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 next morning, when they reached Rohri, the sun had not yet risen. Sabirbhai parked the car under a banyan tree on the banks of the river Sindhu, some distance away from Rohri town. There is a mosque some distance away from the banyan tree, —”After a while the prayer will start in the mosque, we will wait here now; after the prayer, the imam will come out of the mosque and sit under this tree for some time and will enjoy the river breeze; then the small shop you see will open after a while, and he will have tea from that shop. This region is the oldest; once most of the people here were Hindus; after partition they all converted. But like Dr. Amir Khan, they still have deep faith in their tradition; no one knows better than them the whereabouts of Dahir’s time, so wait.”
After a while, the sound of prayer was coming out from the mosque. Then an old man came out of the mosque and sat down under the banyan tree. The sky became quite clear then; he was looking at the river. At that moment Dr. Iqbal stood in front of him. Imam Sahib was somewhat surprised to see an unknown person at this time. His mind remains very calm at this point; after remaining silent for a while Imam Saheb exchanged greetings. Then he asked the reason for the arrival.
Dr. Iqbal said that he was writing a book on the ancient city of Aror; he had heard that there was a temple of Indradev in this city, and had come to collect information about that temple.
Imam Sahib said to him, “It is very nice to meet you. After the Morning Prayer today, someone has come like you after a long time. As you continue towards the west along the banks of the Indus River, after five minutes of walking you will come across an ancient ruin, which the locals call a Buddhist Stupa. But if you look carefully, you can see on the ancient ruins there is praise of Lord Indra inscribed in Sanskrit; inside the stupa there is a picture of an elephant on a wall, below which there is a door; next to this entrance praises are written of Airavat—Lord Indra’s vehicle. Buddhists do not worship Lord Indra and his vehicle Airavata.”
Sabirbhai told Dr. Iqbal that the people of this region were all Hindus at a time. Listening to this imam, it seems that he was once a Hindu too, that’s why he knows so much.
When Dr. Iqbal stood up saying ‘Allah Hafez’. Imam looked at Iqbal and smiled mysteriously. Seeing this smile Iqbal also got scared. The imam’s gaze seemed to look inside him. He felt that He had been caught. Imam remained silent for a while and said, “Cover your ears with your hair right now, you are lucky not to have been noticed so far. Muslims do not have holes in their ears.”
Hearing this, came out of his mouth, —you?
—I am an Indian, living in this country for thirty long years and have been serving my motherland. You should go now, it is not right for you to stay here for long.
Dr. Iqbal along with Sabirbhai continued westward along the river Sindhu; there is no other settlement except this mosque along the river; only a few trees lined up far and wide; birds chirping from the trees; it is like a tapoban, where an ascetic is engrossed in long deep meditation. How mysterious, how strange is the way of human life. There is no way to understand who is sitting where. But it was necessary to meet such a person, every person comes in life to offer something or the other as experience. He has been serving the country by staying in such a place for thirty years. How many people make such great sacrifices to spend their lives far away from their families, but their sacrifices are not written anywhere in the pages of history.
The ruins of a huge stupa can be seen ahead. It didn’t take long to find the entrance to the stupa with a hymn to Indra written in Sanskrit on one side. A closer look at the architecture reveals that it is the ruins of a temple. Locals were once Hindus, yet they promote it as Buddhist architecture, there is indeed some mystery behind it, maybe, they want to hide something like Dr. Amir Khan. Perhaps some strict instructions were given to the people of Aror. It is very dark inside the temple. Inside is full of wild plants.
Sabirbhai said, “Be very careful, generally poisonous snakes live in the bushes inside such broken houses. Let’s light on the torch first.”
Sabirbhai turn on the flashlight out of his pocket and Dr. Iqbal turned on the torch of his mobile and looked around.
–Sabirbhai, where we are standing right now was once used as a sanctum of a temple. Look there is an altar. On the wall right to the altar there is a door, on which I can see the architecture of an elephant. On the side of the door something is written in Sanskrit, if what the imam says is true, then it is the Ayravat hymn. But the inside of the door has been filled with bricks. My mind says inside this huge door there is the tomb of Airavat.
And have you noticed another thing? The entrance to the temple is also very wide. Maharaja Dahir may have built such a mausoleum to bury his beloved pet, so that if Airavat died after his death, he could be buried here. But no deity is ever worshiped in a tomb. So what is this altar for?
“You wait, there is a shovel in the car, I will bring it.” Sabirbhai brought the shovel and Dr. Iqbal said, “I think that door should be broken first. There is no use in breaking this altar.”
—Dr. Iqbal, utilize your common sense. When Airavat was buried, Maharaja Dahir was not alive. Then surely no one else would bury his diary there? Maharaja himself concealed it somewhere else at the beginning of the war, and nobody should possibly know that the diary was kept here, except one or two persons who were very close to him, they certainly wrote this in riddles. This is what my intuition senses. Let’s break that paved platform first.
They cleared the thickets and continued to move towards the paved platform. Even on the floor, there are full of the wild plants, Sabirbhai suddenly stopped while removing those plants with the shovel. A figure of a king is drawn in the middle of the floor.
Sabirbhai said, “Iqbal come here, see what I comprehended was not wrong. This king’s appearance is completely different, in the internet the pictures of second Madho Singh or Ranveer Singh, the king of Kashmir their picture was circulated as the picture of Maharaja Dahir. But no one has any idea how he looked like. But the king whose figure is painted here has a small inscription on his chest written ‘Maharaja Dahir’, which means that Maharaja Dahir looked like this. Dr. Iqbal took pictures of it with his mobile camera.
Then Sabirbhai started driving the shovel on it. It didn’t take long for him, a square hole appeared as soon as he hit a few times on the figure. In which a metal box is kept. Sabirbhai told gasping, “pick up this metal box, I think it’s there.” Dr.Iqbal picked it up. Then without waiting any longer, they hurriedly put the box in the bag and came out. That moment was the most important, they didn’t say a word until they got into the car from the mausoleum. Sabirbhai got into the car and started driving very fast. As they continued along the banks of Sindhu, their car turned left and began to run through a rugged desert, then stopped in front of a small house in the middle of a secluded area. There are no settlements around here, hot winds blowing dust away as the sun rises up with increasing heat. There is a Blue door in the white house. Sabirbhai got down from the car and took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, then when they got inside, Sabirbhai locked the door from inside.
Sabir bhai, your activity looks like we are in India not in Pakistan. The way we’re working here in this country, it seems that their intelligence agency is over.
It is practically over, the economic condition of this country is now so bad that people who used to work for them, are now working with us for money. We don’t have to wait much longer, Pakistan will become India after a few years. Everything we do here, we are doing for the benevolence of everyone. Now open the box. (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 , Part-XLIV, Part-XLV , Part-XLVI
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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.
