Didda was a woman accomplished in tantric practice. She had mastered certain secret methods of sādhanā that she preferred to perform in utmost secrecy, away from the public eye

Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir

By Debasree Chakraborti

The day of worship of Mother Bhavani at the Kheer Bhavani Temple was drawing near. On this day of the year, Kashmiri women used to arrive from far and wide to take part in the puja. From exactly a week before the festival, a huge fair would be held in the village of Tulmula, and arrangements were made behind the temple complex for the accommodation of women pilgrims. But that past glory no longer exists. Now, the women from the areas around Tulmula village come with their families, offer their prayers during the day, and return the same day. No one feels safe staying here anymore. After her marriage, Didda decided that she would go with her husband, Kshemagupta, to worship Mother Kheer Bhavani. For this reason, she summoned Naravahana to gain an understanding of the rituals and customs of worship at this temple.

Over these few days, a deep bond of friendship had developed between Didda and Naravahana—a relationship founded chiefly on mutual respect, trust, and reliance. Even before making small decisions, Didda would consult Naravahana. This was because her guru, Vikramasena, had taught her that many adverse moments would arise along the path of life, and at such times one must place trust in someone—but that trust should never blind you. After coming to her in-laws’ home, Didda felt in her heart that Naravahana was her only true well-wisher. From the very first day, their thoughts had matched in a strangely natural way. The dream Didda had cherished all her life—this man held the address to the path that could fulfill it. At times, the presence of Bhalaga and Naravahana seemed to merge into one in her life. Now the Maharaja went daily to the royal court, and Didda had asked him to remain there only up to a fixed time each day to conduct state affairs. When the Maharaja went to the court, Didda would complete some of her personal work. She would summon Naravahana and gather from him all the news of the kingdom. The work that Maharaja Kshemagupta was supposed to do, Didda herself now carried out.

On one side of Didda’s palace, she had arranged a space for weapons training. One day, while she was conducting practice in the use of arms there, Naravahana Arrival. Even after sensing Naravahana’s arrival, Didda continued her weapons practice.

Naravahana knew that at such times the Queen was not one to stop; she was accustomed to holding discussions while carrying on with her work. He said, “Maharani, for what purpose have you summoned this humble servant today?”

Smiling, Didda replied, “I have decided that I will go with the Maharaja to worship Mother Kheer Bhavani. I have heard that Kashmiri women come from far and wide to worship this goddess.”

With a long sigh, Naravahana said, “There was a time when Kashmiri women came from distant lands to worship Mother Kheer Bhavani. But today they no longer have the courage to come here to offer prayers.”

Didda now stopped her physical training, came closer to Naravahana, and asked with concern, “Why? Why do women no longer wish to come to worship the Mother?”

Naravahana replied, “A bandit named Durjan has spread terror throughout Maharaja Kshemagupta’s kingdom. Out of fear of him, women have stopped stepping outside their homes. If his men catch sight of a beautiful woman, they abduct her even from her own house. When they are not safe inside their homes, imagine what the condition of the roads must be.”

Didda said, “There are still two weeks left before the festival. Naravahana, just tell me—where is this Durjan’s base?”

Naravahana answered, “Maharani, in the village of Tulmula in Gandharbal, on one side of the branch of the Sindhu River that enters the village, there lies a dense forest. That is where Durjan’s stronghold is.”

Didda said, “Naravahana, ask a few soldiers to be ready in the guise of ordinary villagers. You too prepare yourself in disguise along with them. Valaga and I will go there dressed as pilgrims.”

Greatly exhilarated, Naravahana said, “Maharani, the very day I first saw you, I understood that if anyone could restore Kashmir’s lost honor and tradition, it would be you alone. My belief was not mistaken. I shall ask the soldiers to prepare.”

He said, “We must carry out this mission with the utmost secrecy. No one should come to know anything.”

Naravahana smiled faintly and replied, “On that matter, you may remain completely at ease.”

Didda knew very well that she was about to take an extremely dangerous step. First, she had no idea of the true strength of the bandit Durjan. Second, if for any reason news of Didda’s planned attack reached the enemy beforehand, the opposing side would become fully alert. Therefore, whatever had to be done must be done in absolute secrecy. Above all, Maharaja Kshemagupta had to be kept occupied with some other matter, so that Didda’s brief absence would not alarm him.

That night, as Didda sat in her private chamber contemplating her next move, the Maharaja arrived. Returning from the royal court, this was the time he spent alone with his new queen. The Maharaja himself was a man deeply fond of luxury and indulgence. After spending long hours in the court, this time in Didda’s palace was especially dear to him. He passed these moments carefree in the company of his new queen. Didda waited for the Maharaja, beautifully adorned with fragrant floral ornaments. Before his arrival, the maidservants would place various dishes of the Maharaja’s liking in Didda’s chamber and then leave. Once the Maharaja arrived, no one else remained there except the new queen and the Maharaja. Didda herself served the Maharaja food by hand, and then long conversations and intimate exchanges would begin. That day was no exception.

Yet, amid all this, Didda said to the Maharaja, “Maharaja, if you grant me permission, I wish to say something.”

Maharaja Kshemagupta replied, “Queen, every word of yours is equal to a command to me. There is no need to seek permission before speaking to me.”

With a touch of hesitation, Didda said, “A mother’s greatest support is her son. It has been many days since you last met your mother. In her final years, you are her only support. My request is that tomorrow “You will have your midday meal with your mother, and then spend the entire day with her.”

Surprised by Didda’s suggestion, the Maharaja said, “Didda, no one has ever spoken to me like this before. I had forgotten that I still have duties toward my mother. I cannot even remember when I last met her. You should come with me as well—we shall both spend time with my mother together.”

Didda replied, “No, Maharaja. Between a mother and her son, I would be an unwelcome presence. She would not feel at ease. Let some time pass; as time goes by and I truly become a member of this family, everything will fall into place naturally. Tomorrow, instead, let me go and offer worship to Mother Kheer Bhavani for the welfare of our family.”

The Maharaja had no knowledge whatsoever of the bandit Durjan, and therefore he raised no objection to Didda’s going to worship at Kheer Bhavani. On the contrary, he embraced Didda joyfully and said, “The royal family of Kashmir is blessed to have you as its daughter-in-law, Didda.”

The next day, after the Maharaja departed for the Queen Mother’s palace, Didda and Bhalaga left the palace in deep disguise, dressed in very ordinary clothes. On one side outside the palace began a forest; within that dense forest Naravahana waited with horses. When Didda and Bhalaga arrived, they mounted the horses and set off toward Gandarbal. After riding up to a certain point, they left the horses in a safe place, and then, following Didda’s instructions, each of them hid themselves around the area in the guise of ordinary villagers. Didda and Bhalaga, carrying baskets of offerings for worship, proceeded along the road to the village of Tulmula.

An extraordinary and ominous silence lay over the path. On one side rose tall green hills; on the other, the swift-flowing Sindhu rushed onward. The sound of the river’s current mingled with the soft calls of the forest birds, creating a strange aura of peace. The afternoon was fading and evening was descending upon nature; before long, the evening aarti would begin at the temple of Mother Kheer Bhavani. They walked very slowly along the path, when suddenly, from the direction of the river and the forest from within, several human figures began to advance. For Didda and Bhalaga, the long wait had come to an end. From all sides these strange figures surrounded them. Didda and Bhalaga now stopped, calm and perfectly composed.

Then, from the branch of a chinar tree on the riverbank to their right, a gigantic figure leapt down onto the road. The other figures halted. Slowly, that massive form began to move toward Didda. By then, Didda and Bhalaga were fully prepared, both physically and mentally. Didda immediately understood that this giant figure was the bandit Durjan, and Durjan advanced rapidly toward her.

When he came very close to Didda, Didda and Bhalaga began blowing upon a red-colored powder kept on their offering trays. The manner of blowing was somewhat unusual; Bhalaga had learned this special combat technique from her father.

The trays contained a mixture of dried chilies and certain special powders which, if they entered the eyes, would cause intense burning, and within a very short time the eyes would completely lose their power of vision. In their case, there was no exception. Didda and Bhalaga had come wearing a special protective covering over their brows and eyes. While employing this special method of combat, one must first form a precise sense of distance from the enemies and of each other’s position; only then is the technique applied with the eyes closed. As they blew upon the trays, Bhalaga and Didda moved slightly away from one another and began spinning rapidly in a circular motion. Everything happened so quickly that before anyone could understand what was occurring, the inevitable devastation had already taken place.

As the bandits writhed in agony and tried to flee toward the river, the trays of Didda and Bhalaga seemed to turn into shields. For these were not ordinary offering trays; on their backs there were provisions to hold them like shields. Didda and Bhalaga drew their swords from within their garments and swiftly began cutting down the enemies. One after another, they struck the bandits, severing heads and bodies …from their bodies. At last came the turn of the bandit Durjan. He was running toward the river when Didda leapt down from the higher ground toward it. Then, seizing Durjan’s hair firmly from behind, she struck a blow at his neck. Instantly, his head was severed from his body and came into Didda’s hand.

When everything was over, Naravahana and the soldiers arrived. Since they had been stationed some distance away and the entire incident had unfolded with such speed, they were late in reaching the spot. What Naravahana saw upon arriving was Didda transformed into an entirely different woman—one he could scarcely recognize. He stood speechless. Didda was walking toward the temple of Mother Kheer Bhavani, carrying Durjan’s severed head. The path was flooded with dripping blood.

At that moment, the evening aarti had just begun in the temple; bronze bells were ringing. Didda stood gazing at the idol of the Goddess, the severed head in her hand. Valaga stood behind her. She held up the blood-smeared shield like a tray before Didda. Didda placed the severed head upon it and, taking the shield, moved forward toward the image of the Mother.

Seeing Didda’s fearsome form, the priest, terrified and shaken, came out of the sanctum. Didda entered the inner sanctum, placed the shield with the severed head at the Goddess’s feet, folded her hands in reverence, and cried out “Mother!” in a terrifying roar. Bhalaga began ringing the temple bells. It was a dreadful, awe-inspiring atmosphere.

Didda was a woman accomplished in tantric practice. She had mastered certain secret methods of sādhanā that she preferred to perform in utmost secrecy, away from the public eye. That day, Didda closed the doors of the sanctum from within. Naravahana and Bhalaga sat outside the temple all night, waiting for her.

As dawn broke, when Didda opened the doors of the temple and came out, she appeared calm and gentle—like a serene ascetic.

Meanwhile, news of the slaying of the bandit Durjan at the hands of the young queen Didda spread through all the surrounding villages. Upon hearing this, the village women began rushing toward the Kheer Bhavani Temple. They had heard that the Queen Mother had entered the sanctum carrying the severed head of the bandit, and that she had remained there all night. The villagers began discussing Didda. In each of their hearts, Didda’s… …image was the same. They began to regard Didda as the living embodiment of Mother Bhavani. In their belief, the Mother herself had descended to earth in the form of a queen to destroy the suffering of her devotees.

After the death of the bandit Durjan, the villagers felt so reassured that they rushed to the temple even while the darkness of night still remained, for they were no longer afraid of anything. At dawn, when Didda opened the doors of the temple and stepped out of the sanctum, she appeared calm and serene, like a perfected ascetic. As the rays of the sun touched her, the radiance of her form spread all around. Everyone was mesmerized by the Queen’s presence. All voices rose in victory cries for Didda. As she walked, she came and sat on the steps of the temple. The people gathered around her; the village women came forward, took the dust of Didda’s feet, and offered her their gratitude. Tears from the women’s eyes washed Didda’s feet. Naravahana watched the scene with deep satisfaction. It seemed to him that with the sunrise of that day, a brilliant star had risen in the destiny of Kashmir. That this belief of his was not false was proven by the later history of Kashmir itself.

That day, Didda was brought back to the royal palace in a chariot. From the temple of Mother Kheer Bhavani to the palace, people stood on both sides of the road, raising victory cries in the name of their young Queen Mother. In groups and crowds, the people moved toward the royal palace with Didda. On that day, it was as if the people of Kashmir began to dream a new dream centered around her.

When this news reached the royal palace, it was as though the sky had fallen upon everyone’s heads. No one could comprehend when Didda had gone out of the palace and accomplished such astounding deeds. The greatest blow fell upon Prime Minister Phalgun. When he saw Didda returning to the palace, carried on a tide of people amid resounding acclamations in her name, he could not accept it in any way. He realized that through her sharp intellect Didda was carving out a distinct place for herself in the royal palace—and in Kashmir itself. Yet it was not only her intellect; Phalgun could not deny Didda’s valor either.

On the other hand, Chandralekha thought to herself how, in what she had never even imagined accomplishing in all these years, Didda alone had managed to carry out such deeds… …she was accomplishing them alone. Just as she herself needed her father’s counsel at every moment, why did Didda not need anyone’s advice at all? Thinking along these lines, Chandralekha sank into melancholy.

On the other side of the royal palace, the Queen Mother was overflowing with joy at being able to spend time with her son after so many years. Kshemagupta himself told his revered mother that it was Didda who had urged him to come there. It was Didda who had made him understand that a mother’s only support was her son, and that was why he had come to spend some time with her. That day, the Queen Mother felt that no one had ever thought of her so deeply as Didda had. If she wished to keep her son within her influence, and if she wished to spend the final years of her life with her precious jewel, then Didda must be kept in this palace with honor. Under no circumstances should she be driven away from the palace. When the Queen Mother received the news of Didda’s slaying of the bandit that day, she was immensely pleased. In her heart she thought that Didda had come into this kingdom as a blessing, and that such a woman was fully worthy of giving her son an heir in the future.

That day, while everyone else was absorbed in thoughts and discussions about Didda, Didda herself, on the way back to the royal palace, began to reminisce. She recalled the women at the Kheer Bhavani Temple who had bowed to her and pleaded that no woman from their village should ever again be taken away for the king’s pleasure. If Didda could accomplish this, they had said, they would remain eternally grateful to her.

When Didda’s chariot reached the royal palace that day, the Queen Mother came forward to receive her. Chandralekha, weighed down with sorrow, watched the scene. Maharaja Kshemagupta himself stepped forward, took Didda by the hand, and led her into the palace. On the day of her first entry into her in-laws’ home after her marriage, Didda had not received such honor; but after returning from the slaying of the bandit, the respect she received made it seem as though that day alone marked her true entry into the household.

That day, before everyone, the Maharaja said to Didda, “Didda, tell me—what do you desire from me? Didda had remained silent until then. Now she spoke and said, “Maharaja, if the fortune of Kashmir is to be restored, the honor and dignity of the women of Kashmir must be protected.”

Those few words spoken that day were enough. The Maharaja kept Didda’s request. Not only that—after this event he introduced a coin in the name of “Didda Kshemagupta Deva.” Through this act, Prime Minister Phalgun’s intrigues were, in effect, thwarted. (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.