Back in late 1990s life in India
had become quite uneventful. We had kind of forgotten the drama of Mandal, Ram
Mandir movement and economic liberalization. It seemed that things were coming
to a dull and dead end. The era of stable governments has already become a
bygone one. One could witness the monotony and gloom in the conversations of
the common people at several tea stalls. However, for me it was not as gloomy
as it was for the people of my previous generation. For me, things were quite new.
In fact I had developed a new
sensitivity to look at things, a perception to feel the things happening around
me in a very novel and unique manner. I would say a kind of journey which Kant
would have called the discovery of noumena. On Sundays, I used to visit one
such tea stall called Kaka café in the vicinity of my house. The place was
about 30 years old and it owner had named it after Rajesh Khanna. At Kaka café,
the Sunday samosas were the main attraction and for me it was a big respite in
the midst of a regimented life which one leads when your father happens to be a
police officer and all your relatives want you to become a civil servant at the
age of 15.
Every Sunday, I would go there and
while having tea, overhear a jovial and hefty man dominating some
conversations. The man was Ratan Lal Bhatt. He was popularly known as Bhatt ji
and was present as an inevitable presence in almost every social, religious and
political event of the locality. He was a very talkative man who regaled people
over endless cups of over-boiled ginger tea, with his stories of the past, the
past which for him was a true golden era. With his wits and humor and intense
narration, he would surely make the most progressive of the intellectuals
believe in and long for those fairy-tale days. Suddenly the villains of yester years
like kings, queens, darogas and Thakurs would appear as heroes with all their ‘evil’
and ‘not-so-evil’ traits.
Today while writing, when I look
back I feel that the story of Bhatt Ji’s life is the most interesting one, much
more than all the stories narrated by him. Bhatt Ji was Brahmin by caste but
his features and physique told a completely different story. They were the aquiline
features of young princely Rajput- sharp nose, tall roman face, thick whiskers,
dense, snake-like mustaches and a tall, muscular built. Bhatt ji in his
manners, ways, style and demeanor acted like a noble and felt like a royal
jagirdar. After his stories, he would always say, after all, I am a Thakur. There
is a slight twist to this demeanor of Bhatt ji.
Bhatt Ji’s father Ambalal Bhatt was
a nagada Brahmin in the service of Durbaar Saheb i.e. Thakur Jee. Thakur Jagat
Mad Singh was one of those few kings left in India who still enjoyed some
power, money and influence in his region. However, he was fully aware of the
fact that his power and health were waning like a moon and this change is not
one of those medieval changes when one king would be replaced with another. The
change that he felt was devastation, fuelled by the dance of democracy just
like the tandava of Shiva which destroys unleashes destruction and death.
Therefore he concentrated his energies in living like a king to his last breath
which means ‘wine and unlimited wine’, ‘sex, sex and lots of sex’ and a dark
curtain of intoxication descending on his mind, matter and soul.
In the aristocratic circles of
Mewar, there was an unsaid and unofficial custom of Nagda Brahmin females
entertaining the kings and other royal males. There were many other unsaid
customs but this one was peculiar because Brahmins which is a higher caste and
had say in the society and court, agreed to an unethical sexual slavery. But,
in those days it was the king or rather the man with divine origins who could
desire, conquer and alter any earthly system of morality, religion and social
order. Bhatt jee was a result of one such communion between Sharda bhatt and
Thakur Jagatmad Singh. Sharda bhatt was a stunningly beautiful Brahmin girl who
was quite modern for her times. Even after her marriage with Pandit Ambalal Jee
bhatt, she continued to be in the royal, dark and lusty embrace of an
adulterous king. She was a very powerful woman who wielded tremendous influence
in the court until a Bengali singer Leela Dasgupta, charmed rana jee with a
dusky magic of her inviting bosoms and the jungles of her dark, long and snake
like hair locks. It seemed that Rana jee got lost in the jungles of sundarbans
and never came back.
After the arrival of Leela the
musical magician, Sharda jee was dumped and she retired into the eternal
sorrows of her life. She lived a simple and an austere life full of repentance
just like any other female who had ruled the portals of royal harem in her
heydays, would live. She raised Ratanlal as the last souvenir of her heydays
and always reminded him of his true rajput blood. Ambalal ji was a man devoted
to religious pursuits and he hardly had any influence in the life of Ratan Lal
Jee.
Ratan Lal Jee grew into a hefty and
pricely looking handsome young man for whom the loyalty towards rana jee was
the ultimate duty. He became a decorated archer, swordsman, shooter and an ace
equestrian. He took pride in his natural ability and affinity with these
princely sports. On the other hand he hardly showed any interest in purohitai
(priestly services) which was his family profession. He often accompanied Rana
Durjan Singh, elder son of Jagatmad Singh, in his hunting expeditions. Rana
Durjan Singh was another typical spineless royal scion, which emanates from an
overall decline in the moral sub-conscious of the kingdom. Ratan Lal was an
accomplice to Durjan Singh in all his existential adventures or sinful
creativity which included violating the tribal women and feeding her to his
ferocious dogs, ravaging fields, hunting innocent bhils and raikas for a
pompous display of princely power and an absolute authority in a democratic
state. Ratan Lal Ji was in reality the half-brother of Durjan Singh. Durjan’s quest
was the endless lust, money and authority which comes when the waning power
completely intoxicates or rather usurps one’s consciousness. In such a state
the notions of morality and immorality become the objects to be trampled upon
by the King’s Juti (royal footwear) and self-obsession becomes a disease. Ratan
Lal Ji’s quest was to be recognized as a Thakur with a royal lineage. The idea
and the feeling was hardwired into his mind since his childhood by Sharda Jee.
He had always thought of reclaiming his true identity. This blind search for
the identity brought him closer to Durjan. In fact, deep down inside he had
nurtured intense hatred and jealousy with Durjan. But in a feudal society, if a
person is not born in a royal family, he hardly gets the fortune to know his
real mind, real soul and true desires as everything is owned by the divinity of
the king. There is only one way to discover one’s true self in such a milieu
and that is to attain Buddhahood. Certainly, Ratan lal jee was not among those
enlightened ones. In a feudal society, someone like Ratan Lal ji is raised on
fictitious notions of morality which are in the best interests of the state or
rather the royal family.
In his heydays Ratan Lal ji had
become a very powerful man because of his proximity to the king. He had been a
part of court intrigues and conspiracies that silenced 100ds of people in the
dead of night, with in the ramparts of the fort. Such cases neither came out in
the press and nor were they ever investigated by the police as the lower
officials of police also held the durbar as their mai-baap and anndata. Random dead bodies were found floating in
some lone river or a haunted nala. These murders always became a part of folk
lore and haunted stories. In connection with one such case, Ratan lal Jee had
once even slapped a young IPS officer who had come to arrest the king. Ratan
Lal jee had done that to prove his loyalty. He had become an overnight hero
after the incident. But the superintendent could never forget the feudal slap
that came from loyal servant of debauched king. It was like a slap on
democracy, a slap on his uniform and his ego. He was in a look-out for Ratan
Lal jee.
Durjan Singh was facing a challenge
from Mritunjay Singh, who was also his half-brother; son of Leela, the magical
musician and Rana Jagatmad Singh. In the dispute to the royal throne,
Mrityunjay was coming out to be more deserving and a rightful heir. He was also
backed by his father Rana Jagatmad Singh. The Bengali charms had still kept the
dying rana in an ideal hypnotic state. When Durjan found himself utterly
helpless, he sought Ratan Lal Jee’s help and Mritunjay was silenced.
The matter could not be hushed up
like the previous. It left a trail which was soon followed by Superintendent
Mangla Ram. Durjan struck a deal with Mangla Ram and Mangla Ram who was waiting
to heal the feudal wound, which hit hard his newly acquired hierarchy, arrested
Ratan Lal ji in the matter. With that, an era of hot-headed sword wielding,
faithful and energetic young man who had bathed his sword a number of times for
the rana jee in several court intrigues, came to an end.
Ratan Lal jee came out after 20
years. When he came out , he was no more the princely looking fellow who
symbolized the royal authority. He was a
bag of bones, with hairline already receded to the middle of the head. Those
dense snake-like mustaches seemed lifeless now.
Durjan Singh had died and he was survived by his son Rana Kunwar singh
who had turned the palace into a hotel and had become an entrepreneurial rana.
When Ratan Lal Jee came out, no one came forward to receive him form the royal
family. Ratan Lal jee, himself found the new ways of the maharana very merchant
like and unbecoming of a chivalrous prince.
“All the ranas have become waiters
and they are cleaning dishes used by white monkeys. They are no more the royal
kings and they don’t even have the blue blood now. I doubt this poofy fella
with his fashion and hotels can even lift the sword of great Jagatmad Singh ji
or Durjan Singh ji.”Ratan Lal Jee uttered, while sipping the piping hot tea in
January winter Sunday. He further continued,” those were the days Jain Sahab. I
get lost in that dark, haunting night when Durbar hukum shot the man-eater. Actually,
I shot the beast. Durbar sahib had almost fainted when the beast leapt. What a
ferocious and beautiful beast it was. The animal claimed 33 human lives. Those
days are lost and lost are the dances and grand feasts of the palaces.
The conversation was interrupted by
the hot-piping samosas brought by Lasiya, the small raika kid who worked at
Kaka café. After having another cup of tea, Ratan Lal ji continued, “
Bhairosingh I must tell you about the day when I slapped Mangla ram,
superintendent police. Durjan Singh jee gave me an exotic gift that night. In
the stillness of gangaur ghat, I explored the curves and dark alleys of lust,
love and wildness that night. Those were the days and those were the people and
those were the girls and those were the horses and those were the boys. Life appears so dull today. No desire to live
and no human relations left”. The
talkative man became a little monotonous and boring after a while. He always
had the same set of stories. When people got bored they avoided him. Since
Ratan Lal jee had nothing to do, he would go and sit in some other gathering or
become a part of some social, political or religious event that happened in the
locality. He was all alone in the family. His wife had died while he was in
jail and the elder son was murdered in a local street-fight. The younger son
got a job in Delhi and ever looked back.
I had known Ratan Lal jee for
almost four years but with every year I saw his energies dying. When I went for my vacations in my undergrad,
I found a different Rattan Lal Jee. These days he had fallen under the charm of
a very old Bhagwad Gita which belonged to his father. The person who for his
entire life was the most insignificant in his life became such a good friend
and relief in his old days. Through that book , he would often talk to his
father and surprisingly, he was turning into a true Brahmin. His only quest
i.e. recognition as a Thakur was vanishing into the thin air. He began reading
Gita for hours and hours now. I often spotted him in near-by temples. He would
often talk about the temporariness of life and thought of becoming as serene as
a lake. Once he told me, that he was getting closer to his atman.
Then one day, someone came from the
palace and informed him that rana jee wanted to meet him. He dressed up in his
royal attire and pulled out his rusted sword which had pierced Mrityunjay Singh
once. He was escorted to the palace where Kunwar Singh jee addressed him as
‘Thakur Saheb hukum, Khamma’. Ratan Lal Jee was overwhelmed as if his purpose
of living had been fulfilled. He got a new lease of life and rorared, “ jo
hukum mai-baap” . Rana Jee wept for a while and remembered his old days of
glory. Then Rana Jee asked him to sign a paper which would transfer his jagirs(
which were given by Durjan Singh Jee) to the palace. Rana Jee cried and said, “
We are building a school in the memory of Durjan Singh Jee.” Ratan Lal jee readily agreed and signed
saying, my life is yours, lordship.
He went back home like a proud
conqueror of Chittor fort. He offered his prayers to his mother Sharda Devi and
truly felt like a royal Thakur, a Rajput who ruled the earth with all the might
and divinity. That night, he got drunk and in the red wine of power, glory,
history he felt a journey of soul coming
to life. It was a dark, still night just the one like that when he shot the
beast or when he got lost in the lusty eyes and hairy, sweaty armpits of
Bhanwri. He secretly entered Gulab Bagh, the local zoo. In his old days he
would often visit Gulab Bagh and sit for hours outside the cage of Phool Singh,
who was an ailing tiger. When people started running away from his stories, he
found a friend in Phool Singh and often told stories to him. That night, in a
drunken state he met Phool Singh and roared, “ I am a Thakur, a tiger just like
you. You have to salute me. I am coming inside to meet you my friend. You have to honor me. I have killed a beast that
looked like you. But I am your friend. You are a nice man, a holy tiger just
like my religious father. I am coming. “
Next morning a dead body was taken
in the state mortuary and burnt after a post-mortem. The forest guard was
suspended. An Italian restaurant was inaugurated in the name of Durjan Singh
Jee.
The Thakur was no more. I left for
Delhi, next morning.
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