I stood still; my heart beating like a gong against my ribcage. I had laid him here, with my own hands. The Makrana chhatri (cenotaph built with white marble) has now taken him under its wings. He lies in eternal peace; my braveheart, my Jujhaar.
*****
“Hukum, the black one is a bit frisky, you’ve got to be extra careful while dealing with him,” the horseman cautioned me; the ten year old Swaroop, the prince and the future Maharana of Mewar Province. I had been particularly smitten by a raven-black foal, Jujhaar due to his restless spirit that always mirrored my disposition. The courtiers, the commoners, they all would be amused by the camaraderie that we had built from the first meeting on.
We both complemented each other. In grandeur, in fortitude, in spirit, they would say.
The pre-independence princely states used to have opulent palaces, lands that would stretch beyond measures, their autonomous troops, and the gems that they would collect included the best breeds of horses as well.
Jujhaar was an imported Arabian stallion that my late father, the then Maharana of Mewar Bhimrao Singh had gotten with great efforts and even greater pride for me; the apple of his eye, the only heir to his prosperous state, Kunwar Swaroop Singh.
“Soorma ree taap ne parkho,
Hawaa jaido vaig nirkho,
Kaaljo howe singh sareekho,
Minakh ar ghodo aido hi chokho.”
(If you have to judge a warrior, observe his stance closely, behold how he tames wind with his stride, the one whose heart is as fearless as a lion’s; whether a human or a horse, he is surely the best amongst all.)
Folksongs would laud and celebrate valour in humans and their hooved companions equally.
We were growing together, and along grew the restlessness to make a mark in the ongoing battles to protect our sovereignty against the delusional invaders and intruders from the foreign lands and sometimes from our own neighbours.
It’s unusual to see a certain kind of fire that my eyes would always catch whenever they were locked with Jujhaar’s shining, jet-black, amber-hued eyes.
O what an extraordinary marvel of a creature this boy was!
Hours and hours of incessant, strenuous training sessions together, galloping, striding, falling, rising back, getting wounds and cuts, sprains and strains.. wasn’t this all so fulfilling? Our favourite time of the day.
Then one day, my father, in an urgent and tense tone, gathered us all in his court. It was ominous, one could sense from his never seen before demeanour.
We were all commanded to buckle up to march for the biggest and surely the toughest battle of our lives. Because it was going to be against the most ruthless invader who had been coming from Afghanistan for our province, while looting and wrecking every big or small province on route.
The beating of nagadas, the blowing of trumpets and clarions, and the screeching thumping wheels of heavy metal cannons charged Jujhaar with such energy, infused him with such high-spiritedness that both intimidated and mesmerised the onlookers.
“My boy, today is the day. We’ll crush the oppressor, we’ll never let our motherland be touched by any scoundrel. Head on, Jujhaar. Today is the day..” I was mounted on my fiery horse as we led our army to fight the tyrant while the old, and women with their children stayed back safely guarded inside the four humongous walls of Mewargarh (the fort).
The plains bordering the region of Mewar became the battlefield that witnessed what was going to be the exceptional display of courage for three consecutive days.
They came in big numbers, almost three times the strength of our army. Jujhaar saw them, the well built armoured men, their heavily armed and decorated horses as elephants. Their leader was sitting atop one such elephant, the one who had to be toppled down, his vanity smashed.
I guided Jujhaar towards the elephant, he had to cover almost three miles to reach him while also having me on his top. A heavily built man with his enormous armour, shield and spear.
Yet, Jujhaar ran, doubling his speed, his vision fixated at the red saddled elephant. We killed their numerous men on our way, all while being cut and bruised ourselves by them.
This wasn’t something I had witnessed before. Jujhaar was wounded but he wasn’t ready to flinch. I could feel his muscles tightening like never before. He nearly stumbled many times but didn’t let his rider taste the dust.
We reached their leader at last and Jujhaar did what we had trained all these years for. Lifting his forelegs, he jumped on the voluminous elephant, giving me the needed spring. One quick strike of the spear and the tyrant fell on the ground before he could even move his sword.
One blow and the three-day long battle came to an end, deciding the future of both the armies.
The enemies surrendered. We had won. But Mewar paid the heaviest price for this victory.
Jujhaar was lying on the ground with his bleeding nose, bulging eyes, bleeding skin and hooves.
I couldn’t cry, or utter a word. I lied down adjacent to the still body of my childhood companion, my boy, my Jujhaar.
****
Glossary:
Jujhaar: warrior, fighter
Hukum: the way of addressing with respect
Makrana: a place in Rajasthan fa
mous for its marble
Chhatri: cenotaph
Nagadas: large leather drums
