The English translation of a novel ‘Maharaja Dahir’ authored by Kolkata-based renowned novelist Debasree Chakraborti in Bengali language. The novel has been translated by Rajesh Giri
The Caliph said, “You will have to suffer the consequences.”
I held Parimal’s hand tightly and said, “I am ready.”
On that day the Caliph ordered that I and Parimal should be buried alive.
I said to Caliph, “Every prisoner who are sentenced to death are asked for their last wish…”
Hearing that the Caliph turned towards us and asked, “What do you want?”
—before going to prison I want to spend some time in that room where we spent our last days with my sister Parimal and also I want to meet my two cousin sisters Sindhu and Maya for the last time.
Caliph ordered the guards to take us to our room. I just wanted some time to record the incident before death. I don’t know whether our sisters will be permitted to meet us. We are brought back in the room. Parimal sits quietly by my side and I start to keep records. The guards are waiting just outside the room. The burning candle is the only source of light here. Our shadows are terribly waving on the walls like death dance by dry dusty warm breeze flowing in the room. Trying desperately to finish an unfinished task, draining drops of moments from my remaining life to write the history, the death bell has already been struck, a few moments are remaining in our life, after a few minutes we will be thrown into the prison and possibly tomorrow with the rising sun our graves will be dug. I somehow developed an attachment with this room also. Parimal and I spent a lot of memorable moments of sorrow in this room together. This is the last space where sign of our life present. After that I have to march towards a dark realm of unknown. Right now I strongly resonate myself with my country Sindh, I can remember my family, my father and thousands and thousands of helpless people of Sindh. I don’t know how Sindh will get independent but there is a hope always, I want to go away from this Earth keeping this hope in my heart that one day I will return in my country which will not be under any kind of subjugation, it will free independent, as independent as a flying bird.. I was fearing that before my death I have to do some arrangement so that the daily entry of my diary should continue even after my death. History must be registered. At this moment Sindhu and Maya my sisters enter into the room quietly along with guards. They don’t know what already happened and what is going to happen with us. Sindhu come forward and sits beside me. Seeing me she cannot utter a single word but her cheeks are flowing with tears. I was speaking in Sindhi so the guards present there didn’t have the access to our conversation. I said, “Sindhu, I have reached at the edge of this life, everything is dark in front of my eyes. I can’t see anything. After some time we will be sent to prison and very possibly tomorrow we will be prosecuted. I don’t know if there is rebirth or not, but if I take birth again it is my wish to be born in the lap of my Sindhu desh again and again being the daughter of the great Maharaj Dahir. I want to embrace all of you again as my sisters, my family. We have spent a great household life and social life together. I spent my childhood, my adolescence on that holy land but today reaching at this young age I have to say bye to everybody, my mortal body will remain in this unknown land. Certainly you are realizing that our country Sindh has now immersed and is drowning further into a dark future. The kind of brutality and inhuman treatment and the atrocities are done by these barbaric beasts to us, to our people and to our father Dahir, I have documented all these in my diary. But I was afraid of keeping it safe, now I am relieved. I am giving my diary to you, you have to complete my unfinished task, now it is your responsibility to keep it safe and also from now on you will keep records of everything in it. You start this diary from there where I stopped. From today whatever happens to you, whatever you would know you will keep records of all. Being the princess of Sindh it is my order to you. It will be the documented evidence of the terrible pain and sufferings and brutal atrocities which we, our people, our country Sindh undergo through. Now I can die peacefully— Jay Sindhu Mata”
“I am Sindhu and Maya is my sister. We are captured from Rawar fort. When Rawar fort was captured by the army of Muhamad Bin Qasim we are being also captivated and were sent to here in Baghdad in a ship. There are a few more girls with us of royal families of Sindh province, we are sent separately unlike other captives. During the voyage other women and girls are brutally tortured and raped and ultimately they are sold in the slave markets like objects but surprisingly we are not even touched. After arriving here we came to know that we are brought specially as gifts for those who helped the Caliph in this victorious crusade by many ways. Our two sisters are gifted to a person name Abu Adil who supplied all the weapons for the troops and a special kind of stone pelting machinery which actually proved to be the most important factor in the war. Caliph gifted the fresh royal girls as a token of appreciation. Because if Abu Adil stopped supplying weapons, it would disrupt their crusade. I and my sister Maya was converted into Islam first by reading kalma before coming to Syria and get married to Abu Adil.
That day when the meeting was over with Surya Devi we were sent out of the room. Before that at the last moment Surya Devi exhaled deeply and secretly handed over her diary to me. Slowly all the burning flambeau outside and the flame of the candle of the room start dwindling by the wind as Surya Devi and Parimal begin their journey towards the prison. On each steps ahead darkness over darkness is casting like shadows all around and they slowly fading away into the obscurity. A brutal death awaited to those who plotted to assassinate the promising young Arab commander Qasim.
After coming to Syria, I came to know from my husband that on the next morning after our meeting, Parimal and Surya Devi was taken to an open space, seeing all the arrangements it’s confirmed that they will be buried inside the well alive. At that place many people were waiting to see, enjoy and participate in their execution, they are pelting stones on them. Surya Devi and Parimal were shackled and even their mouths were tied so that they can’t even cry or scream in pain. Their entire body was drenched with blood oozing out of their scars. The earth beneath their feet were stained with blood. There was scorching heat outside, the sandy path got extremely hot, too hot to keep the foot on. I can feel that their feet were burning. I know Surya Didi from my childhood, we grew up together, and I was always very close to her so I can feel her mind. It seemed I was given the death penalty which I have to suffer. Despite of the tremendous pain she was silent and strangely extended her eyes towards the vast stretch of dry rugged desert. She could see mirages everywhere. In the mirage she was seeing the reflection of her beloved motherland Sindh. As It was oscillating in mild breeze, as if mother Sindhu is gently flowing by the temple of Aror— kalimata temple. The rattles of the shackles tied on their hands and feet seem to be the swinging sounds of the temple bell. He can see her father Dahir cladded with white robes standing on bank of river Sindhu with white beard as if he is staring at Surya smiling, appreciating her valour and intelligence of taking revenge of her father’s death and now he is calling Surya to follow him and turning towards the vast stretch he disappeared gradually in the horizon. People were continuously throwing stones on them with increasing eagerness as they were rightfully doing their duty, because they are kafirs and they have no place to an Islamic land and not even in jannah. Besides, due to their conspiracy the Caliph has to lose one of his brightest commander — the Gazi.
They are brought to a place where two life sized wells were already dugout. Surya Devi and Parimal Devi were thrown into the well and start to fill it with sand, stones and dust. Everyone was throwing stones on them. A pool of blood clotted inside of both the well. My beloved sisters were slowly buried alive. (Continues)
Click here for Part-I , Part-II, Part-III , Part-IV , Part-V , Part-VI , Part-VII, Part-VIII , Part-IX , Part-X, Part-XI, Part-XII, Part-XIII , Part-XIV , Part-XV , Part-XVI, Part-XVII, Part-XVIII , Part-XIX, Part-XX, Part-XXI , Part-XXII, Part-XXIII , Part-XXIV , Part-XXV , Part-XXVI, Part-XXVII, Part-XXVIII, Part-XXIX, Part-XXX , Part-XXXI, Part-XXXII, Part-XXXIII , Part-XXXIV , Part-XXXV , Part-XXXVI , Part-XXXVII , Part-XXXVIII, Part-XXXIX, Part-XL , #Part-XLI , Part-XLII , Part-XLIII
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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 most recent 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.
Rajesh Giri, born in Kolkata, had his early schooling from Kolkata and then from Medinipur—a village in Bengal. He graduated from Calcutta University with Physics and Maths and Master’s from Burdwan University in 2016. Now he is associated with Adhdhyaan educational institution teaching Physics. History enthusiastic Rajesh Giri is particularly interested in the ancient civilization of India and other regions like Egypt, Mesopotamia, and North America. He loves traveling.
