Didda sat upon the throne of Kashmir with Nandigupta in her arms. Seated on the throne, she declared in a firm voice, “I am Queen Mother Didda. After the death of my son, Abhimanyugupta, the ruler of Kashmir, I hereby take the reins of Kashmir’s rule into my own hands. Until Prince Nandigupta becomes capable of assuming the responsibility of Kashmir, I shall discharge this duty.”
Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir
By Debasree Chakraborti
Come, those upon whom God’s blessings always rest do not need anyone else. Mother Bhavani’s grace herself is upon you. So you have no need of any human help. You are the saviour and the giver. Your place is above everyone else—sit there and see how small everyone is compared to you, how they raise both hands and beg for your help. They have no understanding of right and wrong. And so, when they do not receive help, they begin to oppose you. The behavior of such people should have no effect on you. You, your husband, and your grandfather—these three are the backbone of the state. If you collapse, Kashmir and the Hindu Shahi kingdom will completely fall apart.
Bhalaga’s words had a deep impact on her mind. Indeed, that was true. Even if not directly, she controlled these two kingdoms indirectly. Her breaking down would mean harm to the state. Moreover, the influence of the people around her should not affect her. She was behaving like a child. That the words of a young girl like Basundhara could affect her so deeply that she had begun indulging in sorrow! Compared to Kashmir, their existence was utterly insignificant.
That night, Basundhara gave birth to Nandigupta. With the birth of the young prince, celebrations began across the entire kingdom. Didda felt that the chapter of sorrow in her life had finally come to an end. Nandigupta had brought completeness to her family. Upon hearing the news of her grandson’s birth, she rushed towards Abhimanyu’s palace. Didda felt as if King Kshemagupta had returned in the form of Abhimanyu’s son. Tears of joy began to flow from her eyes. The closer she came to Abhimanyu’s palace, the clearer the sound of the newborn’s cries became. Perhaps she had not felt such joy even at the birth of her own son. Now she understood very well the meaning of the saying that the value of the principal is far greater than that of the interest. Moving forward with such joy, she suddenly received a severe jolt at the entrance of Abhimanyu’s palace. There, the guards did not allow her to enter the palace, stating as the reason that Queen Basundhara of Kashmir had apparently…A ban had been imposed on Didda’s entry into the palace. Basundhara’s claim was that if Didda’s inauspicious shadow were to fall upon her child, it would cause irreparable harm to the infant. It was said that she had a fierce argument with Maharaj Abhimanyu over this matter, but considering the queen mother’s physical condition, he had been forced to accept this unjust demand. Agitated, Didda asked, “Why—what has happened to Basundhara?”
Everyone in the Kashmir palace held Didda in the highest respect and obeyed her, yet they could not defy the words of the king and queen. Still, to them Didda was the living embodiment of Mother Bhavani, and they knew that to insult her would bring misfortune upon Kashmir. Therefore, with the utmost reverence, they gave their queen mother a detailed account of everything that had happened. They said that the royal physician had declared that due to extreme mental stress, Basundhara was suffering from severe hemorrhaging.
At this moment, she needed to be kept in a state of complete mental stability; otherwise, it could even lead to her death.
Bhalaga was standing behind Didda. He never left her alone, especially at a time like this, considering all that was unfolding in Didda’s life—he was even more vigilant. Didda’s heart broke and she felt tears welling up. Turning back, she saw Bhalaga, took his hand, and began to stride hurriedly toward her own quarters. No—there must be no display of emotion in front of the royal officials. She was the queen mother; she bore many constraints. She could never reveal her weakness before everyone. Once she passed through the door of her bedchamber, she embraced Bhalaga and burst into tears. Bhalaga alone was the truth; everything else was false. He was her mother, her friend, her guard, her teacher—he was everything to her. From the earliest moments of Didda’s life to the present, Bhalaga was the sole witness. Before him, she could lay herself bare. Holding Bhalaga close, Didda broke down in tears. Sobbing, she said, “Bhalaga, I have wanted nothing in life except love.
All my life I have loved people, and in return I have received only hatred. I can’t endure it anymore.”
“Bhalaga, Basundhara too has misunderstood me and pushed me away. I do not even have the right to see the face of Abhimanyu’s child!”
Bhalaga did not stop Didda. Didda wept before Bhalaga throughout the night, and toward dawn she seemed to grow strangely still. Not a single sound came from her lips. All day long she did nothing but think. When she had been about to seat her son Abhimanyu upon the throne, just before that moment her guru, Vikram Sen, had said to her, “What are you doing? Is this what I trained you for, sacrificing myself for you all these years? You are depriving Kashmir as well! Will Kashmir ever find an heir more worthy than you?”
That day, Didda had ignored Vikram Sen’s words. After Abhimanyu’s coronation, Vikram Sen left Kashmir forever. Thus the days passed. For her own safety and that of her son, Basundhara summoned her father’s commander, Mahamardan. Mahamardan was appointed to the task of protecting Basundhara and her son Nandigupta. Meanwhile, news reached Kashmir that Tibet had attacked Himbat. Upon hearing this, Basundhara became violently agitated. She made Abhimanyu’s life unbearable.
Her claim was that Didda was a witch—one who had incited Tibet to attack Himbat. Otherwise, Tibet could never have dared to do such a thing. After the birth of Nandigupta, Abhimanyu grew even more withdrawn. He merely listened to everything his wife said; he offered no reply. A few days after this incident, news again came to Kashmir that Himbat had defeated Tibet. The news of her father’s victory made Basundhara even more arrogant. Thus the days went by.
But as the months passed, it became evident that Nandigupta was not growing as he should have been. The maidservants were the first to suspect something. When they informed Queen Basundhara, she summoned the royal physician. After examining Nandigupta, the physician declared that he had been born with physical disabilities. Therefore, he would never be able to live a healthy, normal life like other children, and his physical development would never be like that of a healthy child.
The news reached Didda like a thunderbolt. She began to see vermilion-colored clouds gathering in the sky—omens of impending disaster. Even more sensitive than Didda herself was Bhalaga’s sixth sense. He had seen these crimson clouds on the very day Basundhara arrived in Kashmir. Their apprehensions had not been unfounded.
In front of all the servants and maidservants, Basundhara began to hurl accusations at Abhimanyu. She said, “It is your mother’s evil gaze that has brought my child to this condition. If you still do not drive her out of this royal palace, then I will take my son and leave for Himbat forever.”
Abhimanyu was a man of great calm, steadiness, and forbearance. He knew that a child’s life is incomplete without a father; that not only a mother’s love, but the touch of love from both parents makes a child’s life whole. He was not willing to turn Nandigupta’s life into a living hell, as his own had been. Nandigupta would grow up under the protective canopy of both his father’s and mother’s affection.
Yet he also held deep reverence for his mother. He had noticed that she no longer came to the royal court, and he knew why she had stopped attending. He also knew that efforts were underway in the Kashmir palace to grind his mother’s honor and dignity into dust. If she remained here, she would never find peace. The people of Kashmir regarded his mother as equal to a goddess; therefore, let her spend the final years of her life among them—her honor would remain intact forever.
As Abhimanyu entered his mother’s palace, the first person he encountered was Bhalaga. It was Bhalaga and his grandmother who had raised him with their own hands, and so his respect for them was of an entirely different order. But this was the first time he saw reproach in Bhalaga’s eyes as they looked at him. Still, Bhalaga said nothing and stood silently to one side.
Abhimanyu asked him, “Where is Mother?”
Without uttering a word, Valaga gestured toward Didda’s bedchamber. Abhimanyu understood his mother’s state of mind. Normally, she never entered her bedchamber except late at night; but that she was sitting there during the day was an utterly impossible, unthinkable occurrence.
He entered his mother’s chamber and saw that all the curtains over the windows had been drawn, and in the darkened room his mother lay in one corner of the bed.
For Didda, day and night seemed to have lost all distinction; she was sleeping during the daytime. Abhimanyu lowered his face close to hers and saw that in just a few days it seemed as though his mother had aged greatly. Sensing Abhimanyu’s presence in her sleep, Didda opened her eyes. No—Abhimanyu’s impression was mistaken. He had thought of his mother as an old woman weighed down by age, but the burden of years had not weakened Didda. The fire that burned within her revealed its power through her gaze. She sat up, took Abhimanyu’s hand, and made him sit on the bed. After a long time, having her son close to her again, tears welled up in Didda’s eyes. But she understood that Abhimanyu had come to her with a specific purpose.
After sitting with his head bowed before his mother for a while, Abhimanyu said, “Mother, with the passage of time, many changes come into human lives. It is our duty to accept these changes.”
Didda replied, “My son, I have accepted them.”
“Yes, Mother, you have accepted them. Your position—that of the Queen of Kashmir—is now Basundhara’s.”
“Yes, both that position and the throne of Kashmir I have relinquished and taken refuge in this chamber.”
“But hiding yourself within this chamber is an insult to you. It is better to leave a place where there is no honor.”
“What do you mean?” Didda asked, her heart heavy with pain.
“Mother, in a child’s life, the love and affection of both father and mother are essential. I do not want my child to have a terrifying childhood like mine. Basundhara believes that your presence in this palace is bringing a curse upon Nandigupta. I know that such thinking is deeply disrespectful to you. And you receive the greatest respect from the people of Kashmir, so it is among them that you should now live. And now, before thinking of ourselves, we must think of Nandigupta.”
Didda said, “My son, you may go now. I will leave the palace of Kashmir today itself.”
After Abhimanyugupta departed, Valaga entered Didda’s chamber. He had been standing outside and had heard everything, so he fully understood the situation. He said to Didda, “Do not cry. Tears are a symbol of weakness, and you are not weak.”
Didda replied, “Bhalaga, today my responsibilities and duties toward this palace have been fulfilled. There is nothing more to take from here. At this very moment, we will leave this palace with nothing but the clothes we are wearing.”
“Where have you decided to go?” he asked.
“We will go to Abhinavagupta.”
That day, at that very moment, Didda and Bhalaga left the palace of Kashmir.
News that Queen Mother Didda was leaving the palace could not be kept hidden. Every royal official in the palace was devoted to her. To them, Queen Mother Didda was a goddess. In her presence, the palace was a temple. And where there is no deity, devotees do not remain. So that day, several hundred servants, maidservants, and royal officials abandoned the palace along with Didda. Didda and Bhalaga walked out of the royal palace on foot, leading the way, while her devotees followed behind. Didda forbade them many times from leaving the palace, but they did not listen to her. Even after repeated requests, when they still refused to heed her words, Didda said nothing more. Slowly, shedding all attachments, she came to stand upon the road of Kashmir.
News reached Abhimanyu that several hundred royal officials and servants had left the palace with his mother. The road to Kashmir had turned into a sea of people, through the middle of which Queen Didda was walking. From all sides, cries of victory were reportedly rising in her name. Abhimanyu left that day after placing a stone upon his heart, having spoken his words to his mother. He had not been prepared for such a situation, yet everything he had done, he had done with his child in mind.
Now Nandigupta was the most important person in his life. On the other hand, Didda…
When Basundhara heard that Didda had left the palace, she summoned Mahamardan and ordered him to arrange celebrations. At that moment, her maidservants came to her together and said, “The Queen Mother had sent the army to help your father against Tibet. Surely you do not know that. You may celebrate your father’s victory as well. We are leaving this hell along with our Queen Mother. You may now sit alone and look after your son and the throne.”
The situation deteriorated to such an extent that by evening there was no one left in the palace even to light the lamps. In the midst of all this, Mahamardan became the guardian of Basundhara and her son.
From the day Didda left the palace, Basundhara confined herself voluntarily within her bedchamber with her son. She seemed to have become mentally unbalanced. There was no one anywhere; Mahamardan continued to stand guard, and Basundhara constantly felt that Didda was conspiring to murder her son. The situation reached such an extreme that she even forbade sunlight from entering her chamber.
In the deep forests of Kashmir’s Meru Mountains lay Abhinavagupta’s hermitage. Amid that wilderness, a new chapter of Didda’s life began.
She embraced a kind of renunciation. In this phase of her life too, her sole constant companion was Bhalaga. She who had been, on one hand, a princess, on the other, a king’s wife and the queen mother—who had spent her entire life surrounded by splendor—now had to live in a dilapidated hut encircled by forest. She took food only once a day and spent the rest of the day in near fasting. At day’s end, after sunset, she received instruction from Abhinavagupta in the discipline of controlling the mind and in renunciation.
When darkness descended upon nature after sunset, when weary birds returned to their nests in a chorus of calls, at that very moment Abhinavagupta would light a lamp within the hut and impart to Didda the teachings of Vedanta.
He said, “In this world, no one truly belongs to anyone. The people around you are merely fellow travelers; their paths and yours are not the same. Therefore, one should not bind oneself in bonds of attachment to anyone. It is by becoming bound in such attachment that people make their greatest mistakes. In many cases, they abandon the path that leads to their goal, take the wrong road, and lose their way. Everyone’s path is different. To reach our goal, we should take only as much as is necessary from the surroundings of the path and discard the rest. Didda, your advent has been for Kashmir. You are allowing yourself to be diverted from your purpose by specific people or events. Before his death, the king chose you as the guardian of his subjects. Not only that—your grandfather too entrusted you with the same responsibility. Therefore, you must fulfill that duty. Tell me, how many are born with such immense fortune?”
These words of Abhinavagupta inspired Didda profoundly. Indeed, how many are granted such great fortune? How often do two men entrust the sacred responsibility of their people to a single woman? Amid this forested wilderness, the wisdom of The citizens could see the glow of light, but that royal palace now lay in darkness. News of Didda’s growing popularity, carried by the scouts of Mahamardan, eventually reached Basundhara. It set her ablaze with jealousy. She said to Mahamardan, “Right before my eyes this witch is spreading her web. In this way she will entangle us all in her poisonous net and destroy us. So before she destroys us, finish her off.”
Abhimanyu heard Basundhara’s words and protested vehemently. Ever since his mother had left the household, his physical condition had begun to deteriorate. In the evenings he developed a fever, and throughout the day a dry cough and breathlessness became his constant companions. At first he did not give much importance to these symptoms. But one night, deep into his sleep, he was seized by a terrible bout of coughing, and with that cough a large amount of blood came out of his mouth. Seeing the blood, Abhimanyu was terrified, for he had to live for Nandigupta. His father had died at a very young age; he himself could not leave so soon. He had to raise Nandigupta with his own hands. Without wasting any time, he summoned the royal physician that very night. After examining him carefully, the physician informed him that he was suffering from consumption (tuberculosis).
Abhimanyugupta always thought of the welfare of everyone in the family. He wished that there should be no further unrest in his mother’s life, that she might spend the rest of her days in complete peace. On the other hand, he was utterly unwilling to part with Nandigupta under any circumstances. If the news that he had been afflicted with consumption were to reach Basundhara’s ears, she would leave Kashmir and go to Himbat. Therefore he said to the royal physician, “You will keep the news of my illness to yourself. Under no circumstances should this illness be mentioned to anyone. Only you and I will know.”
Deeply worried, the royal physician replied, “But Maharaj, this is an extremely contagious disease. Think once of your son. He is already physically very weak; if he contracts this illness, he cannot possibly be saved. I hesitate greatly to say this, but given your condition…”
“This means you will not live for very long; therefore the crown prince must be kept alive!”
Abhimanyu said, “Your concern is only natural. Such an attitude reflects your sense of duty toward Kashmir. For that, I thank you. But rest assured—I have decided from today to maintain distance from everyone. Mother is ruling Kashmir from Mount Meru, and whatever instructions she sends me as and when required, I carry out only those. Socially, therefore, I have no real need to mix with people. I want Nandigupta to grow up on the soil of Kashmir. That alone is my final wish. And Basundhara, in that sense, has no further need of me now. So if I voluntarily choose a life of exile, it will trouble no one.”
The royal physician understood the logic of Abhimanyu’s words. Therefore, he kept the news of Abhimanyu’s illness hidden from everyone.
In the darkness of night, Abhimanyu would secretly come to see Nandigupta. That night too, he slipped in quietly to see his son and happened to overhear a conversation between Basundhara and Mahamardan. At that time his physical condition was extremely weak; he did not have the strength to stand for long, and moreover, fever would set in every night. Hearing the conspiracy to murder his mother, he could no longer keep himself hidden. Breaking all restraint, he lunged at Mahamardan and attacked him. He said, “How dare you show such audacity—to spit on the very plate whose salt you have eaten! Shame on you! Today itself you will leave Kashmir.”
After Didda left the royal palace, Abhimanyu’s security had been greatly relaxed. That night he was alone; with no guards around him, Mahamardan struck him first, pushing him hard. With a single shove, Abhimanyu fell to the ground. As Abhimanyu lay fallen, Basundhara said to Mahamardan, “Finish him off. Even in him flows that witch’s blood; he must be eliminated first. Let the witch understand the agony of a mother who has lost her child.”
A terrifying mental distortion seemed to have taken root within Basundhara. The lust for power and her blind love for her child had driven her to madness. Except for Mahamardan, every person in this world appeared to her as a conspirator and an enemy of her child. Mahamardan himself aspired to sit upon the throne of Kashmir. By bringing Basundhara under his control and eliminating rivals one after another, he sought to ascend the Kashmiri throne. Thus, the greatest thorn in his path was Abhimanyugupta. As Abhimanyu tried to rise to his feet with his weakened body, Mahamardan struck him with his sword, severing his head from his neck. A jet of blood gushed forth and splattered across Basundhara’s body.
Bhalaga was an extremely astute woman. She knew that sooner or later a deadly attack on Didda was inevitable. She had prepared herself for that day. Disguised units of the Ekangi army had been secretly stationed around Mount Meru, fully prepared to protect Didda. However, she never revealed this secret to Didda, because Didda would never accept such assistance. Having been expelled from the royal palace, whatever she did for Kashmir henceforth would be done selflessly; she would accept no help in return. On the very night Abhimanyu was murdered, Mahamardan, accompanied by several of his soldiers, launched an attack on Mount Meru. In the darkness of night, the Ekangi soldiers lay hidden in disguise across different parts of the forest. To signal the arrival of the enemy in the cover of night, they began to imitate the calls of specific animals and birds. When the calls of animals and birds were heard together in unison, it meant that a grave danger was approaching. Didda was familiar with this kind of warfare. Hearing those sounds, she sat upright. Bhalaga too awoke and, from a hidden spot inside the hut, took out two swords—placing one in Didda’s hand and taking the other herself. Both of them knew exactly what had to be done next. Mahamardan’s orders were that his soldiers would surround Didda’s hut, while he himself would enter and kill Didda.
Didda herself loosened the fastening of the hut’s door from the inside……so that the enemy would have no difficulty entering. When Mahamardan entered Didda’s hut, the Ekangi soldiers began killing Mahamardan’s men from all sides. The attack was so sudden that, before the soldiers could even comprehend what was happening, they fell silently into the jaws of death. The moment Mahamardan stepped inside the hut, he was attacked from both directions: from one side a sword strike severed both his legs from his body, and from the other a blow separated his head from his neck.
Among Mahamardan’s soldiers, one man, though at the brink of death, was still alive. From him the Ekangi soldiers learned of Abhimanyu’s death. Standing outside Didda’s chamber, they cried out, “Queen Mother, the King of Kashmir, Abhimanyugupta, has been slain by Mahamardan. Today Kashmir has suffered an Indrapatan—the fall of its Indra.” The soldiers’ wails tore through Didda’s heart. She would have to avenge the death of her only son, Abhimanyu. She knew that in this world no one truly belongs to anyone.
Yet if she had been born to fulfill her duty toward Kashmir, then avenging the murder of Kashmir’s king was also her duty. Before a mother’s love for her child, even sacred injunctions lose their power. With a terrible scream, Didda seemed to awaken—as a reptile awakens from its winter slumber, so did she rise. Within moments, a contingent of Ekangi soldiers arrived at Mount Meru with several horses. Didda grasped Mahamardan’s severed head by the hair, lifted it in one hand, mounted a horse, and set out toward the royal palace of Kashmir. All along the way, Didda rode with battle cries. Bhalaga accompanied her on this journey as well.
In Didda’s frenzy, all of Kashmir seemed to awaken. Her terrifying cries echoed between the mountains and the lakes, as though war drums were sounding everywhere. When she reached the royal palace of Kashmir, a guard came and gave her a detailed account of that dreadful night. Now calm and composed, Didda advanced toward Basundhara’s quarters, Mahamardan’s head in one hand and a sword in the other. Basundhara’s palace lay empty of servants; they too had abandoned the palace along with Basundhara.
Alerted by the sound of footsteps in the darkness of night, Basundhara stepped out of her bedchamber. She thought that perhaps Mahamardan had come to present her with Didda’s severed head. Abhimanyu’s body was still lying on the floor of Basundhara’s palace. Dawn had not yet broken. The light from a lamp in one corner of the palace fell upon Abhimanyu’s body. When Didda arrived and saw the horrific fate of her son, she was driven mad with grief. She then saw Basundhara standing before her.
At the sight of Mahamardan’s head in Didda’s hand, Basundhara was struck with fear—for the first time in her life. When Didda hurled Mahamardan’s severed head at Basundhara’s face, Basundhara fell to the ground. Then Didda leapt upon her with her sword and tore Basundhara to pieces. After that, she rose to her feet, smearing her entire body with Basundhara’s blood. Didda did not look again at her dead son, for she knew that if she did, she would grow even weaker. And she did not wish to be weak any longer, because she had to keep moving toward the goal set on her life’s path; one must not turn toward anything that creates obstacles on the way to that goal.
From Basundhara’s bedchamber came the sound of Prince Nandigupta’s crying. Didda had never seen him with her own eyes. Ever since this child’s birth, she had dreamed so many dreams about him, but because of Basundhara those dreams had not been fulfilled. Didda felt that Nandigupta had now become her greatest responsibility. The Prince of Kashmir had to be kept alive. Even at the cost of her own life, it was her duty to protect this child for the welfare of Kashmir.
The light of dawn was spreading all around. Didda entered the royal court carrying Nandigupta in her arms. By then, the news of Abhimanyugupta’s death had spread throughout Kashmir. From courtiers to common people, everyone was eager to see their fallen king. In the presence of them all, Didda sat upon the throne of Kashmir with Nandigupta in her arms. Seated on the throne, she declared in a firm voice, “I am Queen Mother Didda. After the death of my son, Abhimanyugupta, the ruler of Kashmir, I hereby take the reins of Kashmir’s rule into my own hands. Until Prince Nandigupta becomes capable of assuming the responsibility of Kashmir, I shall discharge this duty.”
Didda’s decision created an atmosphere of joy among the people of Kashmir. It was as though the grief over Abhimanyu’s death was wiped away from everyone’s hearts, for they believed their Queen Mother to be the true and rightful occupant of the throne. (Continues)
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,
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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.
