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. 

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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.

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Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir

By Debasree Chakraborti

When the evening ārati began at the Shankaracharya Temple, the atmosphere of the shrine became vibrant with the fragrance of incense, resin, and hemp. At that very moment, from the temple परिसर the whole of Srinagar appeared like a radiant evening star, whose luminous presence seemed to represent Queen Didda herself.

But over the surrounding hills of this glittering city, dark clouds of danger were gathering. The shadow of those black clouds slowly spread over the entire Kashmir Valley. From all directions of the valley, the drumbeats of the Damar rebellion began to resound. They had been ruthlessly crushed during the time of Kṣemagupta. Yet, they could not be completely annihilated. Taking refuge in the kingdoms around Kashmir, they gradually reorganized themselves, and one day declared rebellion once again.

In this Damar uprising, Kashmiri Brahmins also joined. For they had never been able to accept Didda wholeheartedly ever since her ascension to the throne. The Kashmiri Brahmins had always wanted a male ruler on the throne of Kashmir. On the one hand she was physically disabled, and on the other hand a woman—both of which they found intolerable in a ruler.

Didda’s enemies collectively gave her the name “the Witch Queen.” They even began spreading propaganda against her, claiming that Didda was a woman of loose character who maintained her power by forming physical relationships with the men around her. Some even started saying that she was a Tantric practitioner and that she had established her authority through tantric practices. Ever since the death of her son Abhimanyu, efforts to defame Didda in this manner had begun.

Moreover, Kashmir had always been regarded as an extremely coveted land by its neighboring kingdoms. Taking advantage of internal disorder, the kings of neighboring states also began to advance to lay their hands on Kashmir.

One evening, Queen Didda sat talking with Bhalaga and Nandigupta were talking. For after Abhimanyu’s death, Nandigupta became the supreme vow of her life. Just as she had shaped Abhimanyu for the sake of Kashmir, in the same way she was now raising and training Nandigupta with the single aim of making him the ruler of Kashmir.

Bhalaga said to Didda, “In a few days we must send word to Vikramsena. Nandi too will receive military training from Vikramsena, just as your grandmother and father once did.”

Didda agreed and said, “If I can place him in the hands of both you and Gurujī, I will be at peace. But Gurujī may never come to Srinagar again.”

Bhalaga let out a long sigh and said, “Yes, he had many dreams centered on you. He envisioned you as an empress. When you voluntarily gave up power, it deeply wounded his heart. You could not honor your guru’s dream.”

Didda replied, “Because I value Kashmir even more than myself. Kashmir wanted a male ruler on the throne.”

Bhalaga was about to say something, but Didda stopped him and said, “I know what you will say—that many people wanted me on the throne. But they were very few in number. The will of the greater multitude must be acknowledged. Let me see—this time I myself shall go to him for Nandi’s sake.”

In the midst of Didda and Bhalaga’s conversation, Yashodhara entered. Yashodhara was a powerful feudal lord of Kashmir. At first, he had joined hands with the Brahmins and taken part in the rebellion against Didda. Gradually, Didda won him over to her side by offering wealth and power, and then appointed him as the commander-in-chief of the Kashmiri army.

Having gained absolute authority like Naravāhana, Yashodhara was extremely pleased. At that time, the number of power-hungry men in Kashmir was very great. But Didda should have understood that greed leaves no room for humanity in a person. People of such nature change their colors when opportunity arises.

Yashodhara’s untimely arrival in Didda’s inner chambers made her uneasy.

Yashodhara said, “Your Majesty, the enemy has attacked the frontier. The neighboring

The king of the neighboring state of Thakkana had attacked Kashmir, and the internal rebels had allegedly joined hands with him.

Didda always kept command of her elite personal troops in her own hands. Whenever she realized that the time had come for her to descend into the battlefield, she went forth with this special force herself, for no one but Didda was capable of leading this army.

She said, “Yashodhara, I have complete faith in your forces. You must advance today itself against Thakkana with your army.”

On the frontier between Kashmir and the province of Gandhara, the final battle between Thakkana and Yashodhara began. As Yashodhara advanced toward victory in this battle, his desire for the throne of Kashmir grew ever stronger. Thakkana had no real idea of Didda’s power. Thinking of her as a cripple, he attacked with only a small force. Yashodhara’s soldiers quickly surrounded Thakkana’s troops and began to slaughter them. Thakkana was unprepared for such an onslaught. When the cries of dying soldiers rose around him and he saw heaps of corpses piling up on every side, he was seized with terror—and Yashodhara’s sword severed his head from his body.

Having defeated Thakkana, Yashodhara proclaimed himself king of Kashmir right there on the battlefield. His soldiers, shouting victory in Yashodhara’s name, began marching toward Srinagar. At that moment, everything around Yashodhara seemed to vanish; he could see nothing but the royal throne and the crown of Kashmir.

But Yashodhara was not allowed to enter the palace of Kashmir. Before that could happen, Didda’s elite troops surrounded his army from all sides and cut them down. Yashodhara had no idea of the depth of Didda’s intellect. She trusted no one but herself. Never could she rest easy by entrusting responsibility to another.

Even within Yashodhara’s army were soldiers from Didda’s own elite force. At the very moment of entering Kashmir, they uttered various coded signals to alert the elite guards stationed in Srinagar about Yashodhara’s …true intention was revealed. The massacre that took place that day before the royal palace of Kashmir was witnessed by Didda herself, standing at the window of her palace. On that day, every one of Didda’s opponents felt the terror of her power.

Yashodhara was taken prisoner and confined in the royal jail. That day Didda realized that relying on the people around her was an act of folly. To extinguish the fire of rebellion that had flared up in Kashmir, she herself would have to descend into the battlefield.

After Yashodhara was imprisoned, the rebels gathered together and began advancing toward the royal palace. At that moment, cries of “Har Har Mahadev” rushed toward them like a trident. Once again, at first they could not understand what was happening. Nor could they comprehend the battle strategy of the elite force. Didda knew that once Yashodhara was captured, the rebels might unite and attack the palace.

The mountain road leading from the city of Srinagar to the palace was flanked on both sides by dense forests. The elite troops, dressed in garments that blended with the forest, lay hidden there. Another group kept watch from the palace below. When news of the enemy’s approach reached Didda, she came out of the palace with her soldiers, and from both sides of the jungle her troops surrounded the enemy and launched their attack.

That day a dreadful battle was fought in the heart of Srinagar. In this battle, Didda and her elite force were victorious, and the rebel leaders were captured. Afterwards, they were all hanged together in rows in the courtyard of the Kashmiri palace.

Thus time passed on, yet the fire of the Damar rebellion could not be extinguished. From time to time it flared up in different parts of the valley. Meanwhile, the young Nandigupta was growing up.

One day Bhalaga said to Didda, “Time is slipping away rapidly. By now Vikramsena must be appointed as the crown prince’s military instructor; otherwise it will be too late.”

Understanding the logic of Bhalaga’s words, Didda replied, “As the Damars grow stronger day by day, it will become impossible for Nandi to control them merely from the throne.”

“Valaga, this At that moment, she remembered Naravahana with deep intensity. No one had ever stood by her with such selfless devotion as he had. Bhalaga let out a long sigh and said, “No one ever loved you the way Naravahana did.”

To hide her tears, Didda moved toward the window. She knew that for a queen, showing weakness was a crime. But from Bhalaga, nothing could be concealed. Didda said, “Bhalaga, for a queen, even accepting the love of a subordinate is a crime. If I had encouraged Naravahana’s feelings, it would not have brought good to Kashmir.”

Valaga replied, “Your slightest encouragement would have saved a life.”

This time Didda could no longer restrain her emotions. She said, “I made a mistake, Bhalaga. I will never make this mistake again. Do not say another word about it. Now we must focus on bringing Vikramsena back.”

Hearing Didda’s words, Bhalaga said, “Let us see whether he returns. He too left in anger because of your behavior.”

“I did what I did for the good of Kashmir.”

“But it has brought more harm than good. During Abhimanyu’s reign, the rebels became organized.”

Didda understood the weight of Valaga’s words. Indeed, by handing over the responsibility of Kashmir to an unworthy successor, she had indirectly harmed the kingdom. Because of many of her wrong decisions, her loved ones had departed from her one by one. No—there was no time to waste anymore. Vikramsena had to be brought back. He alone could be the helmsman of her present time.

From Didda’s kingdom to the region of Lohara, where Vikramsena lived during her father’s reign, the route passed through a vast and dense forest. On the very night of her conversation with Bhalaga, Didda set out for Vikramsena with her elite troops.

The road was hemmed in by deep forest, and the thought that she would meet her revered guru after so many days filled Didda’s heart with a strange and quiet joy …was filling her heart. Only a few moments more of waiting, and with the sunrise she would be able to behold her revered guru. As she walked on with such thoughts, suddenly a shower of arrows began to fall from all sides. Didda was grievously wounded and fell from her horse. From within the wild bushes and trees, she watched her soldiers being killed. Of the few soldiers who had accompanied her, half perished that night in an attack by unknown enemies.

Didda could not identify who these attackers were. In the darkness she could only feel death raging all around her, and it seemed to her that everything was finished—that there was no longer any way for her to protect Kashmir.

When the frenzy of killing ended, she tried to rise to her feet, but with advancing age the strength in her legs had greatly diminished. Through yogic discipline she had once overcome her physical disability, but from long neglect of practice and the burden of years, that disability now seemed to return. She could not stand up at all.

At that moment, she saw the light of torches. The light appeared to be moving toward her. Soon she was surrounded on all sides. She had neither the physical nor the mental will left to fight the enemy.

She became like a helpless object. As a captive, she was taken to an unfamiliar camp. Though Didda did not recognize them, the enemies, seeing her physical disability and her beauty, realized that they had captured Queen Didda.

After a while, two strong-built men came and stood before her. Seeing them, Didda understood that they were the leaders of this group. Both of them came and begged her forgiveness. One of them said, “I am Tunga, and he is Kashi. By mistake, we have committed a most shameful act. After our father’s death, we took leadership of the forest-dwelling tribal people of this region. Seeing a group of unfamiliar soldiers enter our territory in the darkness of night, we thought that perhaps the enemy had attacked under cover of night. We have committed a grave injustice we have committed a grave wrong. Whatever punishment you give us for this, we shall accept it with bowed heads.”

At that moment, Didda seemed like an emotionless object. Before her eyes so many of her elite soldiers had been killed, and she had been able to do nothing. Those who had killed them were now standing before her, begging for forgiveness. She realized that what had happened the previous night had dealt a severe blow to Kashmir’s military strength. Now she did not even have the time to raise a new army.

For she was already shattered by one internal rebellion after another. Didda became like hard stone. Crushing all grief and pain beneath that stone, she thought only of Kashmir. Tunga and Kashi were pleading with her for punishment.

Placing her hands upon the heads of both of them, Didda said, “I entrust to you the responsibility of protecting Kashmir. This shall be your punishment.”

On witnessing the mercy of Queen Didda’s heart, everyone burst into cries of victory. Tunga said, “People call you the Witch Queen, but can a witch’s heart be so compassionate? As long as life remains in me and my brother Kashi, Kashi with his soldiers will guard the frontier regions of Kashmir, and I shall remain your shadow-companion for life. My troops will repel any internal troubles within Kashmir.”

Because Didda fell gravely ill, she could not go to Vikramsena herself. Kashi went in person to Vikramsena’s hermitage but could not find him. When he questioned the people nearby, they said that Vikramsena had left Kashmir long ago. Where he had gone, no one knew.

When news of Vikramsena’s disappearance finally reached Didda after so long, she was deeply shaken. On the one hand was the news of Vikramsena’s disappearance, and on the other hand Tunga’s spies reported that the news of the slaughter of the elite troops and of Didda’s death had reached Srinagar. The rebels were said to be celebrating victory together in Srinagar, and were planning to place Didda’s nephew, Vigraharaja, on the throne of Kashmir.

Hearing this news, Didda’s own faith even in her own blood was shattered. The whole world might rise against her, but her own nephew too—he had joined hands with the enemies out of greed for power. This news deeply alarmed Didda, because Vigraharaja shared a very close and friendly bond with Nandigupta. In Didda’s absence, it would be very easy to manipulate the young Nandigupta’s mind.

Yet there was one reassurance—that Bhalaga was present there. Bhalaga had been devoted to Didda all his life. His entire existence revolved around her. Therefore, Didda was certain that the news of her death would affect Bhalaga the most.

Here, four times a day, a physician of herbs came to treat Didda. Tunga served her day and night without rest. After coming here, Didda realized something: the kind of battle strategy that Bhalaga had taught her and the Ekangi troops was also followed by these tribal people. In fact, they were far stronger than the Ekangi soldiers, and that was why so many soldiers had been killed in their attack.

After some time, Didda could no longer see Tunga. His absence made her restless, because she had been thinking of using them as instruments to make Kashmir strong once again.

While Didda was growing increasingly anxious, the rebels were busy preparing for the coronation of Vigraharaja. Members of the rebel factions began arriving in Srinagar with all kinds of gifts. They immersed themselves in celebration to welcome the king of their choice.

Thus, when the climactic moment of Vigraharaja’s coronation arrived—when the priest chosen by the rebels began chanting mantras and was about to place the royal mark upon Vigraharaja’s forehead—a sudden shower of arrows began to rain down. Assassins, disguised and seated inside the royal assembly, launched their attack at the appointed moment. In this assault, Vigraharaja and many of the rebels were killed.

Tunga himself was present in the royal court that day and announced to everyone that Queen Didda was still alive.

Then, two days later, he set out with Bhalaga and Nandigupta to bring them to Didda They returned. Bhalaga did not believe the news of Didda’s death, because all the astrologers who had examined her birth chart had said that she would be long-lived. The report of her death so soon had no effect on Bhalaga’s mind. Even then, they remained within the strict security cordon of the Ekangi troops, and, wrapping themselves in a veil of mourning, confined themselves inside Didda’s quarters. At that time, Valaga did not allow anyone to meet Nandigupta.

Meanwhile, Tunga formed an understanding of the Ekangi commanders stationed in Srinagar from Didda. These men were not easy to meet. When Tunga was discussing the Ekangi officers with Didda, she began to grasp his intentions.

Therefore, she mentioned different intermediaries at different stages and also specified certain coded words by which messages could be conveyed to them. Perhaps Didda wished to trust someone for the last time; that may be why she revealed these secret matters to Tunga. The commanders to whom she showed Tunga the path were from the lower ranks of the Ekangi force. Only the queen herself could speak directly to the highest-ranking commanders.

Tunga and his soldiers entered Srinagar in disguise. They brought weapons hidden among gifts as they entered the city. Although the entire city of Srinagar had fallen into the hands of the rebels at that time, the royal palace of Kashmir was still under the control of the Ekangi troops. On Bhalaga’s orders, they were waiting for the right moment, for like Bhalaga, they too believed that Didda had not died and that she would surely return.

Tunga tried to enter the Kashmiri palace with weapons concealed on his body, but he was caught. He had adopted this method in order to deliver Didda’s message to the Ekangi soldiers. After being captured, he informed them that Didda was alive. Then began a secret conspiracy against the rebels. In great secrecy, plans were made with them to launch an attack on Vigraharaja and the rebels. They decided to strike at the very moment of Vigraharaja’s coronation.

Therefore, on behalf of the Ekangi troops, the royal court was opened before the rebels for this coronation. Without the support of the Ekangi soldiers, it would never have been possible for Tunga to achieve such a great victory. Tunga’s men, together with the Ekangi troops, surrounded the rebels in disguise. Then, at the chosen moment, they launched their attack.

Seeing Tunga’s presence of mind, Didda was deeply moved that day. It seemed to her as though Naravahana had returned to her in a new form. If the doctrine of rebirth in Hindu belief were true, then given Tunga’s age, it would not be unnatural for him to be Naravahana reborn. That he had brought Bhalaga and Nandigupta safely to her at such a critical moment felt to Didda like a priceless blessing.

Gradually, the whole focus of Tunga’s life—his meditation, his thoughts, everything—became centered on Didda. Even in the twilight of her life, people around her were greatly drawn to the radiance of her beauty. People of that time would often discuss what she must have been like in her youth, if she was so extraordinarily beautiful even in old age. She was a woman accomplished in tantric practice, and it was believed that through tantra one could preserve one’s beauty and youth. Thus Tunga became deeply attracted to Didda’s personality and beauty. Day and night, he devoted himself solely to keeping her well.

Didda felt as though Naravahana had appeared again through another terrible death.

After recovering, Didda decided that she would offer worship once to Mother Khir Bhavani. Considering Nandigupta’s safety, she returned to the royal palace shortly after regaining her health. With her return to Srinagar, a new chapter of Didda’s life began. Tunga had arrived as death itself, yet today that same Tunga became the chief protector of her life and of Kashmir.

Kashi took charge of guarding the frontier regions of Kashmir, while Tunga, within Kashmir, sought to maintain internal peace through negotiations with the rebels. In this way, he succeeded in bringing fearsome rebel leaders such as Bhimagupta and Rakka under Didda’s allegiance.

Thus, in this manner, time passed on. With the passage of time, the fire of internal rebellion in Kashmir gradually died down. Except for a few scattered Damar uprisings, no major rebellion appeared anymore. At such a time, Didda decided that she would offer worship to Mother Kshir Bhavani. Until the situation had stabilized, Tunga had not allowed her to go anywhere outside the royal palace. When stability returned, Tunga took Didda to worship at the shrine of Mother Kshir Bhavani.

Didda would enter the sanctum of the temple and close the door behind her. Within those closed doors, it seemed as though she conversed with the goddess herself. This time too, the same happened. When Didda entered the sanctum and shut the door, Tunga sat down in front of it while his soldiers kept guard all around.

Winter was approaching in Kashmir—the season of snow. The sky was overcast with clouds, and cold winds rushed about carrying fallen leaves with them. In this region, there were forests of chinar trees all around, and chinar leaves gathered upon the temple courtyard. That day, the courtyard of the temple looked like a map of Kashmir itself.

Tunga sat there with bow and arrow in hand, like the protector of Kashmir, while inside the sanctum was Queen Didda, the embodiment of Kashmir, as Mother Bhavani. The friction of wind and dry leaves produced a strange sound. An unusual peace prevailed there, and Tunga felt that peace with his whole heart.

Suddenly, a band of dacoits attacked them from the surrounding forest. Tunga’s soldiers were prepared at every moment. A fierce battle began between the two sides. Sensing the attack from within the sanctum, Didda came out with a sword in her hand. She always carried a sword with her, for no one could say when it might be needed.

By then she was heavily burdened by age and no longer possessed the strength to fight as she once had. In that battle, Didda was victorious, but while protecting her, Tunga was wounded. That day, standing in the temple of Mother Kshir Bhavani, Didda felt that whoever came close to her and loved her was destined to be driven away.

Didda did not wish to lose Tunga as well. That day, much blood was shed from Tunga’s body in the temple of Kshir Bhavani. Later she learned that Bhimagupta and Rakka were behind this attack.

She realized how active the rebels still were and that these two had once again joined hands with them. Didda decided that once Tunga recovered completely, she would send him to her uncle’s kingdom of Hindushahi, for Tunga had become the chief enemy of the rebels. Another attack could come upon him at any time, and this time he might not survive—of this Didda was certain.

After nursing Tunga back to health, Didda sent him to Kabul. A few days after this incident, Rakka and Bhimagupta met with unnatural deaths. Both died in their sleep, and the cause of death remained unknown. (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, Part-26, 

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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.

The post Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir-27 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

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.

The post Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir-26 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir

By Debasree Chakraborti

After the wedding, a life of captivity began for Basundhara. Kashmir’s nature was so beautiful, yet she had no permission to go anywhere beyond the palace walls.

From morning till evening Abhimanyu remained busy in the royal court, and during those hours Basundhara felt suffocated. The palace was always surrounded by impenetrable guards. She was not accustomed to such an environment—she had lived freely all her life. Thinking of the many-colored days of her life in Himabat, Basundhara wept silently. Her father, mother, her companions, and the palace of Himabat remained nothing more than a beautiful dream. Thus, crying her heart out, an entire day passed. When evening descended amid nature, at that very moment Abhimanyu entered Basundhara’s dark chamber.

Abhimanyu could not tolerate darkness at all. He called the maidservants and ordered them to light the lamps throughout the palace, but Basundhara forbade him.

Darkness made Abhimanyu feel breathless, so ignoring Basundhara’s words he shouted, “First light up the entire palace. Why has it been kept dark for so long? Don’t you know I cannot tolerate darkness?”

The person in charge of lighting the palace replied, “Your Majesty, the Queen forbade us. She said that without her permission we should not enter this part of the palace.”

Abhimanyu said, “Light the lamps first. And make sure this never happens again—keep that in mind.”

Slowly, beginning from Abhimanyu’s bedchamber, the entire palace was illuminated. He saw that Basundhara had not changed from the previous night’s clothes; her hair was undone. She looked gravely unwell. Abhimanyu came close, gently running his hand through her hair, and said, “What has happened to you? Since you came here, why has the smile vanished from your face with each passing day? No adornment, no ornamentation!

“You look so beautiful when you dress up—tell me, what is wrong?”

Basundhara buried her head in Abhimanyu’s chest and began to cry. Through her sobs she said, “Ever since the wedding I keep hearing that I am not worthy of you, that beside your mother I seem out of place. They say Queen Mother Didda has shown me mercy by indirectly allowing me to sit in the place of a daughter-in-law.”

Holding Basundhara tightly to his chest, Abhimanyu said, “Who has said these things to you?”

She cried even louder and said, “Why—don’t the maidservants discuss these things all day long, making sure I hear them? In praise of your mother… “So they may be two-faced, but in their eyes there is no respect for me as the Queen of Kashmir.”

Abhimanyu was extremely gentle, courteous, and intelligent. Understanding his wife’s childlike distress, he held her in his arms, kissed the crown of her head, and said with a soft smile, “I understand. But I believe this is not the only reason—there are many more causes behind your sorrow.”

Hearing this, Basundhara lifted her head from Abhimanyu’s chest and looked at him. She said, “Why is there such heavy guarding all around our palace? It is almost six months since our marriage. So many times I have asked you to take me to Himabat, but your mother has not allowed us to go. Why is she doing this? Don’t we have a duty towards my father, mother, and my family? Does she not understand that?”

To Abhimanyu, his mother was equal to their clan goddess, Mother Bhavani, and to hear criticism of her was almost sinful. This time he spoke in a slightly stern tone, “You are speaking like this because you hold many misconceptions about her without knowing anything. Do you know that after my father’s death we were subjected to one deadly attack after another? At that time, the prime minister Phalgun, my father’s nephews, and neighboring kings conspired together to annihilate us and seize Kashmir.”

Abhimanyu was calm by nature, and when he spoke with intensity he became short of breath. Pausing for a moment to steady himself, he tightly held his wife’s hand and said, “Before our marriage, everything was explained to your father from our side. Perhaps he did not feel it necessary to tell you everything. Basundhara, now splash some water on your face and eat something—you look starved.”

Abhimanyu’s final words wounded Basundhara even more. The father she trusted most in her life had also betrayed her! Even after the marriage, he had not once expressed any desire to take her back to Himabat. The terrifying life she was living here—perhaps he knew everything and yet remained silent. Why had he brought such great ruin upon her? She would have to know the answer. Basundhara… That night she decided that she would flee Kashmir and go to Himabat.

For this, extensive preparation was necessary. Without food in her stomach, it would not be possible for her to travel such a long distance. So, like an obedient wife compelled by circumstances, she listened to Abhimanyu and ate a full meal that night, then tied some fruits and sweets into her veil. Didda was as intelligent as her daughter-in-law was childish by nature. Having been pampered and cared for all her life as a royal princess, her practical sense had never truly developed.

That night passed peacefully. The next morning, when Abhimanyu went to the royal court, security in this palace was somewhat relaxed. At that time the vigilance was not so tight; the guards focused more on the security of the court. Basundhara took advantage of this very moment. Around midday, after the noon meal, there were usually only two guards left in Abhimanyu’s palace. From this palace, a passage led down into the subterranean tunnels, through which one could exit beyond the palace grounds. Many such routes ran from the royal palace of Kashmir through underground passages to various corners of the kingdom.

Once, Abhimanyu had shown her that path. The secret key to enter this passage from Abhimanyu’s palace was kept in a hidden place within the palace—Abhimanyu had shown her that place as well and had said, “Don’t worry at all. One day, we will use this path to throw dust in our enemies’ eyes and go to Himavat.” These words stayed in Basundhara’s mind. Trusting Abhimanyu, she entered the underground passage and began to run, losing all sense of direction. After going some distance, her body began to fail, because the air here was very scarce and there was terrifying darkness all around. As a pungent, foul smell entered her nostrils in that darkness, she lost consciousness.

In the evening, when Abhimanyu returned from the royal court, he could not find Basundhara anywhere in the palace. Upon hearing of Basundhara’s disappearance, Didda and Bhalaga rushed to Abhimanyu’s quarters. The guards began searching everywhere. Just then, Bhalaga noticed that the door to the underground chamber—the entrance to that passage—was open. Without wasting any time, he took a torch in his own hand and entered that path. He did not have to go very far…“No. After going only a short distance, he found Basundhara lying unconscious.”

Though Bhalaga had grown old in years, his physical strength had not diminished in the least; rather, it seemed to be increasing day by day. Lifting Basundhara over one shoulder and holding a torch in the other hand, he returned to the palace.

That night the royal physician arrived and examined Basundhara very carefully, then announced that she was going to become a mother. Hearing the news of Queen Basundhara’s pregnancy, the people of Kashmir burst into celebration. Didda’s joy knew no bounds. With both hands she began distributing gifts among the people. For an entire month, special offerings were arranged at the Kheer Bhavani and Shankaracharya temples for the welfare of the Queen and her unborn child.

Basundhara’s attempt to flee the palace deeply troubled Didda. She began to wonder whether some injustice had been done to Basundhara. What could have happened that, within just a few months of marriage, she had tried to run away? When Abhimanyu was questioned about this, he smiled calmly and said, “Mother, Basundhara is extremely childish and restless by nature. She has intense curiosity about everything. I had shown her this path, so out of sheer curiosity she entered it. There is no reason to worry so much about this.”

Trusting her son’s words, Didda took all responsibility for Basundhara upon herself. When Didda herself had been pregnant, her own mother-in-law had taken her entire responsibility in exactly the same way. Fulfilling all the duties of the mother before the arrival of the heir was, indirectly, equal to fulfilling one’s duty toward Kashmir itself. Therefore, Didda now began spending almost the entire day in Abhimanyu’s palace.

In Didda’s presence, Basundhara became even more withdrawn. Even when asked questions, she did not respond. Everything seemed to turn one-sided. For instance, one day Didda prepared a kind of laddoo made with mori and brought it to Basundhara, saying, “Basundhara, at this time, as you are going through this condition, many kinds of problems arise in the body. That is why one must eat this laddoo now. My mother-in-law used to make it with her own hands and feed it to me. Today I have brought it for you—come, eat it.”

Bhalaga was watching them from a distance. He noticed a change in Basundhara’s body language. Her face and eyes turned blood-red. She looked at Didda… pushing the plate of laddoos away with her hand, she said, “I do not trust you. Even if the lives of everyone in Kashmir are guided by you, I and my child will remain far away from your filthy politics. If there is even a trace of humanity in you, then please leave from here.” Pointing her finger and shouting toward the door of the chamber, Basundhara said, “Get out. May your inauspicious shadow never fall upon us again.”

Hearing Basundhara’s words, Didda was struck speechless. In that moment she could not understand what she should say, nor could she even rise to her feet. Bhalaga came from behind, firmly held Didda by both shoulders, lifted her up, and led her out of Abhimanyu’s palace. He did not mention this incident to anyone at all. Usually, in such situations, mothers-in-law complain to their sons, weeping and wailing, and have their daughters-in-law driven out. But after this incident, Didda confined herself to a single chamber for several days.

Many terrifying situations had come into her life before, and she had managed to emerge from all of them. So now she was preparing her mind to emerge from this dreadful humiliation as well. Bhalaga stayed with Didda all day long. He asked no questions, because he knew that at the right time Didda would speak of everything herself—this had happened many times before. When Abhimanyu came several times in between to inquire about his mother, Bhalaga told him, “Maharaj, the Queen Mother is occupied with extremely important matters. At this moment she cannot meet anyone.”

Abhimanyu could never fully understand his mother. At times she was a tender, protective mother; at other times she withdrew and became like the clan goddess Bhavani—untouchable, beyond reach.

At the news of Abhimanyu’s arrival, a storm surged through Didda’s chest. Bhalaga was her only support; he alone was truly her own. From the moment of her birth, it was he who had protected Didda. She said to Bhalaga, “Bhalaga! All my life I have done nothing but fulfill my duties. But in return, I have received nothing except hatred and neglect.”

Bhalaga understood Didda very well. Indeed, all her life she had…She had asked for nothing except love, yet neglect seemed to be her constant companion. To normalize the situation, he said, “Not everyone has the capacity to give. You are a goddess—that is why you possess that power. A goddess does not expect anything in return from anyone.”

Didda replied, “I never wanted to be a goddess. I am a human being made of flesh and blood. I wanted love. I wanted to live among people as one of them. But God did not allow that. Even the wife of my only son—the one whom I loved more than my own life—has hurled hatred at me.”

Bhalaga said, “You must continue to perform your duty. Are you expecting anything from ordinary people while you stand like a mountain among them? Look carefully—how small they are before you. It is not right to sit shut inside a room like this, wounded by their behavior. From tomorrow, begin attending the court again. Abhimanyu has ascended a new throne; it is not possible for him to rule alone. At the moment of his death, Maharaja Kshemagupta entrusted the responsibility of Kashmir into your hands. Therefore, honoring his last wish is your duty.”

Didda reflected silently. Indeed, honoring the Maharaja’s last wish was her duty. Through him she had received a beautiful family life, and above all, she had received Kashmir itself. To dishonor this responsibility would be wrong.

Thus time passed. Before long, Basundhara completed seven months of her pregnancy. Didda continued to attend the royal court every day, helping her son in matters of governance, and at the same time, even from a distance, she continued to fulfill her duties toward Basundhara. Didda forgave her, considering her childish. After all, Didda herself had once passed through this age; during pregnancy, neither body nor mind remains stable. At this time, one’s state of mind can change at every moment.

She arranged for a cook to be brought from Himabat to prepare food according to Basundhara’s taste. To keep Basundhara’s spirits uplifted, she arranged for Abhimanyu and Basundhara’s palace to be decorated daily with various beautiful flowers. Everything she did, she did in utmost secrecy, so that Basundhara would not realize that all this was being done at Didda’s instruction. In this matter, she spoke with her son Abhimanyu and… After discussing it with him, she told him that if Basundhara ever asked who was arranging all this, Abhimanyu should say that everything was being done on his orders, and that when the queens of Kashmir are pregnant, such arrangements are made for each and every one of them. Basundhara did not want the shadow of her mother-in-law to fall upon herself or her child, and so Didda continued to do everything from a distance.

When seven months were completed in this way, the time came for Queen Basundhara’s sādh ceremony. From afar, Didda began making all the arrangements for Basundhara’s craving ritual. The servants were instructed that under no circumstances should Basundhara learn that all this was being done at Didda’s command. Over the past few years, Didda had secured an important place in the hearts of the servants through her actions; therefore, they obeyed her blindly.

When preparations for Basundhara’s sādh-bhakṣaṇa were at their peak, one night Didda was sitting in the royal treasury, selecting jewelry to be presented to her daughter-in-law for the ceremony. The royal treasury was a place where not everyone was permitted to enter, but Bhalaga had permission, as he was the constant shadow-companion of Queen Mother Didda. In the dark treasury, by the light of oil lamps, as she selected ornaments, Didda sensed Bhalaga’s presence. Bhalaga had come and was standing in one corner. Without turning in that direction, Didda said, “Bhalaga, do you have something to say?”

In a very calm voice, Bhalaga replied, “From Himabat, King Adityaraj has sent an urgent message through a messenger.” Hearing that an urgent message had arrived from Himabat, Didda came out of the treasury and began walking toward her own quarters. Bhalaga hurried behind her and said, “Queen Mother, the messenger has gone to Maharaja Abhimanyu’s palace. You must go there and meet him.”

Hearing this, Didda stopped short. Such a thing had never happened before. Whenever a messenger arrived with news from anywhere, he would come directly to Didda’s quarters. But this was the first time it had happened otherwise. Understanding the state of Didda’s mind, Bhalaga said, “The messenger has been given those instructions. Do not be distressed.”

In a trembling voice, Didda said, “But Basundhara has forbidden me to go there. She has said that my inauspicious shadow must not fall upon her or her unborn child. Then how can I go there?”Bhalaga said, “You are going there for the sake of her father. If you do not go, it will be an insult to her father, and the effect of his anger will fall upon the unborn child and upon Abhimanyu as well. So come— I am with you.”

Abhimanyu’s palace was glittering with the light of lamps. Abhimanyu and his wife were seated side by side, and the messenger stood a little distance away, waiting for Didda. As soon as Abhimanyu saw Didda arrive, he stood up, and at that very moment Basundhara cast a sidelong glance at her. There was a letter in Abhimanyu’s hand, and Didda understood that the messenger had not come there solely for her. Seeing Didda, the messenger bowed his head in respect and placed a letter in her hand.

Didda said, “Messenger, you are weary from your long journey. Take some food and rest here. At dawn tomorrow I will send my reply through you.” After the messenger left, Didda began to read the letter. In Abhimanyu’s palace, no one asked her to take a seat.

None of this behavior had any effect on Didda’s mind. She believed that this family, bestowed upon her by her husband, was her own; therefore, everyone here was her own, and no one’s conduct could affect her anymore.

From the letter she learned that Adityaraj, the ruler of Himabat, was preparing to attack Tibet. After finishing the letter, Didda looked at Abhimanyu and said, “My son, I trust you know very well that Adityaraj is about to attack Tibet, and for this reason he has sought Kashmir’s help.”

Abhimanyu nodded in agreement and said, “Yes, Mother, I know everything. But Tibet is a friendly state of Kashmir. How can it be possible for us to oppose it?”

Didda’s face and eyes hardened. She said, “No that can never be possible. Kashmir is bound to Tibet in a cultural and spiritual bond. Under no circumstances can Kashmir provide military assistance to Himabat in this matter. This is my final word.”

As soon as Didda finished speaking, Basundhara shouted. She said, “Who are you? You are no one to make decisions. I, Queen Basundhara of Kashmir, declare that Kashmir will provide every kind of military assistance to Himabat for the attack on Tibet.”

Abhimanyu could not possibly accept such a grave insult to his mother in front of his eyes…

He could not. He said, “If there is anyone who is the Queen of Kashmir, then it is my mother, Queen Didda. She is the living embodiment of our clan deity, Mother Bhavani. The decision she has taken is absolutely right and is the correct decision for the welfare of Kashmir. There will be no further discussion.”

Hearing this, Basundhara cried out and, weeping bitterly, said, “Very well. If I am not the Queen of Kashmir, if my father has not even a shred of honor here, then it is not possible for me to observe the sādh-bhakṣaṇa either. Just as a poor woman gives birth to her child, I too will give birth in that same way.” Saying this, she began to walk toward her chamber, crying. After going a little way, she suddenly stopped and sat down.

Didda and Bhalaga saw that the entire floor was being flooded with red blood. Didda rushed forward and clasped Basundhara in her arms, while Bhalaga ran to summon the royal physician. As Basundhara screamed in pain and tried to free herself from Didda’s embrace, Didda told Abhimanyu to hold her. Then the maidservants came and took her to her bedchamber.

That night was a terrifying night in Didda’s life—perhaps no other night like it had ever come to her before. For the welfare of Kashmir, she had not wished to become the enemy of her friend Tibet. In her life, nothing was more important than Kashmir. Kashmir was her family—the family whose responsibility her husband had placed upon her. To her, that responsibility was like a blessing, one she had fulfilled to the point of forgetting her own personal desires. Before this responsibility, no member of her family held any value. Yet Abhimanyu’s unborn child was the heir to this kingdom, and under the mental pressure that had been placed upon Basundhara, what if some harm were to come to the child in her womb?

On one side of Didda’s palace, dense forests rose up along the mountain slopes. From within that forest, a wolf howled. Bhalaga was sitting some distance away. His shadow fell upon the wall, stretching longer and longer, and its dark imprint seemed to be reflected upon Didda’s mind. She said, “Bhalaga, how much more can I endure? I can go on no longer. There is no one anywhere. Fighting alone, again and again, I have grown utterly exhausted.”

Bhalaga fixed his steady gaze upon Didda and said, “There are many such people in this world…”

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, 

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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.

The post Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir-25 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir

By Debasree Chakraborti

Today is Abhimanyu’s svayamvara. Kings from far and wide have arrived in Kashmir with their daughters. Abhimanyu stands before the open window of his palace, watching the preparations. The royal palace is being decorated with yellow roses; on one side of the palace lies a vast lake, and its banks are being adorned with flowers and leaves of many colors. Torches have been arranged along the edge of the lake for illumination at night.

Abhimanyu gazes at the blue waters of the lake. Today, the lake seems to have turned into the mirror of his life; within it, he can see images from different moments of time—from the past to the present.

He never received a father’s affection in his life; his father died before Abhimanyu could even form memories. Thereafter, under the loving shelter of his grandmother and Bhalaga, he slowly grew up. In a life surrounded by guards and strict security, the sovereign presence over Abhimanyu’s existence is his mother. Yet even a mother’s affection he never truly received. His mother is like their clan deity, Goddess Bhavani—visible, but untouchable. With his mother’s blessings, there is no lack of anything in his life, and yet he is terribly lonely. He has never found a truly intimate friend—someone who would understand him deeply, or before whom he could lay bare his heart. At times, this guard-ringed life becomes unbearable.

From different parts of the palace, the sounds of the shehnai and wedding music drift in, stirring Abhimanyu’s heart with restlessness. Today, a completely new woman will enter his life—one who will come as his life partner. How he will adapt to this new chapter of life is what he is pondering now. He loves gazing into the blue waters of the lake; with this lake and the nature beyond the window, he feels a sense of oneness. Today, he misses his grandmother deeply; it had been her dream that he would become the king of Kashmir.

She could not live to see his coronation. As Abhimanyu is absorbed in these ruminations on the past, Queen Mother Didda enters the palace, the guards When the arrival of Queen Mother Didda was announced, Abhimanyu became alert and returned from his reverie to the hard ground of the present. Queen Mother Didda came up to Abhimanyu, took his hand, and led him to the place prepared for the gaye holud ceremony. Within Abhimanyu’s own palace chamber, a space had been decorated with yellow roses and red Banarasi scarves for the ritual.

Abhimanyu was dressed in a yellow silk dhoti and a white uttariya. The bright rays of the sun reflected off his body and spread all around, making it seem as though a celestial being was being anointed with turmeric. Didda lifted the bowl of turmeric, sat before Abhimanyu, and applied turmeric to him first. On Didda’s face and in her eyes appeared a strange expression of motherhood. In her smile and in her gaze, Abhimanyu felt an unfamiliar sense of fulfillment. This was the first time he was seeing such a look in his mother’s eyes. His mother always seemed to keep herself enclosed within a hard armor, making her true self impossible to discern. Today, it was as if she had stepped outside that rigid shell.

After Didda, Bhalaga applied turmeric to Abhimanyu. Renowned singers and dancers of the kingdom of Kashmir had come to attend Abhimanyu’s wedding. The singers sang, and the dancers performed, circling Abhimanyu as they danced. Queen Mother Didda sat beside her son, watching the performance. When the dancers came forward, took her hand, and invited her to dance, she offered no resistance and began dancing with them. Holding Bhalaga’s hand, Didda danced with her.

Today she was not the Queen Mother; today she was simply a mother, rejoicing wholeheartedly in her son’s wedding. Even at her own wedding, Didda had never danced like this. Everyone present was astonished to see this side of her. Abhimanyu himself watched his mother’s joy with amazement. Laughing freely as she danced, tears streamed down from Didda’s eyes.

Then the maidservants brought water in golden pitchers. First, Abhimanyu was bathed with milk, honey, and rose water, and then he was bathed with plain water. As Abhimanyu’s grandfather and grandmother were in very poor health and could not attend the wedding ceremony, they had sent Abhimanyu’s wedding attire through Didda’s brothers. The garments were of white silk, upon which Kashmiri artisans had crafted intricate designs using gold and diamonds.

The footwear that Abhimanyu’s maternal uncles brought for him was also adorned with intricate work in diamonds and gold. Once Abhimanyu was fully prepared, dressed in his wedding attire, Didda arrived with Abhinavagupta and performed a special ritual. Abhinavagupta was the principal architect of Abhimanyu’s coming into this world; therefore, no auspicious rite in Abhimanyu’s life could be completed without him.

When the ritual was concluded, Abhinavagupta departed. At that moment, there was no one left in the chamber except Didda and Abhimanyu. Didda kissed her son on the forehead and said, “My son, today many princesses have come to participate in this svayamvara. Each one of them is exceptionally accomplished, each excelling in her own way. I desire a daughter-in-law who has come to marry you out of love alone, not out of greed for the power and prestige of Kashmir.”

Abhimanyu replied very softly, “Mother, how will I understand that? I have never met anyone in this manner before; so for me, it is simply impossible.”

A gentle smile appeared on Didda’s lips as she tried to grasp the depth of her son’s words.

Abhimanyu was of a very calm nature and found it difficult to speak at length. After a pause, he said, “Mother, you are the sovereign of my life. Please shoulder this responsibility yourself. Who has come prepared to marry me out of love—only you can understand that; no one else can.”

Hearing what was in Abhimanyu’s heart, Didda felt that she had not lost. It was as though the severe penance she had been undertaking since Kṣemagupta’s death had borne fruit today. Her son had placed her in the position of the sovereign of his life. From all sides, the shehnai and wedding music burst forth. Bhalaga entered Abhimanyu’s chamber along with the guards. Then, accompanying Abhimanyu, they set out for the svayamvara assembly.

On a vast field by the banks of the Vitastā, the svayamvara had been arranged. The field was decorated with red roses. A lavish arrangement had been made for the hospitality of the guests. In the center of the grounds, small artificial fountains had been created, where peacocks danced, spreading their plumage. The guests…a s the guests arrived, they were presented with precious Kashmiri garments and various fragrant gifts. On one side, the princesses sat with their fathers, waiting for Abhimanyu, while on the other side a wedding pavilion had been erected. The chief—and sole—priest of this wedding was Abhinavagupta. On another side of the grounds, a variety of Kashmiri dishes were being prepared and served to the guests. At the time of Abhimanyu’s arrival, trumpets were sounded to announce his entrance.

Abhimanyu walked in along a red silk carpet, while showers of flowers fell upon him from both sides. All around, people raised cries of victory for Abhimanyugupta, the Lord of Kashmir. Didda always kept her sixth sense alert. Walking beside Abhimanyu, she cast her gaze over the assembled princesses and their fathers. Then, one by one, all the princesses were introduced to King Abhimanyugupta. Didda carefully read the body language of each princess, yet she could not find a place beside Abhimanyu for any of them.

Then, at the very end of the assembly, one princess caught her attention—she was gazing steadily at Abhimanyu. In that gaze and in the smile on her face, Didda sensed a deep attachment toward her son: a longing solely to have Abhimanyu himself, with no greed for anything beyond him. It was a love she had once seen in Kṣemagupta’s eyes; Naravahana’s love for her had been just as selfless. The girl’s father stepped forward with her and stood before Abhimanyu. Didda could see the shy smile on the girl’s lips; the girl now stood with her head bowed.

The announcer proclaimed their identity: “The ruler of Himbata, Maharaja Adityaraj, has arrived with his daughter, Vasundhara.” Didda observed that this girl was distinctly different from the other princesses—there was no trace of arrogance or vanity in her. Without wasting any time, Didda removed the precious diamond necklace from her own neck and placed it around Vasundhara’s. Instantly, the shehnai resounded on all sides, and everyone present burst into cheers of joy. The announcer declared the name of the young Queen of Kashmir.

Didda and Bhalaga then led Abhimanyu and Vasundhara toward the banks of the Vitastā, to a canopy adorned with white roses, where…After Vasundhara and Abhimanyu placed garlands of red roses around each other’s necks, their marriage was solemnized under the priesthood of Abhinavagupta.

On the night of the wedding, torches were lit all around the lake in front of the palace. Throughout the night, Kashmiri folk singers sang in the palace courtyard. Abhimanyu’s palace was decorated all around with white and red roses; the fragrance of roses and the scent of musk mingled and became one. Earthen lamps were lit along the walls of their bridal chamber, while the rest of the palace was kept in darkness. The flower-bed was adorned with many kinds of perfumes and red rose blossoms. In this palace, now, no one remained except the guards.

Abhimanyu and Vasundhara sat facing each other. Abhimanyu had never been in such a situation before. A young woman was sitting before him, and he could not quite understand what kind of words one ought to speak in such a moment. Abhimanyu did not need to say anything; Vasundhara herself began to speak. For her, speaking for the first time to a completely unfamiliar man was extremely easy and natural. She said, “Tell me something—why is there so much security in your palace? I have been seeing guards surrounding you all day; it feels very strange to me.”

In the manner of Vasundhara’s speech, Abhimanyu sensed a deep warmth. It felt to him as if he had known this woman for a long time. Moreover, no one had ever spoken to him so simply and openly before. Abhimanyu said, “Actually, since my birth there have been several attempts on my life. That is why I have to live under strict security.”

Vasundhara exclaimed in great surprise, “Why would anyone want to kill you? No, I don’t believe any of this. These are all just illusions of your minds.”

Hearing Vasundhara’s innocent words, Abhimanyu laughed, and then said, “Let these things rest for today. Come, let us talk about something else.”

Laughing, Vasundhara replied, “What would you like to hear? Shall I tell you about our Himbata?”

Vasundhara’s childlike simplicity put Abhimanyu even more at ease. He was just about to…He had been exhausted all day and could not sit for long, so he lay down on the bed and, laughing, said, “Yes, tell me then—Himbata is close to Tibet, isn’t it? You can tell me about Tibet as well.”

Laughing merrily once again, Vasundhara began telling stories of Himbata.

Just as a sweet, honeyed bond was beginning to form between Abhimanyu and Vasundhara, a little distance away from that palace Didda and Bhalaga sat side by side, watching the torchlights along the edge of the lake. Both were extremely tired, yet a strange peace rested on Didda’s face. Almost as if speaking to herself, she said, “Bhalaga, I cannot even explain how peaceful I feel today.”

“I observed Vasundhara carefully, understood her well, and only then took the decision about this marriage. My son has found a worthy life partner.” Though Didda was very happy, there was no calm in Bhalaga’s eyes; dark clouds of worry seemed to have settled over her face. After remaining silent for some time, she suddenly said very quietly, “I can see clouds of destruction gathering in the sky of Kashmir, which appears calm for now.”

Bhalaga had not even finished speaking when lightning flashed between two mountains on the far side of the lake in front of the royal palace. Its reflection fell upon the surface of the lake. Didda looked at Bhalaga; it was as if an explosion had occurred in her eyes. Bhalaga kept staring at the lake. Within moments, in the gusty wind, the torches along the lake’s edge began to go out one by one. As if foretelling the future, Bhalaga said, “A terrible cataclysm is imminent.” (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, 

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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.

The post Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir-24 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir

By Debasree Chakraborti

These days, nothing feels right. Swept along by the current of life’s changes, how profoundly she has been transformed! This is not the life she wanted. Instead of jealousy, hatred, and bloodshed, she had longed for a beautiful life—one where she could live in peace, surrounded by the love of her own people. Yet, at every step of her life, in trying to prove herself, her two hands have become stained with blood.

Inside Didda’s palace lies a pool paved with white stone. Ever since her return to Srinagar, she has loved spending most of her time by this water. In the darkness of night, holding a torch, she sees her true self reflected on the surface of the pool. How deeply life has changed her. At birth, her parents abandoned her; her own relatives looked upon her with hatred. As she grew older, the people around her began to view her with ridicule. She has remained a beggar for love all her life. While she gave love to everyone, she too yearned to be loved. Yet, apart from Bhalaga, no one ever truly loved her.

Kṣemagupta gave her a place in his family because he loved her beauty and youth. The queen mother loved her because she gave the dynasty a crown prince. Had she not been beautiful, Kṣemagupta would never have placed her on the throne as his queen. And had she not given birth to the prince, the queen mother herself would have driven her out of the palace. She has done no little for the welfare of Kashmir, yet simply because she is a woman, the Kashmiris have not deemed her worthy of the throne. Despite being her father’s eldest child, she was deprived of his throne solely because she was not a man. Though she possessed all the qualities of a capable ruler, she could not attain that position. And yet, the responsibility of protecting the kingdoms of her husband, her father, and her uncle was placed upon her shoulders.

At every stage of her life, everyone has used her. No—Bhalaga never used her; he bound his entire life with Didda’s. Vikramasena? He too never loved Didda selflessly. He sensed her inner strength. Physically disabled, yet endowed with such extraordinary power—he understood that if a princess like her were given proper training, her virtues would one day be celebrated. Thus, whatever he did for Didda, he did entirely for his own purposes. Even her son Abhimanyu never thought of his mother. He has always been driven by his own self-interest.

At no point has he felt the urge to come to his mother and share his thoughts or feelings. In this way, under the relentless pressure of duty and the compulsion to prove herself, she is slowly transforming from a human being into a mechanical figure. Didda sat with a torch in her hand, gazing at the water, lost in these thoughts.

Then, as she plunged the torch into the pool, darkness spread all around. A faint light filtered in from another part of the palace, creating a dim, half-lit atmosphere. Having extinguished the torch, she lay down by the edge of the pool. A cascade of her hair was submerged in the water, while she pressed both hands against her chest and wept silently—no sound could be heard.

Only a thin stream of water flowed from the corner of her eyes.

At that moment, a shadow appeared on the distant wall. Though the shadow was far away from Didda, it was remarkably still—such a slow, steady presence is rarely seen.

For on the stage of life, many such shadows appear, only to vanish within moments. But this shadow seemed determined to claim an important place on the stage of Didda’s life; hence its resolute stillness.

Just then, the evening aarti began at the temple of Mother Bhavani. Hearing the sound of the bells, Didda sat up and began wiping her eyes with the end of her sari. At that moment, a voice called out from afar, “Maharani, I wished to speak with you.”

From the voice, Didda understood that Naravahana had arrived. Composing herself, she said calmly, “Yes, please come in.”

Using her sari to cover her wet hair and body, Didda rose from the floor and seated herself on a nearby cushioned chair. She gestured for Naravahana to sit on another chair placed at some distance. Naravahana took his seat and sat for a while with his head bowed.

Between the two of them, amid the silence, only the ringing of the temple bells could be heard. After some time had passed thus, Naravahana spoke, “Maharani, you yourself are Mother Bhavani incarnate. Yet power is incomplete without Shiva—this you too acknowledge, do you not? Tell me.”

Didda was an exceptionally intelligent woman. Having moved through countless blows and counterblows since birth, she had learned to understand human nature with ease. From the very tone and intent of their words, she could discern what others truly wished to say. And so she She said, “No, I do not consider myself incomplete at all. I have walked this path alone all my life; I have never needed any Shiva.”

Naravahana exclaimed in astonishment, “And the Maharaja? Was he not needed in your life?”

Didda replied, “In his life, my presence was needed the most.

Even if your Maharaja had not come into my life, I would have lived on. But had I not entered his life, Kashmir would not have received a crown prince, nor would it have been freed from many of its troubles.”

After a pause he asked, “After the Maharaja’s death, do you not feel lonely? Do you not long for the love of a man?”

A crooked smile appeared on Didda’s lips. She said, “I have always been alone; therefore, this question does not apply to my life.” Without answering Naravahana’s next question, Didda rose to her feet and then said, “Each of us is surrounded by a Lakshman Rekha. Crossing that line is absolutely inappropriate. Now you may leave.”

Naravahana was deeply hurt by Didda’s final words. He had never imagined that the queen he had supported all his life—the woman whose backbone he believed himself to be—would reject him in this manner today.

As Naravahana hurriedly left Didda’s palace, Didda returned to her bedchamber, where Bhalaga was preparing her bed. Bhalaga noticed that Didda seemed highly disturbed. He understood the movements of her mind intimately, and as he stepped forward to embrace her, Didda burst into sobs.

Bhalaga knew that Didda was not someone who broke down easily; something must have happened that had wounded her deeply. After crying for a while, Didda went and sat on her bed. Bhalaga sat facing her without saying a word. Wiping her eyes and regaining some composure, Didda said, “Bhalaga, can anyone believe that a woman can be complete in herself, without a man…? …do not want to accept it. Power (Shakti) is incomplete without Shiva, but Shiva too is incomplete without Shakti—yet no one wishes to acknowledge this.

When Didda fell silent, Bhalaga said, “What has happened? Open your heart to me; you will find peace.”

It was as though fire was now blazing from Didda’s eyes—there was a clear display of resolve and self-confidence. She looked at Bhalaga for a while and then said, “I thought Naravahana was different from everyone else. But he too considers me weak and wants to settle his own calculations accordingly.

Now he wishes to become my Shiva and complete me. That can never be possible for me. It means that whatever he has done for me all this time was entirely driven by purpose and self-interest, not by duty or love for his motherland.”

Understanding the essence of Didda’s words, Bhalaga replied, “But at times, even when we understand the truth, we must remain silent. You are still surrounded by enemies, and Naravahana is your principal ally. Therefore, I believe it is inappropriate for you to disregard him at this moment.”

Didda said firmly, “Do you too consider me weak?”

“Not weak, Maharani—this is politics. Sometimes, for one’s own interests, one must use certain people.”

“No, Valaga. I truly need no one. I am governed by my own will. I will not hand over control of my life to anyone. I will establish this truth in society—that a woman can be complete in herself.”

The next day, Didda appeared in the royal court alongside Maharaja Abhimanyu.

Naravahana was also present along with the other courtiers. It was well known that Didda usually followed Naravahana’s counsel in all matters and that she discussed every decision with him before acting. But from that day’s assembly onward, Didda began to create a distance from Naravahana. Whenever a decision had to be taken in the court, she took it herself, without even glancing in Naravahana’s direction. This did not escape the notice of the courtiers, and whispers and mockery soon began to circulate over the matter. Because the Maharani had long given importance to Naravahana, a muted jealousy had existed in many hearts, and now they began to express it openly. These taunts and mockery fell with devastating force upon Naravahana as well. For so long he had been the most important courtier in the Kashmiri court, the man whom everyone regarded as the queen’s backbone. People believed that the governance of Kashmir was, in effect, run by Naravahana himself. And now, here was his humiliation. The queen had, in a sense, cast him aside. Naravahana understood all too well that he would never again regain his former status, honor, or position.

And a life stripped of honor and dignity was not one he could bear. Thus, he chose death as his final refuge. Gradually, everyone stopped inquiring about him, for he had become unnecessary to all. After being absent from the royal court for several days, one day Maharani Didda made inquiries and learned that he had not left his chamber for quite some time. This news deeply unsettled Didda. Accompanied by guards, she struck repeatedly at the closed door of Naravahana’s chamber; when it still did not open, she ordered it to be broken down. When the door was forced open, Naravahana’s hanging body was found inside the room.

News of Naravahana’s suicide spread rapidly throughout the kingdom. Soon after, the people began to weave all kinds of lurid tales about Maharani Didda and Naravahana, turning them into objects of mockery and scandal. These stories spread like a storm in all directions, and even Didda’s relatives, close kin, and even her son began to believe them. Some claimed that Naravahana had taken his own life because he could not bear the queen’s alleged infidelities with various men. Others said that the witch-queen herself had murdered her lover and hung him. When such words reached Didda’s ears, she grew even harder in spirit. No emotion—no feeling, insult, or slander—seemed capable of affecting her anymore. Once again, the truth stood reinforced: society can never accept that a woman can be complete in herself.

Didda now began to contemplate marrying off Abhimanyu, placing a new queen in Kashmir, and thereby withdrawing herself from all responsibilities and duties. (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, 

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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.

The post Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir-23 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir

By Debasree Chakraborti

Both banks were illuminated brilliantly, and to entertain the guests, musicians and dancers rushed in from distant lands. Abhimanyu’s grandfather, Singharaj, and grandmother, Shreelekha, knew no bounds to their joy. On the occasion of their grandson’s coronation, they sent precious gifts, though they themselves could not be present, as they were in Kabul with their family at that time due to Bhimraj’s illness. Didda too was waiting for the completion of Abhimanyu’s coronation, and thus, at that supreme moment in time, the people of Kashmir gathered.

That day, the royal court of Kashmir was adorned like a new bride. The guests began presenting the young prince with musk, valuable antelope horns, sapphires, and many other priceless offerings. After offering their gifts and paying homage to the prince, Queen Didda rose before all the courtiers, guests, and the people of Kashmir present in the assembly and declared:

“On this most sacred day, bearing witness to all the members of this royal court, all honored guests, and the people of Kashmir, I hereby proclaim Prince Abhimanyu as the King of Kashmir. Abhimanyu, come forth and ascend the throne.”

Abhimanyu stepped toward his mother, intending to touch her feet, but at that moment Didda stopped him and said, “From today, you are the Maharaja of Kashmir. You shall bow before no one.”

Abhimanyu replied, “You are my mother. At this moment, your blessings are what I desire most.”

Didda said firmly, “No. In this royal assembly, I am merely an ordinary member. No personal relationship can be given importance here.”

Holding Abhimanyu’s hand, Didda seated him upon the throne. After chanting sacred mantras and completing the rituals, the royal priest himself placed the crown of Kashmir upon Abhimanyu’s head. Conch shells resounded all around, and everyone cried out in unison, “Victory to Abhimanyu, Lord of Kashmir!” Courtiers, guests, and citizens alike showered flowers upon him.

All were overjoyed that day—except two. Vikramsen and Bhalaga stood in a corner of the royal court, witnessing the death of a great dream they themselves had once seen.

While Kashmir rejoiced in festive celebration upon gaining its new king, Didda, Abhinavagupta, Bhalaga, Narvahan, and the Ekangi Sena were together at that moment

They set out toward Kabul. On the long journey from Srinagar to Kabul, Didda slowly passed beyond the lush green expanses and entered a harsh and rugged natural landscape. The many colors of life gradually faded, turning into a bleak and austere grey. Along this route, they rested for two nights in the Kulas Valley and at Nandana Fort of Bhagwanbala, for Bhimraj’s condition was worsening day by day, and to honor his final wish, they had to reach Kabul with utmost haste.

Abhinavagupta was a deeply spiritual man, and as they traveled, he felt as though some great calamity awaited them ahead. Didda, however, had neither the time nor the inclination to sense anything, for she had become almost mechanical. A woman driven solely by duty and action, she rushed toward Kabul at great speed, determined that her grandfather’s last wish should not remain unfulfilled.

When Didda reached Kabul, a faint pulse still remained in Bhimraj’s body. Singharaj and his wife Shreelekha were overwhelmed upon seeing Didda. The daughter who had never held any value in their eyes had, through the strength of her own deeds, become priceless to them; without Didda, nothing seemed complete. Bhimraj’s condition was so grave that more than two people at a time were not allowed to see him.

Didda went to her grandfather accompanied by Abhinavagupta. The herbal physicians of Kabul were trying to heal him through various herbal remedies. The moment Didda entered his chambers, she was struck by a sharp, pungent scent of medicinal herbs. Ghee lamps burned in every corner of the chamber, and within the ghee of these lamps were mixed various kinds of oils, each possessing medicinal properties.

From a distance, Didda saw Bhimraj lying upon a massive bed, covered with a white silk sheet. The light from the lamps reflected off his snow-white hair, beard, and garments, creating a radiant glow around him. At the sight of him, Abhinavagupta was reminded of his grandfather Bhishma. Didda could wait no longer. Forgetting how neglected she had been by this family all her life, she rushed toward her grandfather, for to her he was that great banyan tree a single branch of that great tree. At every moment she felt that she had inherited many of her grandfather’s virtues by birth—qualities that would never have been possible had she not been born into this lineage. Didda rushed forward and bent over her grandfather’s face, gazing at him. All her life she had seen this man’s arrogance and pride; now, upon his deathbed, the same man appeared utterly helpless. The moment of complete surrender to Mahākāla was drawing near.

Sensing Didda’s presence, Bhimraj opened his eyes. In a broken, faltering voice he tried to say something, but Didda could not understand him. Then Abhinavagupta stepped closer and said gently, “You may speak to me without hesitation.” At another time he might have remained silent, but death renders even the strongest helpless. Bhimraj spoke softly to Abhinavagupta.

After understanding his words, Abhinavagupta turned to Didda and said, “His Majesty has chosen Jaipal as his successor. But he has entrusted you with the responsibility of protecting Jaipal and the entire Hindu Shahi Empire.”

Hearing her grandfather’s final wish, tears welled up in Didda’s eyes. Though she had been a member of this family before her marriage, she had never truly been acknowledged by them; and yet today, such a great responsibility was being placed upon her. It was only because of her grandfather’s profound faith in her that he entrusted her with such a momentous duty.

Tears streamed down Didda’s face. Folding her hands, she bent close to her grandfather’s face and accepted his wish. Didda’s tears merged with Bhimraj’s tears of joy, becoming one.

Bhimraj then looked once more toward Abhinavagupta. Abhinavagupta leaned closer to his face, and Bhimraj again spoke in a very faint and broken voice. When he finished speaking, Abhinavagupta stood stunned for a moment. What he had heard left a deep impression upon him. Then, turning toward Didda with a long sigh, he said, “His Majesty’s final wish is that all the Aghori ascetics from the Shiva temples in and around Kabul be invited. His last wish is the performance of the Mahārudrābhiṣeka Yajña. The Aghori Babas are to conduct this ritual within this very palace.”

A shudder ran through Didda’s entire body. This was akin to a form of chosen death itself. She looked at her grandfather and she had been mistaken. Even upon his deathbed, he had not relinquished a single trace of his pride or arrogance. Even his death seemed to remain under his own command.

Abhinavagupta was a sage who could perceive past, present, and future. Perhaps it was for this very moment that Didda had brought him with her to Kabul. Within two days, the Aghori ascetics from Kabul and the surrounding regions were gathered at Bhimraj’s palace. Then, under the priestly guidance of the supreme Shaiva adept Abhinavagupta, the Mahārudrābhiṣeka Yajña commenced.

From dawn that day, the Aghoris began chanting mantras. As Bhimraj lay asleep, he awoke while listening to the chants. After listening intently for a while, it seemed as though the remaining strength in his body was rekindled. The priests led him to be bathed with milk, honey, rose water, and pañcagavya. Once the ritual bath was completed, Abhinavagupta himself poured a white-colored potion into a vessel and had Bhimraj drink it. Remembering Mahadeva, Bhimraj drank the potion and immediately felt a surge of immense energy course through his body. Within moments, he felt the vigor of his youth return.

He was then led and seated near the sacrificial altar. The Aghoris continued chanting mantras from all sides. Didda sat watching her grandfather with full concentration, along with Ravalaga, Narvahan, and her parents. Before long, the homa fire flared up. Large quantities of ghee, honey, and various offerings were poured into the fire. The flames leapt high into the air, and Bhimraj felt as though Mahadeva, in the form of Nataraja, was dancing before him.

He could no longer remain seated. Rising from his place, Bhimraj advanced toward the fire altar while chanting mantras. No one stopped him at that moment, for such a sight was not unfamiliar to the Aghoris. At that time, Mahadeva filled his heart and soul. Repeating His name, Bhimraj entered the sacrificial fire. Within moments, the Fire God completely consumed him. No part of Bhimraj’s body could be found.

The news of Bhimraj’s death spread like dense fog, shrouding the skies of the surrounding kingdoms. In accordance with the Maharaja’s wishes, Didda began preparations for Jaipal’s coronation. While arrangements for the new king’s enthronement were underway everywhere, clouds of foreboding began to gather in Didda’s mind remained. For Bhimraj had been the great banyan tree of the Hindu Shahi dynasty. And when a massive banyan tree falls to the ground, the earth around it is bound to tremble. Didda’s apprehensions were not unfounded.

At that time, the Ziyarid dynasty ruled in Tabaristan. They had risen to great power within a very short span. For a long time, King Vushmagir of that dynasty had kept his gaze fixed upon the Hindu Shahi kingdom. It was as though he had been waiting for Bhimraj’s death. Once Bhimraj passed away, he wasted no time and dispatched a vast army toward Kabul under the command of his general, Abu Muhammad.

Singharaj and Queen Shreelekha did not wait for Jaipal’s coronation and set out for their own kingdom, for they had lived in Kabul for a long time due to Bhimraj’s illness, and now their daughter had arrived. They placed blind faith in their daughter. One dawn, Didda sent her parents on their way toward the Iron Kingdom, then came and stood in the courtyard of her grandfather’s palace.

Crushed between the millstones of duty and responsibility, Didda seemed to be losing her own hopes and desires. These days, she often felt terribly exhausted. Every person’s life holds something they cherish—but Didda did not even know what she herself cherished. In giving importance to everyone else in life, she had become insignificant herself. Even after traveling the long distance from Kashmir to Kabul, she continued to fulfill her duties relentlessly, with no possibility of peaceful rest.

As Didda sat absorbed in thoughts of her own fate, Narvahan came and stood behind her. Though immersed in countless thoughts, Didda remained acutely aware of her surroundings and circumstances. The presence of those who were always near her was something she could sense even with her eyes closed. Turning back, Didda said, “What is it, Narvahan? What news have you brought so early in the morning?”

The dawn light had not yet fully emerged; in the mingling of light and darkness, Narvahan’s face was not clearly visible. With deep anxiety evident in his voice, he said, “Maharani, I bring grave and troubling news—from Bamiyan. A messenger has arrived from Bamiyan. He says that a vast army from Tabaristan, led by Abu Muhammad, the general of the Ziyarid dynasty, is advancing toward Kabul.”

Didda asked, “Where are the enemy forces positioned now?”

“Not far from Bamiyan.”

“There is no time to waste, Narvahan. I was mentally prepared for this situation. It was for this very day that I came with the Ekangi Sena. Instruct the troops to prepare—we must set out for Bamiyan within moments.”

Narvahan disappeared into the darkness to carry out Didda’s command; soon he was no longer visible. Before departing for Bamiyan, Didda felt it essential to meet Abhinavagupta once, for the plan forming in her mind at that moment could be realized by none other than him.

Abhinavagupta had risen at dawn and had just completed his worship and chanting of his chosen deity’s name when he saw Didda standing before him. Her arrival at such an unusual hour made him instantly understand that an extremely critical moment had arrived, and that the Maharani had come seeking his assistance.

In that half-lit dawn, as the worship of Mahadeva began in the Shiva temples of Kabul, as the resonance of the sacred Om floated through the air and the ringing of temple bells cloaked the surroundings in a strange spiritual aura, Maharani Didda and Abhinavagupta concluded their discussion in utmost secrecy. That day, after entrusting Abhinavagupta with a task of great importance, Didda set out on the road to Bamiyan.

The distance from Kabul to Bamiyan is not great, but the terrain along the way is extremely harsh. Amid the yellow, barren landscape, scattered patches of green appear at intervals, and along narrow streams of blue water stand mud-built houses and small marketplaces.

With the Ekangi Sena at her side, Didda and Narvahan advanced toward Bamiyan in full battle attire. Seeing a woman traveling in martial dress, the people standing along both sides of the road halted in astonishment. Wonder was written across every face—could a woman ever be a warrior?

Didda did not have to go very far. On the banks of the Kunduz River, she came face to face with Abu Muhammad’s army. Abu Muhammad’s force numbered four hundred, and seeing that Didda had come to confront him with barely thirty soldiers, he mocked her, saying, “That is why one should never trust what one hears without seeing it with one’s own eyes. I was terrified when I heard about the mighty Queen Didda of Kashmir—looking at her army now, I must say I’m shaking with fear. Just like their queen, it seems her soldiers are all lame.”

Hearing Abu Muhammad’s words, his soldiers burst into laughter. Indeed, that day Didda’s force looked like a mere drop before an ocean when set against Abu Muhammad’s army. The two armies stood facing each other on the banks of the Kunduz River, unable to understand one another’s language. Therefore, Narvahan approached Abu Muhammad with an interpreter.

Abu Muhammad, meanwhile, was thinking to himself that Didda must have been utterly frightened upon seeing him and his powerful army, and had sent a message of surrender. Entertaining these thoughts, he waited eagerly for that triumphant moment.

Standing before Abu Muhammad, Narvahan spoke in his own tongue, “Greetings. I am Narvahan. I bring a message of peace and friendship on behalf of Maharani Didda. She has been appointed guardian of Prince Jaipal of the Hindu Shahi kingdom; therefore, she bears the authority to take any decision on his behalf. She seeks friendly coexistence with the neighbors of the Hindu Shahi realm, where there is no place for violence or hatred.”

After a brief pause, Narvahan added, “You are our guest. The Maharani invites you to accept her hospitality.”

When the interpreter conveyed Narvahan’s words to Abu Muhammad, he responded with biting sarcasm, “Where does the queen invite me? To her bed?” Finishing his remark, Abu Muhammad burst into loud, mocking laughter.

When the interpreter relayed this statement to Narvahan with great embarrassment, Narvahan’s eyes flared like fire with rage and disgust. Grinding his teeth, he carried this message back to Maharani Didda.

Didda had instructed Narvahan that in any situation he must keep his head absolutely cool, for even a moment of anger would make their defeat inevitable. Narvahan had boundless faith and trust in Didda. He knew very well that Didda was not one to surrender or bow her head.

There was always a precise purpose behind every one of her commands. Therefore, even after hearing such humiliating words, Narvahan returned with a calm mind.

Abu Muhammad saw that Didda’s army withdrew from the middle of the road toward Kabul and lined up on both sides, bowing their heads, while the Maharani herself dismounted from her horse and stood inviting him toward Kabul with both hands. Abu Muhammad understood that his assumption had been correct—that Didda and the Ekangi Sena were surrendering before him. Seeing this sight, Abu Muhammad’s soldiers erupted in celebration, intoxicated with the joy of victory.

Against the yellow landscape, with a blue river and sky forming a striking contrast, Queen Didda stood in special black battle attire, breathtakingly beautiful—more exquisite than even the celestial apsaras. Abu Muhammad thought to himself that once they reached Kabul, he would seize this priceless jewel of the Hindu Shahi dynasty for himself; it was only a matter of a little more time.

In the rhythm of a victor, Abu Muhammad advanced toward Kabul, his vast army following behind him. As they neared Kabul in this manner, suddenly it felt as though swarms of yellow insects poured out from the mountain slopes and ravines, rushing in from all sides to attack Abu Muhammad’s forces.

Abu Muhammad’s army numbered in the hundreds; their attackers numbered in the thousands. As they drew closer, he realized that soldiers clad in yellow garments were assaulting them. Just as a chameleon blends into its surroundings, so too had Didda’s Ekangi Sena concealed themselves by merging with the colors of the Gandhara region’s landscape.

Even as Abu Muhammad’s army was entering Kabul in triumph, they had not realized that they were walking into an enemy chakravyuha. Entry was easy—but escape was impossible, and the outcome was death.

As the Ekangi Sena closed in from all sides, from the direction of the city of Kabul From the direction of Kabul, the thunderous cry of “Har Har Mahadev!” advanced with terrifying force. Abu Muhammad saw matted-haired, ash-smeared, naked ascetics charging toward him, tridents raised in their hands. From all sides, a rain of spears and tridents began to fall. As a result, Abu Muhammad’s soldiers lost all sense of reason and were unable to take coherent decisions; hundreds upon hundreds collapsed into the jaws of death.

Didda had instructed the Ekangi Sena that, no matter what, Abu Muhammad must be kept alive—she would settle accounts with him herself. It was on Didda’s orders that Abhinavagupta had gathered the Aghori Babas against the enemy that day.

Within moments, Abu Muhammad found himself as though standing in a cremation ground. All around him lay the corpses of his soldiers, and he stood alone among them. Those upon whom he had relied only moments earlier as he marched forward in the joy of victory—not a single one of them was alive now. It was like a dreadful nightmare.

Abu Muhammad then saw Didda riding toward him at the speed of a storm. Her approach across the bodies of the dead seemed to carry a message of death itself. How terrifying she looked—this was not the Didda he had seen just moments before. That Didda’s body language had held gentleness; this Didda was devoid of any softness. She seemed like an arrow of death racing straight toward him.

Abu Muhammad realized that by mistaking Didda for weak, he had stepped into her trap. This queen was a demoness—one who could turn a beautiful landscape into a cremation ground in the blink of an eye.

Didda came and stood face to face with Abu Muhammad. From her eyes, it seemed as though molten lava from a volcano was pouring forth. He had never imagined that a beautiful woman could assume such a fearsome form of Rudrani. At the sight of Didda, something broke within Abu Muhammad. He dismounted and stood on the ground; his sword slipped from his hand and fell to the earth.

From the direction of Kabul, the terrifying ascetics spread across this valley of death, shouting “Har Har Mahadev!”—the sound resonating like the roar of war drums.

Didda leapt down from her horse and charged toward Abu Muhammad. She now appeared like the Hindu goddess Kali herself. Screaming fiercely, Didda advanced, her cry mingling with the surrounding chants of “Har Har Mahadev!”

The merged roar crashed against Abu Muhammad’s chest, choking his breath until it nearly stopped. Of those with whom he had come to conquer this land, not one remained alive. In this valley of death, he stood alone, while his enemies seemed like cremation-ground ghouls. He had heard much of Didda’s ferocity before, and now, imagining his ultimate fate, he shuddered in terror.

Didda struck Abu Muhammad, and his helmet flew from his head and fell to the ground. Grabbing him tightly by the hair, Didda snarled, “You wished to climb into my bed, did you not? Come—let me fulfill your desire.”

Saying this, Didda dragged Abu Muhammad by the hair. Before the gates of Kabul stood Bhimraj’s beloved elephant, Maharaj, trumpeting wildly like a mad beast. Screaming fiercely, Didda flung Abu Muhammad at Maharaj’s feet. With a thunderous cry, Maharaj crushed Abu Muhammad beneath his massive foot. His dream of conquering Kabul was never realized; he would not even enter the city. Before he could step into Kabul, Maharaj ground Abu Muhammad into the earth.

When this brutal event spread to the surrounding kingdoms through spies, all were seized with terror. This single incident carried one unmistakable message: under Didda’s command, the Hindu Shahi kingdom was a living chakravyuha—easy to enter, but certain death for anyone who did so. (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, 

_________________

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.

The post Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir-22 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir

By Debasree Chakraborti

Thus, caught between duty and action, the wheel of time kept turning in Didda’s life. Then one day, in the dead of night amid the deep forests of Mount Meru, the sound of horses’ hooves was heard. A group was racing through the dense woodland. Some distance away, from within the forest, coiled smoke was rising upward; from afar its smell and signal could be sensed. The newcomers realized that their destination was not far anymore.

Riding swiftly through the pine forest, the horsemen caught sight of the royal standard of the Kingdom of Kashmir. They heard a sound like the crackling noise produced when wood burns in fire—meaning they had reached their destination. Everyone stood silent for a moment. Just then, they saw a man approaching them with a torch in his hand. Understanding the signal, they raised the cry of “Jai Ma Bhavani,” and the torchbearer too welcomed them with the same chant.

Then the horsemen dismounted and began to move forward, following the torchbearer. After going some distance, they saw many people wearing garments made of tree leaves. There were camps all around, each one covered with branches and leaves so that no one could notice them. From one such camp emerged a strikingly beautiful, middle-aged woman. She bowed down before one of the horsemen and said, “Welcome, Gurudev. With your arrival, this land has become blessed.” After that, the woman led her Gurudev into a camp.

In one corner of the camp a torch was burning; its light fell upon the Guru’s face, while the disciple remained half in light and half in shadow. Servants came, served him drinks and various kinds of food, and then withdrew. The Gurudev then spoke, “Didda, besides me there are many others—far younger and more capable than I am. Why, without considering them, are you placing such a grave responsibility upon me?”

In reply, Didda said, “Gurudev, nearly ten years have passed since the Maharaja’s death. Throughout this long period, at every moment, I have relived those terrifying days of my childhood. The throne of present-day Kashmir is surrounded by enemies, yet the Kashmiri army is extremely weak. Merely through wealth

It is not possible to keep enemies under control for long by tempting them with greed. If the army becomes strong, I can spend this money on my royal officials and soldiers.

What do you want from me?

Gurudev, I want you to bestow upon the army of Kashmir the knowledge you have imparted to me. Alongside you, Bhalaga will also be there; he will impart his secret training in warfare to them.

Vikramsen said, “Didda, I have come all this way thinking of your welfare. From childhood you have fought alone and raised yourself to the position you hold today. I do not want any new danger to enter your life now. Therefore, with all the strength of my life, I will build the army of Kashmir.”

With Vikramsen’s consent, it felt as if a great burden was lifted from Didda’s head. She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

From the very next day, military training began deep within the forests of Mount Meru. The training continued throughout the day—Vikramsen conducted training during daylight hours, and then after sunset, in the darkness of night, Bhalaga’s training would begin. Bhalaga started teaching the soldiers the art of fighting while remaining concealed. No ruler of any other kingdom, except Didda, was aware of this special training of Bhalaga. Thus began a long period of training. Even during snowfall, when the entire land of Kashmir lay covered in snow, the training continued. They learned how to fight by uniting body and mind and remaining integrated with nature. The principal rule of this method of warfare was to conduct battle by making mind, body, and nature one. Gradually, the army of Kashmir became terrifyingly invincible. Didda named this force the “Ekangi Sena” (The Unified Army).

To build the Kashmiri army, Didda adopted several special methods. She selected for this force individuals who possessed certain unique qualities—those who could imitate the sounds of animals and birds, whose minds were as alert as their bodies, and who could understand the languages of enemy kingdoms. Along with being trained by Vikramsen and Bhalaga, these individuals were also used as instructors to teach their special skills to others in the army. Those who joined Didda’s army were given all facilities free of cost for their families, and their salaries were three times higher than those of soldiers in other kingdoms. In this way, she transformed Kashmir into a state entirely dependent on military strength.

After the establishment of the “Ekangi Sena,” Didda created a special class of people who worked as spies, living in deep secrecy while blending in with the people of Kashmir and the neighboring kingdoms. Thus, little by little, Didda encased Kashmir in a suit of impenetrable armor. Over this long period, Didda herself became thunderously stern and unstoppable. The emotions and feelings that once lay deep within her heart, once centered on a few individuals, gradually came to be focused solely on the state. For the welfare of Kashmir, she assigned to each person only the value they were required to serve; once that need was exhausted, that person held no further value in Didda’s eyes.

As she continued to organize and strengthen Kashmir over these many years, her son Abhimanyu grew from childhood into adolescence. Didda realized that the time had come to hand over the reins of the kingdom to her son. There was very little time left, for in the years spent organizing Kashmir after the Maharaja’s death, time had slipped by in the blink of an eye. A human being may control many things in this world—but time! Time can never be controlled.

Didda understood that before entrusting the kingdom to Abhimanyu, she must provide him with proper political and military education; otherwise, the era of Kshema Gupta would return to Kashmir once again. First and foremost, Didda sent Abhimanyu to Vikramsen for military training.

At a time when the kingdom had finally been made strong with great effort, spies, through the shepherds of Kashmir, brought news that along the banks of the Vitasta River in the forests of Baramulla, a group of Turkish soldiers had established a camp. These Turkish troops were reportedly advancing gradually toward Srinagar. When this news reached Queen Didda, she appointed Bajrabahu as the commander of the Ekangi Sena and dispatched him to the Baramulla forests to launch an abhijan against the Turks.

This campaign was extremely perilous, for at every step within the forests of Baramulla, danger lay in wait. English Translation:

Danger lay in wait there; this forest lay on both sides of a bend of the Vitasta River. Black leopards inhabited this deodar forest, leaping down upon intruders from the trees. For this reason, outsiders feared entering the region. Around this area lived some hill shepherds who brought their herds to graze at the foothills outside the forest. They were already familiar with the clothing and language of the Turkish soldiers, because Mahim and Patal had earlier drawn the Turkish king Himmak into their conspiracies. As a result, for a long time these Turks had been secretly moving in and out of Kashmir. The shepherds saw them around the forest, and then, from a few villagers who fished from boats on the Vitasta, the shepherds learned that Himmak’s forces had established a camp along a branch of the Vitasta flowing deep inside the jungle.

It was the season of spring when leaves were falling. After sunset, when the crimson glow of the sinking sun merged into the darkness of night and the forest seemed intoxicated in a terrifying, primal revelry, at that very moment Bajrabahu’s forces entered the forest, their clothing camouflaged with dry leaves. At every corner of this path, death waited for them—on one side the threat of black leopards and massive pythons, and on the other the fear of the Turkish soldiers. Moving slowly through heaps of fallen deodar leaves, the troops gradually spread deeper into the jungle, proceeding with extreme caution. For as they moved over dry leaves, the friction of bodies against leaves could create sound; they remained constantly alert to ensure that no such noise was made.

By evening, torches had been lit in the Turkish camp. To signal one another about enemy positions, the soldiers of the Ekangi Sena communicated using the calls of various birds. The Turkish king Himmak, along with his commander and a few soldiers, was discussing in his camp the direction of the planned attack on Srinagar. At that moment, fire suddenly flared up all around the camp. Before the soldiers could grasp what was happening, flames began to race across the dry leaves toward their encampment, and then, with the speed of a storm, blazing torches started raining down upon the camp. Some of the soldiers rushed toward the river even by fleeing, they could not save their lives, because the fire was also raging toward the river; to cross it and leap into the water meant certain death. Some soldiers attempted this and were burned alive, meeting their end in agony. Within a very short time, the god of fire consumed the entire camp. Although the enemy forces were destroyed in this incident, a vast region of the Baramulla forest was severely damaged. Countless trees, animals, and birds were destroyed. Among the villagers living around the forest, resentment against Didda began to grow. As nature suffered immense devastation, they began to call Didda the “Witch Queen of Kashmir.” With the defeat of the enemy, all of Srinagar was saved from foreign invasion, and the entire city erupted in celebration.

While the whole city was immersed in festivities, Narabahan arrived before Didda. At that time, Didda sat in her bedchamber in deep gloom. Her state of mind was far from well; only a single lamp burned in one corner of the room, and she would occasionally close her eyes while gazing at its flame. For she was witnessing a sequence of visions, in which a huge, gleaming sword repeatedly tried to strike her down. Didda’s sixth sense was extraordinarily active, and she felt that Vikramsen’s presence in her life was bringing a terrible infamy upon her.

Despite sensing all this, she could take no action against her guru. At that moment, Narabahan entered her chamber. The moment Didda saw his face, she understood that he was deeply troubled for some reason. She did not need to ask anything; Narabahan spoke on his own, “Maharani, the news is not good. Under Bajrabahu’s leadership, the Ekangi Sena has repelled the Turkish attack with exceptional skill. But—”

Didda, now extremely anxious, said, “But what, Narabahan? Tell me everything clearly.”

Narabahan said, “Maharani, as a result of this attack, the forest has suffered enormous damage. The people of the surrounding villages are accusing you of being a Witch Queen. The method of attack used by the army is solely responsible for this; this attack could have been carried out in another way “It could have been done differently, but Vikramsen instructed Bajrabahu to carry out the attack in this manner.

Vikramsen suffered no loss because of this; on the contrary, it was your reputation that was ruined. After such immense effort, you had only just succeeded in organizing the kingdom, and in the meantime such a great loss has occurred—something that cannot be accepted under any circumstances.”

Didda said, “Narabahan, Abhimanyu is now fully prepared to ascend the throne. At this moment, the people of Kashmir are waiting for their new king. The only way to handle this situation is Abhimanyu’s coronation. You must arrange this coronation as quickly as possible.”

Narabahan stood silently for a while, feeling as though the ground beneath his feet was slipping away, for he knew very well that there was no one more suitable for the throne of Kashmir than Didda herself. Narabahan shared a deep psychological bond with Didda. Even without speaking, Didda could read his thoughts through his body language. Understanding the meaning of his silence, she said, “There is nothing to worry about. This throne is not mine; if not today, then tomorrow the crown prince would have to sit on it. Besides, I am still here—without my will, not even a migratory bird will be able to enter the borders of Kashmir.”

Understanding Didda’s hint, Narabahan took his leave.

The day of Abhimanyu’s coronation was fixed for the coming full-moon day. In celebration of the crown prince’s ascent to the throne, all of Kashmir was adorned like a new bride. Abhimanyu’s grandmother was overwhelmed with joy; she told her relatives that she was still alive only to witness this day. After suffering such immense grief over her son, she had spent all these years living only by looking at her grandson’s face. Though everyone was happy, Vikramsen was not happy at all, because the dream with which he had educated Didda would come to an end once Abhimanyu ascended the throne. Didda could not live her life as an ordinary woman; she possessed all the qualities required to become an empress. While speculation and discussions about Abhimanyu’s coronation filled the air, one night a messenger arrived from Kabul …arrived at the palace of Kashmir. Didda was resting in her palace at the time; a lamp burned in one corner of the room. Just then, Bhalaga entered. Bhalaga was Didda’s constant shadow; at the end of the day, the two of them would sit together and pass time in conversation. Didda greatly enjoyed spending time with Bhalaga—speaking with him dispelled all her worries and anxieties.

Bhalaga came and stood before Didda in deep gloom; it seemed as though a dark cloud hung over his face. Seeing him like this filled Didda with apprehension. Bhalaga said, “Ranima, the envoy from Kabul has brought extremely bad news.

Your maternal uncle, Bhimsen, is in very poor health. He lies on his deathbed, waiting for your arrival.”

Didda said in astonishment, “Waiting for me?”

Bhalaga replied, “Yes. There is no one else truly worthy, so perhaps before his death he wishes to place his kingdom in your hands.”

Didda said, “To keep Kashmir safe, the security of the Gandhara province must be strengthened. Since my uncle’s time, the condition of the Hindu Shahi dynasty has been far from good. Gradually, many territories have slipped out of our hands. If this continues, one day the entire Gandhara province will pass beyond our control, and the consequences for Kashmir will be extremely grave.”

Pacing within the chamber, Didda continued, “It is a matter of only two more days. Once Abhimanyu’s coronation is complete, I will set out for Gandhara province. On this journey, you will accompany me, along with Abhinavagupta, Narabahan, and the Ekangi Sena. Vikramsen will remain in Kashmir to protect Abhimanyu. Bhalaga, tonight itself ask Narabahan to take my message to Abhinavagupta. Narabahan must tell him that for the welfare of Kashmir, he must accompany me on this journey. He should also mention that this is my final request; after this, Queen Didda will never again seek his refuge.”

From about a week before Abhimanyu’s coronation, kings of neighboring realms began arriving in Kashmir with various precious gifts. Lavish arrangements were made for their stay in the capital, Srinagar. From the remote villages of Kashmir, artisans came with the wealth of their handcrafted creations to line the royal roads

…illuminating both sides of the roads. For the entertainment of the guests, musicians and dancers rushed in from distant lands. Abhimanyu’s maternal uncle Singharaj and his grandmother Shreelekha knew no bounds to their joy; on the occasion of their grandson’s coronation they sent precious gifts, though they themselves could not be present, as due to Bhimraj’s illness they were in Kabul with their entire family at that time. Didda herself was waiting for the completion of Abhimanyu’s coronation, and thus the people of Kashmir reached that supreme moment in time.

On that day, the royal court of Kashmir was adorned like a new bride. The guests continued to present the young prince with musk, valuable nilgai horns, blue sapphire gemstones, and many other precious offerings. After presenting gifts and paying homage to the crown prince, Maharani Didda stood before everyone present in the court and said, “On this most sacred day, in the presence of all the courtiers, all the guests, and the people of Kashmir gathered here as witnesses, I hereby proclaim Crown Prince Abhimanyu as the King of Kashmir. Abhimanyu, come forth and ascend the throne.”

Abhimanyu stepped toward his mother, about to touch her feet, when Didda stopped him and said, “From today, you are the Maharaja of Kashmir. You will bow before no one.”

Abhimanyu said, “You are my mother; at this moment, above all else, I desire your blessing.”

Didda replied, “No. In this royal court, I am merely an ordinary member. No personal relationship can be given importance here.”

Holding Abhimanyu’s hand, Didda seated him upon the throne. After the recitation of mantras and the completion of the rituals, the royal priest placed the crown of Kashmir upon his head with his own hands. Conch shells resounded in all directions, and everyone proclaimed, “Victory to King Abhimanyu, Lord of Kashmir!” Courtiers, guests, and citizens alike began to shower Abhimanyu with flowers.

That day, everyone was joyous—except two. In one corner of the royal court, Vikramsen and Bhalaga stood silently, watching the death of a great dream they had once envisioned. (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, 

________________

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.

The post Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir-21 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir

By Debasree Chakraborti

It was a terrifyingly dark night. Through the open windows, stormy winds rushed in. At this hour, only dim lamps were usually lit in Didda’s palace, but the violent gusts kept extinguishing even those remaining lights. The tiny golden bells hanging from Prince Abhimanyu’s wooden cradle were tinkling in the wind.

At this time, the Queen Mother would retire to her own chambers. Now, in this palace hall, there was no one except Didda, her infant son, the two motherless princesses, and Bhalaga. At night, Didda forbade the maidservants from staying in her chambers, because she preferred to spend this time alone with Bhalaga and her infant son Abhimanyu. Didda believed that during these hours she herself would attend to all her son’s needs—this was a source of deep fulfillment for her as a mother. Besides, there were also concerns of security.

Narbahan had warned her that Phalgun was plotting to kill Abhimanyu. By bribing a section of the palace staff, he had brought them under his control and intended to use them for this murder. Therefore, Didda no longer trusted anyone. No matter what, she had to protect the Prince of Kashmir. She stayed awake all night guarding her son.

In one room of this palace, the two princesses were asleep. Didda lay on a bed at one side of her own chamber with her son, while on the other side of the same room another bed had been arranged for Bhalaga, where he lay silently, passing one sleepless night after another. For just as Didda stayed awake to protect Abhimanyu from mortal danger, in the same way Bhalaga remained awake to protect Didda herself. Here, the hearts of two guardians—almost like two mothers—seemed to merge into one.

That night, the wind was blowing fiercely, and Bhalaga felt as if some great catastrophe was imminent. The tinkling of the golden bells sounded today almost like the beat of war drums. Just then, an unusual sound was heard. Didda became alert on the bed. She sat up straight, and her long shadow fell upon the wall. Bhalaga slipped down from the bed and, crawling swiftly on all fours across the floor, hid himself somewhere. Abhimanyu lay in deep sleep. Very carefully, Didda lifted him into her arms and laid him beneath the bed.

Every night, after the maidservants had left, Didda would prepare a small bed under the couch, and then spread a large silk sheet over the couch above, so that no one could see what lay beneath it. After placing Abhimanyu under the couch, Didda laid on the couch a dummy made of leather and cloth, shaped exactly like Abhimanyu, and covered it with the sheet. Sensing danger, Narbahan had had this effigy made by a leather craftsman, for he knew that such a dreadful night would soon descend upon Kashmir. The dummy looked exactly like a human infant; in the darkness of night, anyone who saw it would mistake it for a real child.

Didda, too, concealed herself in a corner of the room. No lamp was lit in this chamber; only the faint light coming from another part of the palace created a dim, shadowy atmosphere within the room.

Didda and Bhalaga heard people approaching the bedchamber; the sound of their footsteps was extremely fast. Didda silently invoked Mother Bhavani, and then, through her inner strength, began to observe the surroundings and the situation with absolute precision. Through the discipline of the Niruddha Tantra, she fully grasped the movements of the enemy and prepared for the next step. Didda and Bhalaga had been preparing for such a situation for a long time. They had already determined what their strategy would be in circumstances like this.

That night, the force of the wind in Didda’s quarters was intense. When the secret assassins entered her bedchamber, a sudden gust of stormy wind blew something into their eyes, causing a burning pain. The shadowy figures of three assassins were cast upon the wall. As they advanced toward the couch, struggling with the unbearable stinging in their eyes, at that very moment Didda and Bhalaga charged at them like a storm from both sides, swords in hand, and leapt upon them. Before they could understand what was happening, their heads were severed from their bodies and fell onto the floor.

Meanwhile, Abhimanyu had woken up. Didda lifted the crying Abhimanyu from beneath the couch and She lifted him into her arms. By then, the two princesses had also been awakened and came running to Didda. Like a storm, the news spread throughout the entire palace. The Queen Mother, accompanied by Narbahan, rushed to Didda’s palace and saw Didda sitting there, clutching her infant son to her chest, while the two princesses leaned against Didda’s body, standing and crying. Didda looked like Mother Bhavani herself—the slayer of demons.

On the other side of the room, Bhalaga sat gasping for breath. Even at such an advanced age, he had fought, thinking only of Didda’s and Abhimanyu’s safety. But age had taken its toll; the strength his body once possessed was no longer there. Dead bodies lay on the floor. Somehow, the Queen Mother managed to reach Didda, took Abhimanyu into her arms, and, kissing his forehead, said, “A great danger has passed today. Mother Bhavani herself has protected you. I will no longer allow you to stay in this palace. From today onward, we will all live together in my chambers. I will shelter you within my own bosom.”

Didda replied, “No, Mother. We will stay in this palace. As long as I am alive, nothing will happen to your heir.”

Annoyed, the Queen Mother said, “You do not understand. Those who tried to kill the prince are extremely powerful. They will destroy you as well.”

Rising to her feet, Didda said, “I am even more terrifying than they are. What they did today—time will teach them how dreadful its consequences will be. Narbahan, arrange for these bodies to be removed as quickly as possible and for my chamber to be cleaned. This horrifying sight is affecting the tender minds of the two girls.” Saying this, she pulled the two princesses close to her chest.

That night, although Didda did not go to the Queen Mother’s chambers, the Queen Mother took refuge in Didda’s palace. She did not want to let her grandson out of her arms in any way, for a strange conviction had taken hold of her—that as long as she remained close, no one would be able to harm Abhimanyu.

Meanwhile, with the conspiracy having failed, Phalgun was utterly shattered. His condition became like that of a wounded serpent. Phalgun tried to stir up hostility against Didda among the royal officials and the common people. In this effort, he had managed to a great succeeded. He managed to convince some people that Didda was a curse upon Kashmir, and that the untimely death of the Maharaja had occurred because he had married her. Moreover, when power falls into the hands of a woman, the system of governance of a kingdom is said to suffer dreadful consequences. During the Maharaja’s lifetime, many of those who had shown respect to Didda began to think inwardly: how could Didda, being a woman, rule Kashmir? A woman’s place was in the inner quarters; she did not belong in the royal court. Many people began to oppose Didda, for they were in no way willing to entrust the reins of governance to a widowed woman. In this conspiracy, Phalgun’s greatest weapons were Kshemagupta’s two nephews, Mahima and Patal.

Kshemagupta’s father, Purvagupta, being ambitious for power, had married off his two daughters to Choz and Bhubhatt. With them, Koshpana had maintained extremely close relations. After their uncle’s death, Mahima and Patal rushed to Kashmir in their greed for the throne and joined hands with Phalgun. When the conspiracy to murder the young prince failed, Phalgun became involved in an even more dreadful plot; now he began to tempt Mahima and Patal with the lure of the throne.

On the canvas of time, the image of yet another dark night emerged, where, in Phalgun’s palace, the presence of several men could be seen. From their attire and conduct, they appeared to be royal ministers. Phalgun was engaged in a private conversation with two royal men, while the others seemed to be waiting for someone. The two with whom Phalgun was conferring were Mahima and Patal.

Phalgun said to them, “Firstly, she is physically disabled; on top of that, she is a woman. To entrust the governance of the kingdom to her would be the height of foolishness.”

Patal said, “And while we are alive, this infant son is being regarded as the heir. Even though Mahima and I possess all the qualifications to ascend the throne, we are being deprived of it. There can be no greater injustice than this.”

Mahima said, “This time they will understand how dreadful the consequences can be.”

Phalgun, speaking like a shrewd man, said, “Look, do not attach any importance at all to what others think. Even during your uncle’s lifetime, it was I who held the reins of Kashmir’s administration. So when I consider you the rightful heirs, that itself is a very great matter.”

They were speaking among themselves when several royal figures arrived at Phalgun’s palace. Seeing them, Mahima and Patal stepped forward and said, “Please come, please come.” With folded hands, they greeted them and invited them in. Then, introducing them to Prime Minister Phalgun and the other ministers present in the assembly, Mahima said, “This is Himmaka, this is Mukula, this is Ermantaka, this is Udayagupta, the famous son of Amritkara, and this is Yashodhara of Lalitadityapura. Their armies are so powerful that the very earth trembles in fear beneath their feet.” On learning their identities, the conspirators murmured in admiration.

All those who had arrived that day had entered Phalgun’s palace in disguise, without any bodyguards. But this information did not remain hidden from Didda. Narbahan’s men were present in Phalgun’s palace in disguise; they secretly conveyed news of this conspiracy to Narbahan. Narbahan informed Didda of everything, because at that time the entire responsibility of the kingdom’s army rested in Didda’s hands, and nothing could be done without her consent.

The kind of training Didda had received was unknown to the army of Kashmir. Therefore, Didda decided that the army would surround Prime Minister Phalgun’s palace, while she herself would enter the palace with Bhalaga at that time. Didda had been waiting for such a situation. Under one roof, she was getting all her enemies together at once. Such an opportunity could not be allowed to slip away.

As soon as Didda’s orders were received, the Kashmiri soldiers set out toward Phalgun’s palace and, within moments, began to surround it from all sides. But Phalgun’s power was hardly less than Narbahan’s; a section of the army was still loyal to Phalgun. Therefore, the palace could not be fully encircled, and news reached Phalgun that Didda and Bhalaga were coming to attack them.

Proof of Didda’s valor was unknown to no one. Thus, they had no desire to be attacked in such a manner by a physically disabled woman while being completely unarmed. So, through extremely secret routes, they fled. Mahima and Patal both escaped and took refuge in the kingdom of Mahima’s father-in-law, Shaktisena.

That very night, Didda realized that a section of the ministers and the army was completely under Phalgun’s control, and that to bring them under her own command, she would have to lure them with money. Narbahan supported this decision at that very moment. For during the reign of Maharaja Kshemagupta, a severe financial crisis had arisen among the people of the kingdom; the royal officials did not receive their rightful payments on time. This was because the wealth of the royal treasury had been usurped by Phalgun and his loyalists. At that time, a belief had spread that allegiance to Phalgun ensured financial gain.

Thus, many people began to live quite comfortably by accepting Phalgun’s largesse. Didda announced not only monetary rewards, but also various other benefits. Along with valuable jewels and money, she began to grant land to her supporters. She tripled the salaries of royal officials, and took responsibility for all the needs of the families of those who pledged loyalty to her. In this way, gradually, as time passed, a much larger class of loyal supporters of Didda arose across Kashmir.

Step by step, Didda brought power completely into her own hands and, before the entire royal court, bestowed upon Narbahan the title of Rajanaka. Didda retained complete governing authority in her own hands, but entrusted Narbahan with the responsibility of commander-in-chief of the army. Didda wanted Abhimanyu’s reign to be entirely free of obstacles. Gradually, by offering wealth and power, she drew even Phalgun’s former supporters into her own camp. In this way, following the principles of Chanakya, she slowly began to encircle her enemy.

Within a few days, Phalgun realized that he had become isolated in Kashmir; those closest to him had abandoned him. Fully aware of Didda’s power, Phalgun left Kashmir in disguise for a time.

Gradually, Abhimanyu continued to grow, and Didda skillfully managed the administration of Kashmir. Thus, nearly five years passed. The people of Kashmir had by then accepted Didda with heart and soul. Along with raising her son, Didda devoted herself day and night to the service of the people. In every village, she provided the people with free —for providing medical care, she established charitable hospitals. She employed people in the excavation of reservoirs, the construction of roads, and other works for the development of the state, and paid the people fair wages calculated on a daily basis. As a result, every member of each family earned an income, their financial hardships were alleviated, and the people of the kingdom began to sing Didda’s praises.

In this way, immersed day and night in the affairs of the state, Didda scarcely found any time for herself. She spent her days in the royal court, and from time to time she would set out on tours of the kingdom in disguise.

Thus, without her even realizing it, entire days would pass.

Prince Abhimanyu grew up under the care of the Queen Mother and Bhalaga, but in that sense he scarcely received his mother’s company at all. One day, returning from the royal court, Didda saw the Queen Mother feeding Abhimanyu kheer with her own hands. Seeing such a scene filled Didda with joy, for compared to the dreadful loneliness of her own childhood, her son was far more fortunate. He had the blessing of growing up surrounded by love.

Didda went and sat before them, watching her son eat the kheer. The Queen Mother was fully absorbed in feeding her grandson. When the prince finished eating, Bhalaga washed his face. Now the young prince was playing happily when the Queen Mother said to Didda, “I have been thinking of telling you something for a long time. You remain busy with the affairs of the state all day long. Yes, I understand that you do all this for the welfare of the kingdom, but it is creating a distance between you and the prince. At this age, a child needs a mother’s affection and tenderness. But he is receiving none of that from you.”

Didda had noticed this as well. When she returned to the palace, on most days the prince would already be asleep; and even when he was awake, he would not turn toward his mother, as if he did not even recognize her. Didda realized that in fulfilling her duty to the kingdom day after day, she had unknowingly created a great distance between herself and her child. Perhaps that was why no emotional bond had formed between Abhimanyu and his mother. Even upon seeing her, he remained absorbed in his own play.

Didda understood why the Queen Mother was saying these things to her. After thinking for a while, she said, “In three days it will be the full moon. I will take Abhimanyu with me —go to the Padmaswami Temple to offer prayers.” Hearing Didda’s words, the Queen Mother said, “All day long the prince is confined within four walls. Apart from me, Bhalaga, and the maidservants, he knows no one else.”

Didda replied, “Mother, there is a threat of a mortal attack on Abhimanyu. That is why he is kept within the palace, surrounded by a ring of security.”

The Queen Mother said, “But this is hampering his mental development. I do not want the prince to become an unsuccessful ruler like his father. From childhood, he must establish a bond with the people of the kingdom. If he does not connect with his land and his people, he will never be able to love them.”

Didda did not like to speak much; she had always been quiet. Bowing her head, she silently agreed with the Queen Mother’s words and began watching Abhimanyu at play.

For five long years, while Didda had been striving to establish good governance in her kingdom, Mahima and Patal gathered the Kashmiri Brahmins and formed an anti-Didda faction. They convinced the Kashmiri Brahmins that a physically disabled woman could never be the ruler of the kingdom, and that accepting such a ruler was an insult to them. Moreover, they spread rumors that Didda was a witch, whose arrival had brought about the untimely death of the Maharaja. By spreading many such calumnies against Didda, another powerful faction was created.

When it was announced in advance to the temple authorities that Didda would go to the Padmaswami Temple with the prince to offer prayers, the conspirators came to know of it. They considered Didda a witch, arguing that no ordinary woman could possess such powers. The way Didda severed heads from human bodies could only be done by a witch, and a witch’s son could never be a worthy heir to the throne. Therefore, before Didda herself, her child had to be killed.

That day, assassins from the enemy camp were present in the temple in the guise of devotees. Each of them carried weapons. Didda arrived at the temple to offer prayers with Abhimanyu, accompanied by fifty soldiers and Narbahan. The soldiers remained outside the temple, and when Didda entered the temple with Narbahan and Abhimanyu, she immediately sensed that the atmosphere inside was not normal, not like that of an ordinary temple.

Bhalaga and Vikramsena had taught her that whenever one enters any situation, along with the five senses, the sixth sense must also be kept fully alert. If this was not done, danger would arrive very quickly. Upon entering the temple and observing the body language of the devotees, Didda understood many things. Realizing that fighting alone with only fifty soldiers would be impossible, she instructed Narbahan to bring more troops from the palace.

Then, very calmly, she entered the sanctum with the young prince and realized that even the temple priest was one of the conspirators. Going right up to the priest with Abhimanyu, she said, “I will perform the worship and circumambulate this temple one hundred and eight times. During this time, the prince will remain with you. The responsibility of protecting him lies with you. If you carry out this task properly, I will give you immense wealth. But if anything goes wrong, there will be nothing more terrifying than me.”

As she spoke these words, it was as if fire was blazing from Didda’s eyes. The priest understood that if any harm came to the prince, Didda would destroy not only him but his entire family; but if he protected the prince, he would gain enormous wealth.

After completing the worship, Didda seated her son before the temple deity and said to the priest, “If the others involved in this conspiracy also obey my command, they too will become owners of great wealth.” In this way, Didda began playing her game of subduing her enemies with money. Mahima and Patal had never offered them such riches, so it took them no time at all to accept Didda’s proposal.

Didda then began circumambulating the temple one hundred and eight times, waiting only for the arrival of the soldiers. Prince Abhimanyu remained inside the sanctum. While circumambulating the inner shrine, Didda caught sight of Mahima and Patal. The temple was very close to the royal palace, and so before Didda could complete her one hundred and eight rounds, Narbahan arrived with the soldiers —entered the temple with them. Then a dreadful clash began. Meanwhile, a soldier came and handed Didda a sword. Didda shut the doors of the sanctum from the outside and leapt upon the enemies. She became like Vishnu’s Sudarshan Chakra—within the blink of an eye, moving in a circular motion, she severed one enemy’s head after another from their bodies. In the end, she killed Mahima and Patal as well. When Mahima and Patal, terrified by Didda’s Rudrani form, tried to flee, Didda chased after them. At the doorway leading out of the temple, with a single sweep of her sword, she separated both their heads from their bodies. Then, carrying those severed heads, she offered them at the feet of the deity’s idol.

After that, she instructed Narbahan to take the prince and return to the palace.

After destroying her enemies, she remained seated alone for some time with the doors of the sanctum closed. Following this incident, even the Brahmins became loyal to Didda; they saw Mother Bhavani manifested in her. Upon returning to the palace, Didda bestowed abundant wealth and land upon the priest of the Padmaswami Temple and the other loyal supporters.

After this event, Didda felt as though she had returned to the days of her own childhood—here, no one could truly be trusted; people had accepted her allegiance only for the sake of wealth. But how far could one go relying on a band of greedy, parasitic beings? This became the greatest question in Didda’s mind. Yet, amid all problems, one must never forget one’s duty. Didda had always remained conscious of her duty and her actions.

The affection and love she herself had never received, she bestowed upon Abhimanyu, and along with him, she raised and nurtured Chandralekha’s two daughters with that same tenderness and care. Then, on a dusky evening in the month of Agrahayan, the plaintive notes of the shehnai echoed through the palace of Kashmir. Fulfilling both the roles of mother and father, Didda arranged the marriage of Chandralekha’s two daughters. On the same day, the two princesses were united in marriage with the princes of two neighboring kingdoms of Kashmir. (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, 

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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.

The post Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir-20 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir

By Debasree Chakraborti

The news of Maharaja Kshemagupta’s death spread across the entire kingdom like a storm. In view of the Maharaja’s illness, no one considered bringing his body back to Srinagar, for it was feared that the people of the regions through which the Maharaja would have been carried might become infected by the disease. For this reason, it was decided that he would be cremated on the banks of the Vitasta at Hunkpur in Varahakshetra. Queen Chandralekha was asked to prepare herself for sati. Chandralekha placed her complete faith in her father, Phalguna; she believed that he would never allow her to become sati and that he would arrive in time to save his daughter. Therefore, despite her ailing body, she calmly began preparing herself for the rite.

When the news of the Maharaja’s death reached the royal palace in Srinagar, the Queen Mother was sitting with her grandson Abhimanyu in her lap. She had endured many storms and upheavals in her life; so although the news of her son’s death struck her heart with a terrible shock, she composed herself by thinking of the situation that lay ahead. She lifted her grandson in both arms and kissed him on the forehead. Abhimanyu felt deeply comforted in his grandmother’s embrace.

The Queen Mother was gazing steadily at him; drops of tears from her eyes were falling onto the face of the infant Abhimanyu, yet Abhimanyu was smiling and waving his little hands in delight. He had no ability to comprehend how tragic a misfortune the loss of a father is in a child’s life. Looking at him, the Queen Mother said, “The reins of Kashmir’s governance will now have to be taken into your own hands.”

At that moment, Naravahana entered Didda’s apartments. Didda was then in the same chamber with the Queen Mother. She had mentally prepared herself for such a day, but she was still pondering what her next step should be.

The Queen Mother said, “I believe that becoming sati is entirely a woman’s own choice. If she wishes, she may do so; if she does not, she need not.”

Bhalaga also entered the chamber along with Naravahana. On seeing Naravahana, Bhalaga asked with great urgency, “Will Didda have to commit sati?”

Before Naravahana could reply, the Queen Mother said, “I believe that becoming sati is entirely a woman’s own choice. If she wishes, she may do so; if she does not, she need not.”

“I did not become sati, thinking of the upbringing and care of my son. Nor will Didda. She is the Queen Mother, and the Crown Prince is still a nursing infant. If the mother were to die prematurely, the child’s life would be ruined. Therefore, Didda will under no circumstances become sati.”

Naravahana added, “Moreover, before his death, the Maharaja entrusted the responsibility of his kingdom to Maharani Didda. Hence, there is no question at all of Maharani Didda becoming sati.”

At that moment, Didda spoke, “It is not right to take such a decision within the four walls of the palace. I place my decision about becoming sati in the hands of the people. If they wish, I shall become sati; otherwise, I shall not.”

Rising to her feet with her grandson in her arms, the Queen Mother stepped toward Didda and said, “Do not take any decision in a moment of emotion. You must think of your child above all else.”

Placing her hand on Abhimanyu’s head, Didda said, “As long as you are here, I have no concern about my child’s future.”

Naravahana protested, “But the responsibility of governing Kashmir will have to be taken up by you alone.”

Didda said with firmness, “Let the people take that decision. I leave both my existence and my non-existence in their hands.”

Sensing imminent danger, Naravahana stepped out of the palace. He had very little time at his disposal; within this brief interval he needed to spread Didda’s decision among the people.

While everyone else was deeply anxious about Didda’s decision, Bhalaga, however, supported it with complete calm. No one knew Didda better than he did. Bhalaga understood what decisions Didda would take at different moments and the reasons behind them. Perhaps for this very reason, he silently gave his assent and began preparing Didda.

Those in the kingdom who were supporters of Naravahana quickly spread the news among the populace that Maharani Didda was going to commit sati. On hearing this, the citizens set out toward Hushkpur of Varahakshetra, for they did not wish to lose their queen at any cost. Didda was dressed in red garments; elderly women came and adorned her like a bride, applying vermilion to the parting of her hair one by one. She was then placed upon a grand chariot and taken along the road to Hushkpur. Lining both sides of the road, the citizens stood with folded hands, tears streaming from their eyes, imploring their queen not to become sati. Such behavior of the people filled Didda with strength; she realized that she was walking on the absolutely right path.

Before Didda’s arrival, Kshemagupta’s funeral pyre had already been prepared at Hushkpur. As Abhimanyu was extremely young, it was not possible for him to perform his father’s last rites; therefore, a distant kinsman was present to offer the mukhāgni to Kshemagupta. The Queen Mother and Bhalaga remained in the royal palace with Abhimanyu. Since the Maharaja had died of a contagious disease, taking a childlike Abhimanyu to such a place could expose him to the illness; considering all this, they stayed back in the palace with the young prince. Bhalaga found the Queen Mother’s conduct in this matter rather surprising, and out of curiosity he once asked her whether she would not even see her son one last time?

In reply, the Queen Mother had said that she had never truly received the respect due to her from this son. He had spent his life in unrestrained debauchery and had never shown the slightest inclination to inquire after his mother. Only after Didda’s arrival had he shown her some measure of respect and spent time with her. Therefore, she felt no real attachment to her son; in her heart she had erased him long ago. At one point, overwhelmed by sorrow, she had even gone away to Varanasi. Now Abhimanyu alone was everything in her life, and she wished to spend the last days of her life with him. Bhalaga understood the state of the Queen Mother’s mind and, with all the strength of his own heart, began to pray for Didda’s victory.

Prime Minister Phalguna had arrived much earlier to attend the Maharaja’s last rites. He saw his daughter Chandralekha watching him as she circumambulated the corpse with folded hands. Even then, Chandralekha believed that her father would do something to save her from becoming sati.

But Prime Minister Phalguna knew that if his daughter became sati, his name would be glorified everywhere and the path to the throne of Kashmir would become free of obstacles for him. When the circumambulation ended, two lamps were placed in Chandralekha’s hands and she was seated upon the funeral pyre. Her heart pounding, Chandralekha looked toward her father—surely now he would rescue her from this dreadful situation. But nothing of the sort happened. A kinsman of Kshemagupta stepped forward and set the pyre alight. The flames slowly began to rise upward; amid the terrifying heat and smoke, Chandralekha’s breath began to fail, yet her father did not come to save her. By then, Chandralekha realized that there was no one in this world more selfish than her father. For the sake of power, he had sacrificed his only daughter. Gradually, the fire consumed Chandralekha’s entire body.

After this, it was Didda’s turn; by then she had already arrived there. As Didda was about to circumambulate the burning pyre, a movement arose among the people. In one voice they cried out, “Maharani Didda is our protecting mother, she is the living embodiment of Mother Bhavani. After the Maharaja, the throne of Kashmir belongs to her.”

They continued to cry out, “If you leave us, we shall be left orphaned. No, Queen Mother, you cannot go like this.” Another group shouted, “If you leave, what will become of our Crown Prince? He is still a nursing infant.”

Hearing such words from the people, Prime Minister Phalguna stepped forward and said, “I will raise the Crown Prince. If the Queen Mother does not become sati, Kashmir will face misfortune.” Then Naravahana and a few of his associates came forward and said, “But before his death, the Maharaja entrusted the responsibility of the people of Kashmir to Maharani Didda.” Naravahana produced a letter and showed it, saying, “Look, the Maharaja has clearly written this here.”

As Didda was about to circumambulate the burning pyre, a movement arose among the people. In one voice they cried out, “Maharani Didda is our protecting mother, she is the living embodiment of Mother Bhavani. After the Maharaja, the throne of Kashmir belongs to her.”

After seeing the letter, Prime Minister Phalguna said, “This is not the Maharaja’s handwriting. A false conspiracy is being hatched to place the younger queen, Didda, upon the throne.” Before the Prime Minister could finish his statement, the agitated crowd began chanting victory slogans in praise of Maharani Didda. Some among the people chased after Prime Minister Phalguna. Startled and disoriented, he ran in all directions in panic.

Bowing her head in respect to the people’s demand, Didda returned to the royal palace with Naravahana. That very night, before meeting her own son, she hurried to Chandralekha’s apartments. There, in the darkness of night amid the dimly lit corridors of the palace, she heard the cries of two little girls. There were no maidservants or anyone else present anywhere in those quarters. Didda felt as though she were witnessing a scene from her own childhood. Searching through the vast palace, she finally reached a particular spot and saw two lovely infant girls standing in a corner of a room, crying.

Didda realized that after the news of Chandralekha’s death, everyone had abandoned her two daughters. On seeing Didda, the two children began to move toward her. Didda understood that they were extremely hungry and deeply frightened after being alone for so long. She rushed forward and lifted the two children into her arms; they rested their heads on Didda’s shoulders and began to sob uncontrollably.

Carrying the two children, Didda walked through the dimly lit passages of Chandralekha’s apartments toward her own quarters. Bright light was streaming from her chambers, and she could hear the joyful sounds of the infant Abhimanyu. Thus, from the dark and tainted chapter of Kshemagupta’s reign, the future of Kashmir slowly moved toward a bright and radiant chapter. (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, 

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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.

The post Maharani Didda: Witch Queen of Kashmir-19 first appeared on Sindh Courier.