The Royal Portrait

She stood mesmerized before the huge photograph displayed on the wall of an old fort of Rajputana, now known as Rajasthan. It was the photograph of a royal princess from a bygone era. She felt that the photo looked a bit out of place among the row of paintings that adorned the wall of the huge room. It's clarity and shining, golden frame gave it a modern touch which was in stark contrast to the dull, antique look of the other paintings.

From the photo it was obvious that the original portrait was also a painting, just like the other ones. That painting had been removed from the gallery for reasons unknown to her. In its place now stood it's photograph - enlarged, framed and mounted on the wall beside the other portraits.

She looked at the photo for a long time. The painter, she felt, had done fair justice to the fair girl's ethereal beauty.

She didn't know why the girl in the photo looked so familiar to her. It was her first visit to Rajasthan and she was not acquainted with the history of this place. Then where had she seen this girl?

Each painting contained a brief introduction about itself and it's historic importance. But no such information was found beneath the photograph.

'Why such negligence about this photograph?' thought she. 'Maybe it's a new inclusion in the gallery which is yet to be updated. But the basic points must be hand written somewhere.'

She carefully lifted the photo and tried to see if anything was written on it's back. Her intuition proved to be right. The backside was covered with a thick brown paper. On it was boldly written with a black marker pen, 'RAJKUMARI ROOPMATI'. Below it, in small letters, was written the names of her parents and the age she was born in. The original portrait, it said, got damaged after it accidentally fell down from the wall a month ago. This photograph was earlier clicked by a professional photographer of Delhi. The management committee decided to enlarge, frame and mount it till the original painting got repaired.

The name 'Roopmati' seemed familiar to her. She had heard that name innumerable times. But where? She was engrossed in her thoughts, when suddenly she heard someone whisper, "Rajkumari". She started and looked around but found no one in the huge room except herself. She sighed and looked at the photograph again.

Right now her family, along with the other tourists, were busy appreciating the intricate lattice work of the fort. Soon they would be looking for her with worried frowns on their brows. But they did not know that she knew every nook and corner of this fort and would never get lost. She would join them at the right moment, but at present she needed her solitude to understand the peculiar happenings that had been going on since her arrival in this ancient fort.

From the very beginning she had the repeated feeling of having an age old connection with this ancient fort. She was walking with her family, but she was living in a different world. At some places she had dreamy visions of shadowy women moving about in colourful ghagra-cholis and antique jewellery. Strangely, the presence of these apparitions did not scare her at all. She could even smell the faint fragrance of the flowers in their hair and hear their soft voices that seemed to come from a great distance. They seemed to be calling her.

"Rajkumari! Rajkumari! Rajkumari!"

After some time it became impossible for her to ignore these calls. She sneaked out of the group and followed the faint sound of payels that led her from one room to another through a multitude of passageways that all seemed too familiar to her. At last she reached this room.

There were at least a dozen of oil paintings adorning the two walls of that big room. These were the portraits of ancient kings, queens, princes and princesses who once ruled or were heirs to this kingdom. Some of these portraits appeared vaguely familiar to her. Her shadowy friends (she felt they were her friends) from the past guided her to a particular portrait. It was actually a photograph of the portrait of a young girl. She looked at it and wondered why the girl in the photo looked so familiar. The mystery was solved as her eyes fell on her own reflection in an antique mirror of the room. The portrait was an exact replica of herself! The only difference was in their attires. She was wearing jeans and t-shirt while her alter ego in the photo was dressed in royal attire, complete with a diamond crown and matching diamond ornaments.

"Who're you?" she whispered.

"It's you! Rajkumari... Rajkumari.... Rajkumari..." whispered the shadows.

The faint tintinabulating sound of their payels now led her towards the exit door. They were now asking her to follow them elsewhere. She was now completely under a strong hypnotic trance, guided by her 'friends' from the past. She walked out of the room and followed the sound of their payel . It led her to a secret alter in a remote part of the garden, now hidden under the cover of wilderness. The sight of that alter made her shudder. Like a lightning she remembered that centuries ago this alter was used by the Rajput women of her family for 'Jauhar Vrat' (the ritual of self immolation).

"Jai Mata Di! Jai Jauhar Vrat.... Jai Jauhar Vrat... Jai Sati Mata! Jump into the Holy Fire! Jump into the Holy Fire! Jump Rajkumari, jump!"

The shadows seemed to surround her and scream with all their might. She too screamed "Jai Mata Di! Jai Jauhar Vrat" with them and walked towards the alter in a trance. Now she remembered who she was. She was Rajkumari Roopmati, a Bhati Rajput princess of Jaisalmer, famous for her beauty and mellifluous voice. Her wedding was fixed with Kunwar-ji, the Crown Prince of Bikaner. Everyone was happy and excited about their marriage. And then the great calamity came. Mughal emperor Humayun attacked Jaisalmer with his huge force. The mighty Bhati Rajputs fought till their last breath but failed to to save their kingdom and fort. Their number was too less before the huge Mughal force. After the initial few days' of battle, it became apparent that the Rajputs were going to lose.

On the day the fort fell, Maharani-ji (the Chief Queen) ordered all Rajput women to join her in Jauhar Vrat and sacrifice their lives in the Holy Fire. During that time, it was a custom among Rajput women to commit 'Sati' or self immolation to save their chastity and honour from the Islamic invaders.

A huge fire was made in the sacrificial alter. The proud and courageous Rajput women got decked up in colourful ghagra-cholis and gold jewellery to look their best during their last journey. They worshipped the powerful goddess Durga and then, with the united war cry "Jai Mata Di!" they fearlessly jumped into the raging fire.

Rajkumari Roopmati was standing just behind her mother, the beautiful Maharani-ji. She closed her eyes and remembered her beloved Kunwar-ji for one last time.

"Durga Mata will definitely unite us in our next birth Kunwar-ji," she whispered as her mother jumped into the funeral pyre. Women around her shouted,

"Jai Mata Di! Jai Jauhar Vrat! Jai Sati Mata! Jump into the Holy Fire! Jump into the Holy Fire! Jump Rajkumari, jump!"

She shuddered and folded her palms in a silent prayer. A trickle of tear dropped from her beautiful eyes as she strengthened her mind and jumped into the Holy Fire hoarsely crying, "Jai Mata Di!"

They found her lying unconscious on the ground. Nobody knew how she reached that remote part of the garden. She was in a delirium and had to be hospitalized. Medical tests proved that there had been no physical torture or molestation. Close circuit cameras showed her aimlessly loitering in the fort and garden all by herself. The mystery remained unsolved.

Her husband was the first person she saw upon regaining consciousness. He gave her a dozen of red roses and softly kissed her on her forehead.

'Kunwar-ji,' she thought happily as he took her hand into his.

But she opened her heart to no one. It was her precious secret and she was not going to share it with anybody... not even her beloved Kunwar-ji.

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