Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks, carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak!
But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.
'I am sick of this!' she grunted loudly.
Ilaa had great many reasons to be angry.
She was married , then again she wasn't.
She was a woman , then again she wasn't , for she felt and thought and fought like a man.
In a society that clearly demarcated the black and white areas of the widowed and the married; the harbinger of bad omens or the fertile ground for fierce warriors ('janani');the "abhaagans" and the "saubhagyawati" ; she trode the grey area.
She was married into the Kshatriya family of Ghorpades in Paithan , who were famed to be the distant relatives of "Chattrapati" himself ; at an age where she could barely wipe her nose without assistance. She was informed at the eve of her "Dwiragamana"(the second marriage , after Ila had attained puberty), that her husband , the famed Maloji Ghorpade , the right hand man and general of Chhatrapati Sambhaji , had disappeared.
Now, disappearances in the Maratha Army was routine. But when a famed and decorated soldier like Maloji disappeared, it raised a stink.
In the absence of a valid proof of death, the Ghorpades refused to conduct the last rites. The Bhosales, Ilaa's parents,in response, refused to perform Sati for their nubile, talented and fiercely tempered, daughter.
A grieving and confused Ilaa continued to reside in her parents home at Sauvarigram , dressed in all her bridal finery, setting tongues wagging and eyebrows arching; in total absence of any hope for a conjugal life.
Often , she would be entrusted with tasks that entailed an "insider presence ".Like today, she was expected to supervise the tying up of cotton into bales , and their barter. She shook her head . She hated her job.
At the same time , she was barred from certain poojas , meant only for "saubhagya watis ". She wasn't permitted to eat onions and garlic,that were said to fire "passions". Her favourite vegetable and lentil dishes had these two fragrant components . The smell of cooking wafting from the worker's kitchens had hit her nostrils on the way to the cotton fields , with maddening frustration.
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Since childhood, she had grown up watching the sword fighting , and spear -sparring matches between her brothers . At a time when she had to be trained in the fine arts of home making, she would be found on the rooftop, hands on hips, eagerly following the martial training of her siblings with all the adrenaline -pumping, every whoop and war-cry finding an echo in her own tiny , frantically beating heart.
One day, Baleraoji Bhosale , the Bhosale senior, Ilaa's father, saw her on the terrace, whooping and jumping, slicing the air with her tiny pudgy, baby arms , holding an imaginary sword , and his heart filled with filial joy. Brushing aside stray resistance from the family , he got a small sword , spear , and a leather shield made , complete with the five golden stars, the insignia of the Maratha Army, and a small" vijay dhwaja" (flag of victory) saffron in colour and split at the centre, its twin tongues leaping out in the windy terrace like the breath of a giant dragon.
Ilaa never looked back. She would get up early , dress up like a warrior, and practice on the terrace, for hours, away from the jibes of her concerned mother and sisters-in-law. Her father would condescendingly call her "aapalya veerangana "( my female warrior). With her father's sanction, she could ,now, descend from the terrace , to engage in real-life duels with her brothers . The charmed smiles of her brothers , quickly turned into concerned scowls , as she defeated them in sparring duels, routinely, disarming them with alarming ease. Baleraoji took to attending these sessions , regularly. The boys would be soundly reprimanded and Ilaa awarded with a new weapon , of her choice.
Soon , Ilaa was sparring with every male warrior of Sauvarigram , defeating them and earning accolades , galore. Her fame spread across the land as Ilaa" the warrior girl".
"Oh my Lord! All this fame will go to her little head "
Kokilaben , Ilaa's mother confided in her husband , one night.
"You cannot stop a rose from spreading its fragrance , bhagyawan."The father replied, drunk on his daughter's fame .
"Are you being jealous of your daughter , tell me Kolkila ?"
The father demanded. Kokila cowered -"No, no , prananath, I didn't mean that."
A small voice in Kokila's heart, mischievously repeated "Jealous, jealous ....."
As her popularity amongst the menfolk grew, so did the concern and worry in the female quarters. What was Ilaa ? If she was a natural warrior , as her father says , and a gifted one too, how come she is born a girl? If she is a girl , shouldn't she learn cooking and sewing , and recite scriptures , like other girls ?
Ilaa's mother , Kokilaben , could not take the controversy surrounding her daughter any more .One evening, as her husband sat in the courtyard with his hookah pipe between his hands , his legs being massaged by mungu , the loyal servant, Kokila ben marched in, with all the righteous indignation , of a mother wronged . Seeing his mistress in a temper, mungu quietly slunk away, and the lady of the house ranted and raved , to her hearts' content for two hours.
At the end of which , Ilaa was summoned from her room , and was informed that hence forth, she will have to take cooking and sewing , and bhajan lessons from her mother in the evening , and in two weeks time , on a Purnima(full moon) night , her "dwiragmana " shall be held , and she with her entourage , shall leave for the Ghorpade family house in Paithan.
The brothers heaved a sigh of relief, so did the women of the house hold .
Ilaa was crying her eyes red in her bedroom , when a soft footfall sent her swiftly into a defensive mode, a crouching posture .
"Like a tiger waiting to strike !"
Thought the warrior and indulgent father.
"Oh Vithoba !What a curse this is ? You give me a valiant child in the form of a daughter, ten times more worth than all those foolish wimps of my sons."Balerao's brow was knit with consternation.
Gathering the folds of his dhoti, he sat cross-legged on Ilaa's bed , while she stood, hands folded, still sniffling and red eyed, from the recent crying.So much like a girl-child too, Balerao thought, tenderly, his own eyes misting over at the thought of her "Dwiragmana" , hastened by his own indulgence .
"Sit." He motioned next to him, on the soft, milky white gaddi.
Ilaa obediently sat, looking up at her father with unmixed adulation.
"Have you heard the story of king Ilaa, The founder of Pratisthana?"
Ilaa shook her head , hugging her sari clad knees, wide eyed at the prospect of a good story, by her idol and father .
That was when she heard the story, one which she would repeat to herself , in moments of doubt, again and again, till the lines separating her story from that of the King Ilaa were blurred.
Of how her namesake was born a warrior prince , of how he wandered , erringly, into an enchanted forest, where a sage made love to his consort. Of how he was cursed , to be a man during the dark phase of moon, (Amavasya) and how he was condemned to be a woman for the lunar phase of the month. Of how he left his home and founded a new empire , the proud and flourishing Pratisthana (or the Established Kingdom, Or one which has arrived ), today's Paithan. Of how there are numerous temples dedicated to this man-woman king Ilaa.Of how Budha (the planet Mercury )fell in love with the female Ilaa and sired a son with magical powers.
Ilaa simply couldn't drive this story from her mind. Her own name and predicament, her town, Paithan . There were simply too many coincidences. Over time , she convinced herself , she was King Ilaa reborn , and that , in order to find her destiny , or kingdom, she will have to abandon the comforts of her home .
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Ilaa was sitting with her feet dipped in ankle deep muddy water of the river bank. She had run away from the cotton fields to her favourite refuge on the Godavari. She would sit in the shelter of the tall water reeds , totally concealed , "ready to attack." Seeing everything , but being unseen .
Her biggest regret was leaving behind her trunk full of weapons acquired as medals , left hastily behind , in her room. Her father and saviour, dead these six months , her husband missing, and she caught up in the futile maelstrom of being a bride or a widow.
The water felt cool and her bridal toe ring was caught in a thin reed . It jangled . With slow determination, she bent down and removed them, the silly signs of her strange conjugal existence , she thought , as she cradled them in her dripping, muddy palms. A strange thought gripped her , and she slowly removed all her bridal ornaments , her maangtika, her mangalasutram, her silver girdle and her numerous bangles, earrings , nose pins everything. They too, protested, mildly jingling, but gave in and were strangely silent when Ilaa tore off her pallu and made a heavy bundle of them .
Then she proceeded to bury them , scooping a small hole in the soft wet sand of the river bank.
Then with the sun beating down her bare back, she bent down and scooped some water from the Godavari, and wiped her sindoor clean, the red mark of marital union erased , slowly and deliberately from her forehead. She felt light, free.Then there was nothing to do but wait.
Her brothers would be looking for her in the sparring courtyard, and Mungu , the cur would be looking for her in all her hiding places , but she was here, in her secret reed-palace, and she had just liberated herself from the shackles of enforced and doomed matrimony. She took a deep breath and scanned the horizon. The river stretched till infinity.
Then she saw it , almost when she had given up all hope .
The "Vijaya Dhawaja " the twin serpentine tongues of the saffron flag,of the war frigate.Just like the one gifted to her in her childhood, by her father, only this time , it was for real. The "yuddha Pota " of the Marathas. Every week , it made a customary pass through Paithan, collecting rations , weapons , recruiting soldiers. Today , it was supposed to pass through the Sauvarigram , and true enough, here it was , in all its hulk and glory. It would n't dock here, Ilaa knew that .
Then , tying her saree tightly around her lithe body, she took a deep breath, and sent a small prayer to all divinity and her father , who would probably see sense in what she was about to do, she threw herself into water, and swam with powerful strokes towards the' Pota ', rapidly growing smaller. as it gathered speed.
She took some time to reach the boat,as she was swimming across the mighty Godavari. Suddenly , someone on the deck saw her , and shouted some thing . Ilaa was prepared, she went limp, and thrashed around , pretending to be drowning. Someone jumped off the ship, and swam straight towards her , almost immediately.
Held in powerful muscular arms , she was hoisted on the deck, sputtering, and coughing.Opening her eyes wee bit , Ilaa saw her saviour, a large , well built person, moustache dripping wet , as he thrust his face close to hers, "Are you okay, woman?"
Ilaa nodded , and was whisked away, by two women, for a change of clothes.
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In a small cabin , with a wooden plank for bed, Ilaa had fallen asleep, rocked to and fro by the boat
"Who are you ?"
Awake in a trice, Ilaa looked up to find herself surrounded by warriors, including her saviour, the muscled chap. All wore saffron dhotis and brilliant matching safas on their heads , their swords dangling on the sides of their waists, glinting in the noon sun, that streamed onto her bed .
They did not seem friendly. The Mughals were gaining ground in Aurangabad , the province closest to Paithan , and they may use any ruse to infiltrate Maratha Army.Even lithe , athletic looking widows. The muscled man, whose name was Mohite , crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing, He planted his legs apart and took a long hard look at a shivering Ilaa, standing , with her arms folded , at the foot end of her bunk.
The two women, whose saree she was wearing, who were in all probability,cooks, hovered at the doorway.
"What were you doing here , so close to the "Yuddha Pota"?
"I came to avenge the death of my husband ." Ilaa decided to say the truth. Foregoing all pretenses, she lowered her hands, looked Mohite boldly in the eye, and said ,"I am the wife of Maloji Ghorpade from Paithan."
A stunned silence greeted her announcement. After a moment, Mohite waved his hand , and all others , including the women simpering in the doorway, melted away. He was clearly the boss around here.
For the next two and a half hours , Mohite sat Ilaa down on the plank of wood, while he himself stood at attention, and heard her story and grilled her with relevant questions.
Her status underwent a visible makeover , that evening. She was given the cabin next to the captain of the ship, Mohiteji himself . It had upholstered beds , gold plated dishes, and a personal woman servant called "Saras", short for Sarasvati .
As for her warrior status , it remained to be tested . The test began very next morning. She had to face some of the fiercest and seasoned veterans of the Maratha Army. On the deck below, for hours , jousting , sword -fighting, sparring, lancing, Ilaa gave it all she had , and proved herself worthy of assimilation into the Army as a warrior, par excellence.
There remained only one niggling doubt in Ilaa's mind . Whenever she asked Mohite about her husband , all he would reply was -"You shall see, my lady."
He had taken to addressing her thus, since the time she told him of her identity.
"Shouldn't you be wearing the "sindoor" and other articles of faith, now that you have declared your husband's name ." Saras asked her every evening , as she cleaned the dinner things. Ilaa , would sit, stone -like ,framed in the doorway, and reply with a faraway look, "I don't see any reason to.", as she polished her sword ,looking out into the dusky river.
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The voyage took several days . The plan, as Mohite explained , was to take Ilaa to the Chattrapati, The Great Merciful Sambhaji himself , who was right now , camping outside the fort of Janjira , a small impregnable castle on an island , in the west coast of India ,and let him decide her fate.
There were daily practices , on board the huge vessel, and frequent stops at various ports , where ration and arms would be picked up.The life fell into a routine and Ilaa felt happy, like those carefree days of her childhood, when she lived only for the daily duels, and the praises of her father. Here , she found herself searching for the same praise in Mohite's eyes , but he would look stonily , and away from her , everytime she disarmed an opponent. Once , the weapon of choice was the famed Bagha Nakha(Tiger claws), the same which Sivaji had used on Shaista Khan; Ilaa drew blood from her opponents neck almost , in her eagerness to please Mohite. Her own arms slashed twice, she stood, panting and triumphant and bleeding, while other guys broke into joyous war-cries of "Har har Mahadev" , all she could find was a fleeting censure in Mohite's normally approving glare.
That bothered her greatly.
That evening , when Mohite emerged from his cabin, discussing next stoppage with his subordinate, Ilaa , stood up from her sword polishing.
"Why are you not pleased ?"
"What , my lady?" He turned absently .His sword clanged and glinted menacingly , in the evening sun.
"Why are you not pleased with my fighting?"
The same stony, incomprehensible look crept into Mohite's eyes , the one that baffled Ilaa to no end .
"I am pleased, My lady. I also know that you are the famous" warrior girl" of Sauvarigram."
"How did you...?"
"I have my sources , my lady,? Pardon me for not paying you compliments. Rest you shall see.."
He bowed and moved away.
Ilaa turned , with a troubled look, but softened at the sight of Saras making her bed .
"Tell me Saras, when do we reach Janjira , and be united with Chattrapati."
"In one weeks' time my lady," Saras fanned Ilaa with a large palm leaf fan, as she settled into the bed .Seeing some untreated bruises, Saras quickly picked up the bowl of ointment ," Now, my lady, you musn't fret much."
"You don't get it , Saras, that is where we will meet my Maloji "
Saras silently, continued to apply salve on Ilaa's wounds."Isn't it Saras?"
"Yes , yes , my lady." Saras finished her bandaging and crooned soothingly.
In a few weeks' time she had really become fond of her charge, the little "warrior girl" from Sauvarigram.Only if she knew the fate that awaited her, Saras sighed.
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They had docked at Janjira, and frantic activities had ensued. Rations and arms were offloaded. Cannons sounded periodically. The disarray and confusion of the warfield was very scary.
On the fifth day of docking, Ilaa was sent for.
At the royal tent, she was announced like a true warrior.
Pin drop silence as she heard royal shoes shuffle, and royal steps approach her. Two tinkling , bejewelled soft hands touched her head in traditional blessing, and she found herself staring at the corpulent visage of Chhatrapati Sambhaji.
"Get up , Veerangana!! " He had used an epithet used only by her father.
"You have been chosen to infiltrate the Janjira castle , in "chhadmavesh"(disguise). Five of my trusty warriors will accompany you. There are glowing reports of your warrior status, as told to me by my friend and Senapati , Maloji Ghorpade. Ahh ! Here he is himself, " With a giggle of pure affection and gratitude, Chhatrapati spread his silk laden , perfumed arms in the direction of the doorway.
Forgetting protocol, Ilaa turned around for a good glimpse , and saw, enclosed in Chhatrapati's arms, a bejewelled and visibly embarrassed Mohite!!
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Ilaa was pacing her tent with a mixture of emotions . She felt cheated, deceived by Mohite who turned out to be her long lost husband, she felt elated for having been picked up by Chhatrapati for a guerilla mission, and she felt afraid , mortally scared for what appeared as a suicide mission.
All this was overshadowed with the dark sorrow for having never lived the life of a married woman , despite being a "saubhagywati".
He came in , sword clinking at the hip, and came up straight to her. He held her for a long speechless moment, then put his finger on her lips , before she could say anything, "I knew it was you the day I lifted you up in my arms."
To her quizzical look , he replied, "there is an instrument called "doorbin"(binoculars). Why do you think I volunteered to go to Paithan on this mindless rationing voyage , leaving Chhatrapati alone to deal with Siddis of Janjira."
"To see me ? But you never sent word."
"I was in chhadmawesh, I had heard all about you, the warrior girl, the demise of Baleraoji. We were about to dock that afternoon at Sauvarigram, when I saw some movement on the bank of reeds. The doorbin told me the rest."
"And what did it tell you?'Ilaa asked bitterly.
"I saw you carefully remove all signs of matrimony ,including sindoor."
Ilaa gasped.
"I knew then, that being a warrior meant more to you , than being married to a missing husband."
The same stony look crept back into his eyes.Ilaa was at a loss for words. In one instant , she had gained and lost, everything; husband ,love , marital bliss.
Maloji snapped his fingers and a servant brought in a small cloth bundle , which Ilaa recognised immediately.
"I believe this belonged to you."
He , unceremoniously thrust the muddy bundle of jewellery into Ilaa's hands , and marched away , his back ramrod straight.
Ilaa watched him go, with a huge lump choking her throat, tears clouding vision , holding her past in her palms. That futile and troublesome past , the signs of which she had buried in the wet sands of Godavari , three months ago., and which had now come back to haunt her.
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The mission was to commence at the dead of the night. They were to pose as defectors, defecting to enemy fort, in the wake of what was actually a tiring and draining campaign.Then they were to blow up the fort's ammunition dump.
All were dressed as common villagers, even Ilaa. Maloji handed them each , a miniscule vial of cyanide , to be used as last resort, and a small bagha -nakha , to be concealed beneath the vest.
Ilaa stood at the end of the line, shivering in the midnight breeze, her dhoti miserably inadequate in concealing her beauty.Besides, she had decided to wear all her ornaments, now cleansed of mud , and she looked like a bejewelled and glowing fairy, in the dark. Maloji fought with a maddening desire to pick her up and run away from this death trap. To cancel her assignment. But Chhatrapati had himself chosen her, contradicting him would be treason.He had jumped up at the mention of a female warrior. It lend credibility to his foolish plan of defectors. Try hard as he might, Maloji could not change Lord's mind, and his heart bled.
Wordlessly, he handed her over the vial and the weapon. Ilaa fumbled in her vest and took out a small metal box, and handed it over to him , large tear drops plopping on his hairy fore arm.With trembling hands , he opened the box , to find sindoor. Without being told, he picked up a pinch, and filled the parting in her hair, screams echoing in his head.
She bent down and touched his feet . Then turned and walked away with the rest, melting into the dark night, the fort looming large in the background.
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(This war actually took place in 1682.The party of defectors were discovered, tortured and executed inside the fort by the Siddis. The local folklore says that the female of the party was the subjected to severe hardships , which she bore stoically, before her death. Sambhaji withdrew from Janjira, and tried to rout Mughals at Sangameswar where , fighting beside him, Maloji Ghorpade, his trusted aide , attained martyrdom.Sambhaji and his friend Kavi kalash were arrested and brought to Tulapur, where they were tortured and killed in l689)
Even in death, Ilaa and her husband remained faithful to the Maratha cause.
Millions of fragrant oranges squashed and ruined . The skins stuck, like orange confetti , to tyre treads of numerous cars going that way. Some had rolled down the hillside and now lay in small orange pools, in the valley , cushioned by foliage ,and blinking green and gold, as the sun rose.
The air smelt of orange .