Abhinavagupta stepped forward and poured the sacred water of Kapileśvara upon Diddā’s lips. Bending down before her and placing his hand upon her head, he said, “O Queen, your work in this world is complete. Another field of action in a new life awaits you. Now you may depart.”

As Abhinavagupta gently stroked her head, tears streamed from Diddā’s eyes. Slowly she closed them, and her entire body grew still; her breathing ceased.

Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir

By Debasree Chakraborti

Some people spend their entire lives—from the very beginning to the very end—in continuous struggle. Rest or peace is never truly granted to them.

From the start to the end, Diddā’s life was a chronicle of unbroken struggle. Though she was a king’s daughter and later a queen, she never experienced royal comfort.

All her life she worked only for her family and her kingdom, yet in return she received nothing but the stigma of being called a witch.

At the final stage of her life, on one night in the month of Agrahayan, Diddā’s grandson Nandigupta passed away. Diddā had been mentally prepared for such a day.

For at the time of Nandigupta’s birth, the royal physician had already declared that he would not live long on this earth. During this dreadful phase of Diddā’s life, the flames of the Damar rebellion once again spread across different parts of Kashmir. At the same time, a barbaric leader named Sabuktigin attacked the Hindu Shahi kingdom.

With great valor, he fought against Sabuktigin and preserved Kabul’s independence and honor. But Diddā found it impossible to bring Kashmir fully under control, for she was crushed under the burden of age. Amidst attacks and counterattacks, she seemed to drift away even from her own spiritual discipline. The power by which she had once learned to control her life—fate itself now pushed that nectar-filled vessel far from her reach.

At such a time, early one morning, a maid came and informed Diddā that a sage wished to see her. Diddā was deeply spiritual in nature, so she regarded the sage’s arrival as a blessing from God and ordered that he be brought into her palace.

Dawn had not yet broken. From different directions of the mountains, the cries of jungle fowl pierced the darkness. In the part of Diddā’s palace where there stood a temple of Mahadeva, there was a small pond. Around the pond, torches burned between stone pillars. Cold wind and mist from outside seemed to weave a circle of mystery around the place. The breeze mingled with the water and created delicate patterns upon its surface.

Diddā rose at the sacred hour of Brahma-muhurta and sat there chanting the name of Kapileshwar. That day too she was doing the same. At that moment, she felt as though a figure from the past was returning through the dense wall of mist. The maid approached, leading an old man dressed in black.

Diddā tried carefully to understand this person. She did not have to wait long. The palace light illuminated the visitor. She saw that it was Phalguna standing before her. Old age had overtaken his entire body; the hair on his head and his beard were completely white, and in his black garments his true nature was hard to discern.

Diddā could not understand whether the Phalguna who stood before her was a saint or a devil.

Diddā did not need to say anything. Phalguna spoke on his own:

“The time that has passed is now only the past, and time changes people greatly. Do not compare me with the Phalguna of old.

The devil within me died long ago. Now I desire nothing except the welfare of Kashmir. With the Damar rebellion spreading everywhere, in such a situation we must forget all past bitterness and stand united.”

Now Diddā’s body seemed like the very map of Kashmir itself. The lines and wrinkles upon her body appeared like living words—each one a chapter of history. Taking up his reed pen, Time itself wrote down these words and completed the chronicle of how a crippled princess became an empress.

Diddā felt inclined to believe Phalguna’s words. It seemed to her that this man deserved one final chance. For in such a situation, someone was needed who understood very well the nature of the Damar rebellion. Long ago, Phalguna had crushed this uprising with an iron hand; therefore, in these circumstances, Diddā accepted Phalguna’s return as a blessing from God.

In Kashmir, many of Phalguna’s followers still existed in large numbers, and even among the rebels there were several of his supporters. Thus, when news of Phalguna’s arrival spread, many group leaders began to join him. Phalguna also maintained deep relations with the kings of several neighboring states, and they too began to assist him with troops in suppressing the Damar rebellion.

In this way, a vast force was formed against the Damars, and together they united to confront them. Then the campaign began. Within a very short time, Phalguna created a powerful network of spies, who mingled among the Damars and started sending intelligence to Phalguna’s forces. Phalguna and his army stockpiled large quantities of weapons in the forests surrounding the Damar settlements.

Gradually, Phalguna’s forces encircled all the Damar habitations, and then, on a deep night, the attack began. Phalguna’s policy was that no one should be spared—neither women nor children. Like the burning of Khāṇḍava Forest, the Damar settlements were destroyed all at once.

After suppressing the Damar rebellion, Phalguna once again became immensely popular in Kashmir. Slowly, he began to establish his authority over the whole of Kashmir, and he no longer felt the need to seek Diddā’s counsel in almost any matter.

Gradually, Diddā too realized that even in old age a person’s character does not truly change. Phalguna had returned to Kashmir more powerful than ever before, in order to fulfill the ultimate ambition of his life. She knew that if a violent man like Phalguna were to sit upon the throne of Kashmir, the lives of the Kashmiri people would become unbearable.

And Diddā Without wasting time, she summoned Tunga to Kashmir. Diddā used her loyal troops strictly according to her own will and granted Phalguna no authority whatsoever over them. Moreover, her spies were extremely active, and their operations were ruthlessly violent. The purpose for which Diddā had needed Phalguna had already been fulfilled, and therefore his necessity had also come to an end.

Had Phalguna come with honest intentions, Diddā would have kept him in Kashmir with honor for the rest of his life. But Phalguna’s true purpose in coming was to bring about Diddā’s destruction. Knowing and understanding this fully, Diddā never wished to invite such ruin upon herself.

Thus began another reign of terror in the history of Kashmir. Gradually, those closest to Phalguna began to die under mysterious circumstances, and the causes of their deaths could not be determined. The kings of the Border States who had helped Phalguna suppress the Damar rebellion also began to die unnatural deaths. Whoever came close to Phalguna was removed by an unseen hand.

A climate of fear spread among the people. Even royal officials distanced themselves from Phalguna, and in this way he was gradually left completely alone. As loneliness and isolation gnawed at him, Phalguna made many attempts to meet Diddā, for by then he had become aware of her power and wished to beg her forgiveness and escape this cursed life. But that did not happen.

After some time had passed in this manner, one day Phalguna was found dead in his chamber. Although the cause of his death could not be discovered, in Kashmir Diddā became a source of dreadful terror. Many people, even unwillingly, were forced to accept her authority.

At this stage of her life, the mentality of those around her no longer affected Diddā. She feared no one but God. Yet in this world, the person dearest to her heart was Bhalaga; every emotion of his mattered deeply to her. But on the fifth day of the bright fortnight of the month of Phalguna, while Diddā was absorbed in the worship of Mother Sharada at the Sharada Peeth, news reached her Bhalaga was gravely ill; suddenly he was having great difficulty breathing. The distance from Sharada Peeth to Srinagar was long, and Diddā herself was exhausted under the weight of age. Yet the news about Bhalaga deeply unsettled her. Without wasting any time, she set out that very day on horseback for Srinagar.

When, weary from the long day’s journey, Diddā entered her palace in Srinagar, she saw that the entire palace lay in darkness; only a lamp was burning in Bhalaga’s chamber. Walking had become very difficult for her—she felt as if both her legs were growing numb. That day all the palace windows were open, and through them the cold wind and mist entered, forming a kind of veil before Bhalaga’s room.

It was as though Diddā lacked the strength to cross that veil. The distance between her and Bhalaga’s chamber seemed to grow ever longer. Part of her even wished that this distance might stretch further still. She was not prepared to face the reality that awaited her inside that room. That mist-covered veil seemed like the boundary between life and death.

Crossing that boundary, Diddā entered the chamber and saw Bhalaga’s body laid upon the floor, with a lamp burning near his head. She leaned against the wall beside the doorway and sank down to the floor. She could not understand at what point between life and death she herself had arrived.

After staring at Bhalaga for a long while, Diddā burst into a wail of grief. Kashmir saw the tears of Queen Diddā for the first time that day. Throughout her life, the queen had kept her emotions hidden from the world, but the blow of Bhalaga’s death flung open every door of her heart, and she could no longer restrain herself.

At the very moment of her cry, a sudden gust of wind came from outside and extinguished the lamp in the room. Bhalaga had never wished Diddā to reveal her weakness before anyone; perhaps even in death he wished to conceal it.

Sitting in the darkened chamber, Diddā seemed to behold the vast stretch of time from her own birth to Bhalaga’s death. She felt, in that long span, the meaning and philosophy of life itself.

As time passed, life began to ebb away. After Bhalaga’s death, Diddā’s physical and mental strength was almost completely exhausted. Nor did she retain any desire to continue living. All attachment to the throne and the kingdom came to an end.

In the meantime, she established several temples and monasteries. In the name of her son Abhimanyu, she founded Abhimanyupur and the Abhimanyuswāmi Vishnu temple. She also founded the Diddāsāmi temple and the Diddāpur monastery in her own name. And to immortalize Bhalaga in the hearts of the people of Kashmir, she established the Bhalaga monastery.

The man who had acted as the helmsman behind the transformation of that once dying, crippled little girl into the Diddā of today—his contribution had to be immortalized through this small offering of guru-dakṣiṇā; otherwise, she would not have been able to show her face in the world beyond.

Diddā entrusted Tunga with complete command of Kashmir’s armed forces. Now she waited for a worthy successor to the throne. Since there was no surviving heir in the lineage of Kṣemagupta, Diddā decided that she would throw open the throne of Kashmir to all. Whoever could win this throne through intelligence, strength, and merit would become the king of Kashmir.

When Diddā expressed this wish to Tunga, he organized a grand competition on a vast field along the banks of the Vitastā River. The entire city of Srinagar and its surrounding regions were beautifully decorated. Great ornamental gateways were erected along the roads. From ordinary Kashmiri commanders to princes of neighboring regions, all came rushing to take part in this contest.

Through many stages and varied trials, the contestants had to advance forward. Though Diddā was gravely ill, she went one day to witness the competition with her own eyes. From where she was seated, she saw a spot where some fruits had been placed. Young men were fighting among themselves to seize those fruits, while to one side stood a young man calmly enjoying the taste of the fruit.

Diddā recognized the young man at once—this youth was her brother’s son, Sangrāmarāja. At Diddā’s signal, the young man came forward to her. Seating him beside her, Diddā said, “I noticed that everyone is fighting with one another to gather the fruit. In such a situation, how did you manage to collect the fruit and enjoy its taste so calmly?”

Hearing Diddā’s question, the young Sangrāmarāja laughed and said, “Foolish people deprive themselves of what truly belongs to them by fighting among themselves. I made them fight each other, and then I took even their share as well.”

Diddā asked, “What lesson do we learn from this?”

“We learn,” he replied, “that in any situation one must keep a cool head and simply continue one’s work. A person who loses his temper over trifles is easily led astray.”

Diddā was delighted by Sangrāmarāja’s presence of mind and sound judgment. In this young man she found the qualities of a capable ruler.

That day, with the setting sun on the banks of the Vitastā River as witness, Queen Diddā proclaimed Sangrāmarāja king of Kashmir.

Human destiny and the cycles of time are all governed by God. Often, when we try to shape life according to our own will, something entirely different happens—something we may never even imagine. Yet there are also people of action who are born in such a way that, after completing their work, they are able to choose their own death. In Diddā’s case, it was much the same.

From the moment Sangrāmarāja was declared king, Diddā grew still more ill. After returning to the palace and taking to her bed, she was no longer able to rise at all. In these frail moments of her life, she thought of Bhalaga constantly. At every stage of her life, Bhalaga had been like a great banyan tree to her, under whose shade she had spent her entire existence. Now, having reached the final edge of life, she longed with all her heart for that vast banyan tree’s shelter—but it was nowhere to be found; death had carried him far away into an invisible world.

For the coronation of Sangrāmarāja, Abhinavagupta was invited.

Diddā wished that the coronation ceremony should be performed under the priesthood of Abhinavagupta. It seemed as though she already knew that the moment of her departure from this life had arrived. Therefore, she had made all the arrangements for the coronation in advance. It had been decided that the very day after the competition to choose the king ended, the new king would be crowned.

As the city of Srinagar burst into celebration to witness Sangrāmarāja’s coronation—while the royal palace resounded with Vedic chants and the fragrance of incense—there was no one in Diddā’s chamber except herself. Kashmir no longer needed her. Thus, upon her deathbed, she waited alone for that supreme moment.

Lying silently on her deathbed, Diddā reflected upon her life after her marriage to Kṣemagupta. Passing through countless blows and counterblows, rises and falls, her very existence had unknowingly become one with Kashmir—so much so that she and Kashmir were no longer separate. Whatever she had done in her married life, she had done solely for the welfare of Kashmir. Yet in the whirlpool of time, she had come to be known as the “witch queen.” Those for whose good she had sacrificed her entire life were the very ones who turned her into a witch queen.

Diddā could feel her entire body growing cold; there was scarcely any time left.

At the end of her life, bidding farewell to this world was unbearably painful. Tears flowed from her eyes as she thought of the past. Thus, the prophecy once made by the sage of Char-Chinar Island many years before was fulfilled. Through Diddā’s hand, the rule of the Lohara dynasty began in Kashmir.

At that moment, Sangrāmarāja and Tunga entered her chamber and stood on either side of the queen. Diddā was still fully conscious. She joined the hands of Sangrāmarāja and Tunga together, making them understand that for the sake of Kashmir they must remain united.

After joining their hands, Abhinavagupta stepped forward and poured the sacred water of Kapileśvara upon Diddā’s lips. Bending down before her and placing his hand upon her head, he said, “O Queen, your work in this world is complete. Another field of action in a new life awaits you. Now you may depart.”

As Abhinavagupta gently stroked her head, tears streamed from Diddā’s eyes. Slowly she closed them, and her entire body grew still; her breathing ceased.

Now Diddā’s body seemed like the very map of Kashmir itself. The lines and wrinkles upon her body appeared like living words—each one a chapter of history. Taking up his reed pen, Time itself wrote down these words and completed the chronicle of how a crippled princess became an empress. (Concludes)

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, Part-26, Part-27. 

______________________

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.