Meera, Sanga and Mewar: The Remarkable Story of A Brave Rajput Princess and Her Legendary Devotion

By Jyoti Jafa

A prolific journalist, Jyoti Jafa is an aristocrat by birth, a diplomat by training and a writer by inclination. She infuses her writing with her own joie de vivre and an artist’s sensitivity to ambience. She is also the author of three of our bestsellers, Nurjahan, Really, Your Highness! and Royal Rajasthan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roli Books
• Release date: Apr 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9788186939857

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MEERA,

SANGA

and

MEWAR

OTHER INDIAINK TITLES

ROLI BOOKS

This digital edition published in India, 2021

First published in 2021 by

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© Jyoti Jafa, 2021

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‘Not by the Vedas, or an austere life, or gifts to the poor, or ritual offerings, can I be seen as you have seen me. Only by Love can people see me and come to me.’

The Bhagavad Gita

Author’s Note

Some of the Indian subcontinent’s greatest poets, musicians, and mystical saints lived in the sixteenth century CE. Among them was a Rajput princess of the Rathor clan, called Meera Bai. And by attempting to tell her rather incredible story, I was trapped by a self-created dilemma. How was I to create a plausible Meera character out of the fast-moving medley of disorder and divine benediction that was her strange life, while basing it largely on her own unverifiable claims, the legends surrounding her, and themes and incidents that contradicted normal perceptions of reality?

Let me start by saying that I believe in the ‘supernatural’, and the ‘paranormal’ – one strong reason why I was impelled so deeply and mysteriously into researching and writing this story. For me, these phenomena aren’t something beyond scientific and rational explanations. They are the inexplicable elements of our existence altered by forces that are not understood fully, if at all.

The Hindu belief in Hanuman who travelled thousands of miles in a single somersault, or the Christian belief in a virgin’s Immaculate Conception, and the ascension of her child to a place in the sky called heaven, sound equally implausible. But these are important elements in two of the world’s major living religions, and accepted as a testimony of faith by their followers. No Hindu believer in the Krishna cult doubts the honesty and authenticity of Meera Bai’s seances, her poetic utterances, and the strange events of her life. In fact, over the centuries, she has herself emerged as a cult figure in the Krishna Bhakti movement.

But my dilemma as a writer came to the fore when I began the process of fusing together my personal belief in her life story with the actual history of her era. It was necessary to put her in the historical context, when the context was such a solemn, commemorative and celebrative aspect of the Indian Bhakti movement and culture. My book about Meera Bai would seem to demand a ‘willing suspension of disbelief’ as well as judgement. Coleridge had suggested that the writer could infuse ‘human interest and semblance of truth’ into a fantastic tale to help readers suspend judgement concerning the implausibility of any narrative. I have endeavoured to do just that – chapters in this book containing actual historical battles and intrigues are followed by others containing pure fantasy and surrealistic happenings! The historical part of this narrative is interspersed with the life of a person who is totally real in the historic sense. Meera herself, and some of her family members and contemporaries, talked and wrote about the miracles which her personal deity Krishna performed throughout her life.

Meera’s was a charmed life revolving around her great love for Krishna based on recurring past-life memories about their special relationship; and her determination to achieve reunion with this historic Krishna, worshipped in India as a reincarnation of God, moulded her personality and life choices.

Blessed with great beauty, intellect, poetic gifts, and a magical singing voice, Meera lived life on her own terms. But she still managed to secure the support and admiration of her grandfather Rao Duda of Merta, and her father-in-law, Rana Sanga of Mewar, the most chivalrous and powerful warrior king ruling medieval India’s largest and wealthiest Rajput kingdom. Though she believed Krishna to be her divine consort, Meera’s relationship with her truly evolved earthly husband, Crown Prince Bhoj Raj, points to a very poignant and unusual relationship in the annals of history. I have tried to handle this part of the story as deftly and sensitively as I could.

I began this book only because of my own fascination with Meera Bai due to our shared bloodline, my life-long immersion in Rajput history, traditions, customs, and folklore. Personal belief in reincarnation, past-life recall, Karmic requitals, miracles, and divine grace helped me complete it.

But no matter what one believes, Meera’s evocative bhajans and poems have endured, and are still sung after more than five hundred years wherever and whenever people of Indian origin gather to chant the glories of God.

Main Historical Characters

Princess Meera Bai: Grandaughter of Merta’s ruler Duda, daughter of Ruttan Si, wife of Mewar’s Crown Prince Bhoj Raj, and Rana Sanga’s daughter-in-law

Rao Duda Mal Rathor: Fourth son of Marwar’s king Jodha, Merta’s founder and clan patriarch

Biram Deo: Rao Duda’s eldest son and heir

Princess Girija De of Mewar: His third wife and Rana Sanga’s sister

Princess Phool: Their daughter, Rana Sanga’s niece, and wife of Prince Ajay Jhala of Halwad

Prince Pratab: Girija De’s first son, and Rana Sanga’s nephew

Prince Bhanwar: Biram Deo’s eldest son, and Rao Duda’s eldest grandson

Prince Raysal: Rao Duda’s third son

Princess Kusum: His daughter, Meera’s favourite cousin, and wife of Prince Sajay Jhala of Halwad

Prince Ruttan Si of Merta: Rao Duda’s youngest son, and Meera’s father

Sant Beniji: A famous fifteenth-sixteenth century saint, and mystical poet

Rana Sanga of Mewar: Fourth son and heir of Mewar’s king Rai Mull, whose chivalry, valour, and administrative skills made him a living legend

Maharani Jhaliji: Princess of Halwad, and Sanga’s senior consort

Crown Prince Bhoj Raj: Their only son, and Meera Bai’s husband

Maharani Rathoriji: Princess of Marwar, and Sanga’s second wife, mother of their son Ratan Singh, and kinswoman to the Merta princesses

Prince Ratan Singh of Mewar: Sanga’s second son, who succeeded him as Rana

Rani Karnavati: Bundi’s Hada-Chauhan Princess who was Rana Sanga’s third wife, and mother of his daughter Uda, sons Bikramjeet and Udai Singh

Princess Uda: Their daughter, Meera Bai’s sister-in-law, and wife of Edur’s Rathor Prince Raimal

Prince Bikramjeet: Sanga’s third son, who succeeded his half-brother Ratan Singh as Rana

Prince Udai Singh: Sanga’s fourth son, who succeeded his brother Bikramjeet, and through whom Mewar’s ruling Sisodia dynasty descends

Kanhji, the Chundawat Rao Saheb of Salumbar: Mewar’s premier hereditary chief, and Sanga’s closest kinsman and military advisor

The Jhala Princes Ajay and Sajay: Nephews and wards of Maharani Jhaliji, husbands of the Merta Princesses Phool and Kusum. Cousins and friends of Prince Bhoj Raj

Prince Raimal Rathor of Edur: Husband of Princess Uda, and son-in-law of Rana Sanga

Sultan Muzzafar Shah of Gujarat

Sultan Mahmud Khilji of Malwa

The Lodi Afghan Prince Mahmud: Younger brother of Delhi’s Sultan Ibrahim Lodi

Babur: Founder of the Mughal empire in India

One

PRINCESS MEERA BAI HAD DISAPPEARED. A THOROUGH SEARCH by various maids, cousins, and aunts through the Merta fort’s interconnected Rawla apartments, rooftop terraces, garden pavilion, and park had proved futile. The messengers sent to fetch the child from her well-known haunts in the male domain like her grandfather’s private apartments, the music chamber, and book room, had failed to find her.

The burnished saffron sun disk was already low on the desert horizon. And the dusty haze raised by all the horses, camels, and cattle returning from their jungle grazing grounds beyond the small Rajasthani town increased the women’s anxiety. The November days were getting shorter and colder, and the child should have been safely indoors by now. Even the peacocks, parrots, pigeons, and doves were returning to the fort’s trees and kiosks for the night.

Aware that Merta’s ruler Rao Duda expected all his descendants – unless they were far from home or seriously indisposed – to join him for the evening aarti at the family deity Lord Char Bhuja Nath’s temple, his daughters-in-law Princess Girija De of Mewar, and the Neemrana Princess Kalyan Kanwar came to a decision. They would request their husband Prince Biram Deo to locate their niece.

Meera’s nurse Jamna Bai went off to relay their message, murmuring words to ward off the evil eye from her missing charge.

Biram Deo’s statuesque senior wife felt compelled to grumble. A little discipline would be better for Meera’s own future, instead of too much freedom to do exactly as she likes, just because of her beautiful bhajan singing!

His gracious third wife Girija De, to whom the child had attached herself since her mother’s recent death, nodded agreement. We are all a bit over-indulgent towards her. But you’ll agree that Meera does fill the palace with happiness. And ever since her birth, every well dug in Merta has given us sweet water.

Rao Duda maintained his composure when his heir Biram Deo informed him that his pampered favourite was untraceable.

She has been forbidden to leave the fort unescorted. And I’ve personally warned every retainer not to let the princess go anywhere near the guesthouse we keep for visiting sadhu–sants and pir–fakirs after yesterday’s embarrassing tamasha! But today, I would have been quite relieved to find her there, listening to their stories, said Biram Deo, more anxious than he cared to admit about his six-year-old niece’s safety.

This incident made him feel that his youngest brother Ruttan had no business abandoning his only child, and his own home just because of his wife’s unexpected death last year. Their deep attachment to each other had been evident to everyone in the family. But where was the need for him to go off to fight their uncle Bika’s battles in that vast desert wilderness called Janglu Desh, when there were rich estates and glory enough for all the four brothers in the surrounding region? His brother’s absence also gave their autocratic father an added reason for indulging Meera beyond the bounds of that traditional Rajput generosity reserved for sisters, daughters, and granddaughters. Because they were the ultimate guardians of family honour, performing Jauhar on battlefields, and funeral flames. And it was they who acted as regents for minor sons and absent husbands.

A square-shouldered man with very long arms and legs, Duda Mal Rathor was an imposing figure, with his saffron turban adding to his height, which exceeded six feet. All his sons shared his height, remarkable good looks, and regal bearing. He realized that his sharp-eyed wife’s absence on an obligatory condolence visit to her paternal home had resulted in this lack of supervision in the Rawla. But his five granddaughters were also attended by a reliable retinue of nurses and retainers for their comfort and protection. Quite possibly, Meera hadn’t informed any of them that she was accompanying some visiting relatives to their mansion. But the four lance-bearers guarding the Merta fort’s massive iron-spiked gate with its small postern, swore that this hadn’t happened on their watch.

Then obviously the princess is playing somewhere where nobody has looked yet, like the fodder godowns where I know these children like jumping off the ledges on to the piles of winter fodder. Or she may have gone off all alone to fetch lotus buds from our lake.

Biram Deo disagreed. Baapji knows that the boatmen go home by sunset.

With his usual bluntness, Rao Duda’s third son Raysal added, But their absence would only inspire our wilful niece to row off alone! Let’s hope she hasn’t capsized the boat, and fallen into the lake. She may be struggling for life while we stand here discussing her disappearance.

No chance, Uncle. She swims too well! Prince Biram Deo cast his eldest son Bhanwar a quelling glance, warning him to maintain a respectful silence while his elders deliberated on such a serious matter.

Frowning thoughtfully, his grandfather asked, Bhanwar, did anything happen today to upset Meera, while you children played together?

Although greatly in awe of his grandfather, the nine-year-old prince was quick to deflect blame. "We shouldn’t be blamed for something Father said after all that hullaballoo created by that sadhu over a small statue, which my sister liked."

For a moment or two, Rao Duda stood silent. Bhanwar, your father was merely reminding Meera that real Rajput dharma lies in giving, not taking. And certainly not from wandering ascetics and pilgrims who happen to be our guests.

Soon the searching kinsmen and retainers returned to the fort with sombre faces. And Rao Duda finally became perturbed. For these were turbulent times, even in Rajasthan, where individual kings did their best to uphold the law, and maintained order in their own realms. But the Delhi Sultan Sikander Lodi had recently captured Ajmer, which was just half a day’s ride from Merta. His soldiers often amused themselves by raiding undefended villagers, robbing travellers, and abducting women and children. There was danger too from Nagaur’s ruler, and his Afghan mercenaries. Plus, there was the horrible possibility of kidnapping by some evil Hindu tantric seeking miraculous powers by sacrificing an unblemished virgin child!

With a silent prayer to his deity Lord Char Bhuja Nath, and orders to his head priest to perform the evening aarti despite his absence, Rao Duda summoned his best scouts. Just then, the fourteen-year-old stable boy Roopji Rathor came hurrying to Prince Biram Deo.

"A horse missing from our stables? Which horse?" he demanded loudly against the sound of drums, conch shells, bells, and loud bhajan singing from the nearby family shrine.

Kamdhaj, the horse our youngest princess prefers over all the others.

His words provoked an oath from Merta’s heir.

The small, well-armed hunting party mounted on sturdy Kathiawari horses rode through a steep gully, chasing the large Chinkara buck their master had hit with his first arrow. But the experienced young chief knew this was going to be a challenging shikar. For the deer had taken a splendid long leap, escaping alive despite the arrow piercing its right shoulder. And the hunter-warrior code dictated that he trail the animal and put it out of pain, even though daylight would soon begin to fade.

Signalling his followers to keep their distance, he examined the ground ahead, and soon spotted the blood drops and blood-stained leaves. This uneven terrain had too many neem, keekar and dhaka trees, thick-leafed datura shrubs, tall tufts of white plumed grass, and thorny cactus plants obstructing his mount, and providing good cover to various animals and birds, which began chattering as soon as they heard approaching hoofs. Suddenly, his superb black horse gave a low whinny, and lengthened its stride.

Cresting the hillock over which the deer had disappeared, he gazed down on the narrow Luni river flowing through thickly forested pasture lands, carrying the rainy season runoff from the Aravalli hills surrounding southern Ajmer. Desperation had driven his shikar across the water. His horse drank thirstily, then stood still as he took another arrow from his quiver. But as he notched the arrow, the strangest sight diverted his attention.

While a rather stout, shaven-headed sadhu with a sacred thread coiled around one ear was busy bathing in the stream, a small turbaned figure ran out of the Banyan grove surrounding the ancient Shiv shrine by the river. And a remarkably fair hand plunged boldly into the jute travelling bag placed near the stone Nandi bull guarding the shrine. The child pulled out a small statue, repeatedly kissing it and talking to it as though it were a living entity!

Now two things happened almost simultaneously. The bather saw the theft. And the little thief saw the wounded deer. With an angry oath, the sadhu clad in a scanty breech clout ran out of the water, grabbed the long pilgrim’s staff he had left against a tree, and charged towards the culprit. Oblivious to any danger from this enraged man, or the strange horsemen approaching, the child ran to the wounded animal gasping for breath.

These riders crossed the stream to join their chief. Their murmured queries and comments ceased as they watched the youngster touching that stolen statue to the deer’s wound while uttering some words. And before their incredulous eyes, the arrow fell away as though magnetized! Torn between regret over losing their evening meal, and admiration for that fearless child’s great compassion, these horsemen were further astounded as several peacocks flew down from nearby trees. Unfurling their shimmering blue, green, and coppery plumage, these big birds began dancing around the healer and