, but to prove himself before his father, he had to step into that trial by fire and take up arms.

The battle between the two sides began. Dudaji and his brother Veersingh fought with great bravery on the first day. Seeing his brother fight so valiantly astonished him. That day, he felt that his brother Veersingh was truly their father Jodhaji’s rightful heir.

But Megha Sabl’s cunning was sharper than his sword. After the first battle, he realized that as long as Veersingh remained on the battlefield, he would never be able to win this war — because Jodhaji’s indomitable spirit was so strongly reflected in Veersingh.

So Megha bribed a cook in the army camp with a huge sum of money to carry out a vile and cowardly act.

A sword on the battlefield had never been able to strike down Veersingh — so Megha Sabl poisoned him through his food and killed him.

Megha knew that Dudaji was not a warrior like his father — he did not desire war. But fate plays its own game — his brother’s death turned Rao Dudaji into a brother consumed by vengeance. In this Dudaji, his father Jodhaji’s spirit manifested itself fiercely. In that terrible war, he tore Megha and his soldiers to pieces. After Veersingh’s death, many kings of Rajputana joined Dudaji in battle. Megha and his soldiers could not withstand this raging desert storm. Like scattered clouds, they fled beyond the borders of Rajputana — never to return again (Continues)

Click here for Part-1, 

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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.