ILAA
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, a little too loudly judging by
number of heads that turned in the direction of the sound. To be completely
fair to the situation, some of the heads had turned towards her long back, ever
since she arrived at the banks of the Godavari, and remained glued to her fiery ‘meenakshi’
eyes. Most of those heads were used to seeing this petite figure every morning sitting
precariously close to the water on the pile of stones, once part of a beautiful
ghat, and hurling stones into the water in a determined manner. Yet, each time
the heads could not resist being mesmerized by something in her persona that
was enigmatic.
It was not that Ilaa did not like the work in the fields at all. Her
father, Bhimrao, was the owner of one of the largest farmlands in Sauviragram.
He was a loving father to his three girls but was a strict disciplinarian and
wasn’t a man who would defy tradition. Bhimrao would leave for his fields early
in the morning. The girls would help their mother at home and then the girls
would leave for the farm to help with the work on the fields. It was harsh
work, but the girls loved the freedom of the open fields rather than the
confines of their home. Most importantly, they loved the company of their
father there, for at home he was a dictatorial and reticent person, but here on
the fields he was in his element, making them understand the nuances of cotton
farming.
The eldest girl, Sita, was a delicate beauty. The second girl in line was
named by the girls’ grandmother as Parvati, after Lord Shiva’s consort, in the
hopes that this would appease Lord Shiva to grant a baby boy to continue the
family’s lineage. The next child was awaited with bated breath, with everyone
in the family hoping it would be a boy. The child turned out to be a girl, but
could easily have been mistaken for a boy because of the hearty cry she let out
as soon as she entered the world. There were murmurs of discontent among the elder
family members on the birth of a girl child again. But the devout person that
he was, Bhimrao accepted this turn of fate as god’s will.
“I will name you Ilaa, my feisty little bundle of joy…” whispered
Janabai, the baby girl’s mother, into her little ears. As much as Janabai was
sure about the name of her third girl, it was in actuality an odd choice of a
name for those times.
King Ilaa, son of Manu, was the legendary king who was supposed to have
founded the city of Paithan or Pratishthan as it was known then. Cursed by Lord
Shiva for a transgression he committed unwittingly, King Ilaa spent alternate
months as a man and a woman, until many years later he attained his male form again
by appeasing Lord Shiva by doing an ‘Ashvamedha Yagnya’. King Illa was undisputedly
a great king and was the progenitor of the Ikshvaku clan. Yet, it was considered
inauspicious to name any child, girl or boy, Ilaa as it was feared that the name
would signify an androgyne and be a harbinger of misfortune as it was for King
Ilaa. Only the girl’s mother, Janabai, knew why she insisted her daughter be
called Ilaa.
Janabai came from the ancient lineage of the ‘Virs’, a troop of hundred
brave soldiers who had fought valiantly and saved the Satavahana kingdom from falling
into the hands of the Scynthian invaders. The grateful King Satakarni had gifted
each of the hundred soldiers extensive fertile farmlands near Paithan. They all
settled in this village that was now called ‘Sauviragram’, on the banks of the
river Godavari.
The minute Janabai had laid eyes on her daughter, she had an intuitive sense
that she had passed on the indomitable spirit of her ancestors to her daughter.
She had purposefully named her daughter Ilaa in the hopes that the name would
pass on to her the great king’s quality of unrelenting perseverance in the face
of any predicament. She also hoped that the name which belonged to a man might
bring her daughter luck and bestow upon her the chance for freedom that only
men enjoyed in those days.
Ilaa was lost in this sweet reverie for some time but her disgruntlement suddenly
came back to her. “Why should I spend time overseeing the farm hands pick
cotton in the field, when I could be doing what I really love?” Ilaa muttered,
her muttering gradually losing steam as she started to feel all the heads
turned towards her. Yet, Ilaa never noticed that among all the heads, there was
one head that came there especially for her every day.
“Ilaaaaaa…... come to the fields before Bapu realizes you are missing……..”.
The quiet of the surroundings was pierced by Parvati’s call. Ilaa was supposed
to have reached the farms by this time of the morning. Ilaa jumped off her feet
and scampered behind Parvati to their fields. Even though she knew that was not
where her heart lay, it was surely where her duty lay – by her father’s side at
his time of need. This year the rains had been unpredictable and they had lost
a lot of good crop. It was important that the remaining crop be harvested
properly and that the cotton bales be ready in time to be taken to the market.
“Bapu ….. I think these bales should be stacked nearer to the road as it
will be easier to put them on the bullock carts”. Ilaa immediately got to work
as she felt a pang of guilt for having wasted precious time. “Dhonduram, get
the men to shift the bales closer to the road” Ilaa instructed the supervisor. “Kavduji,
where are the bullock carts? Get them here immediately otherwise they will reach
the market late and all the good deals will slip out of our hands” she reproached
the farmhand in charge of transporting the bales to the market.
Ilaa set about the work with her inherent high energy and pragmatic
manner. Sita and Parvati both were very sincere but neither of them had the special
qualities that Ilaa had. Even though Ilaa had a petite build, she was hardy and
strong and had an inherent authoritarian aura about her. Which is why even
though Ilaa was the youngest among his daughters, Bhimrao trusted her the most.
With the frenzied activity now set about in a systematic manner, Illa’s
mind had the luxury of slipping back into her thoughts. Illa knew exactly what
she wanted but she did not yet have the courage to voice her thoughts. When
Illa was barely eight years old, Illa and Parvati had taken a wrong turn in the
village by mistake on the way home from the farms and chanced upon the village ‘Akhada’.
An Akhada was the place where the men of the village practiced sports and martial
arts. The girls heard the sound of men shouting, and out of curiosity peeped
into the premises through a small hole in the wall. Ilaa was completely mesmerized
by the various activities going on inside, especially the gleaming metal and
staccato clinking of swords. It was as if something inside her had awakened and
was pulling her. She was hooked on to sword fighting and nothing could stop her.
Ilaa made Parvati her partner in crime and everyday on their way back
from their farms the girls would sneak off to the Akhada. Ilaa had a found a
huge Mango tree, the branches of which overlooked into the practice area. Ilaa and
Parvati would swiftly climb on the branch and watch the men practice their
swording skills. The girls managed to evade getting caught for months and Ilaa had
started picking up many nuances of the sport. She was simply dying to hold the
blade in her hand!
“What are you girls doing on the tree?” called out one of the men as he
caught the girls hiding in the branches one day. “I can do better sword
fighting than you” replied Ilaa with an air that took the men by complete
surprise! “This is no place for girls. Go home…” continued the man, dismissing Illa.
However, one of the elder men, called Daduji, was deeply moved by the little
girl’s gumption. “There is something about this little girl. I can see a rare determination
in her eyes” he thought and decided he would take her under his wings. Daduji
knew it would be a daunting task as it was considered a taboo for women to
learn martial arts. But the experienced teacher in him could not dismiss such a
rare potential. “Do you want to learn how to sword fight? It is not an easy
task. Will you be able to undertake the grueling practice?” asked Daduji as he
took Ilaa aside. “Yes!” Ilaa gasped with joy, falling at the feet of her Guru.
Even at that tender age she knew that that was her calling in life. “But if my
father comes to know he will be angry and will scold me… and then I will have
to stop learning” trailed off Ilaa’s voice. “Then it will be our little secret,
won’t it?” winked Daduji.
So Illa had to sneak in her training. They could not practice at the
Akhada for the fear of the word reaching her father. So, in the mornings Ilaa
would leave home after her father left for his farms, on the pretext of
finishing up housework, and go straight to the secluded area behind one of
dilapidated temples near the banks of Godavari where she learnt the art of
sword fighting from Daduji. Illa would then go and sit on the banks of
Godavari, and this is where everyone thought she went in the mornings.
Daduji would tell her stories about how women in the ancient times were
permitted to practice martial arts like sword fighting, archery and wrestling. “Some
women who were good at it were also employed by kings as their bodyguards” he
would tell her. Ilaa was left completely riveted by the idea.
Illa, now all of eighteen, was sending off the loaded bullock carts. One
by one the loaded bullock carts left for the market which was near Paithan. “Bapu,
don’t forget to eat the food we have packed for you” the girls reminded Bhimrao,
knowing the journey would take almost the remaining day. Women were not
permitted to go to the market and the girls stayed behind watching the dust trail
of the last bullock cart settle. “Let’s go home…” Sita said and they started in
the direction of their home.
“Oh no … Bapu forgot his lunch basket! What will he eat now? It’s such a
long journey… He couldn’t have gone that far … I can run and catch up with him,
and give him the basket” said Ilaa and started running in the direction of the
convoy.
The carts had turned onto the jungle road by now. Illa was not far from
the last cart when faint hushed voices caught her ear. She tiptoed stealthily towards
the source of the sounds and peeped cautiously from behind a dense bush. “….. And
then we will trip their horses and ambush him and his men at the narrow point
in the valley and take them prisoners…” were the words Ilaa heard. Though she
heard only a part of the plans, it took her no time to piece together the fact
that the men were talking about plans to attack none other than the great ruler
Shivaji Maharaj, whose convoy was expected to pass through Sauvirgram the same
day.
“You can do that in your dreams” called out Illa. How dare these evil men
even think of such a plan, let alone execute it? Their great ruler Shivaji
Maharaj had given the Maratha people back their Swaraj and Ilaa would do
anything to help protect it. The startled men immediately drew their swords and
lunged at her, knowing little of her prowess. “If I lead them enough inside the
jungle, Shivaji Maharaj’s convoy will hopefully pass ahead from the ambush
point toward safety by the time these men find their way back” she thought as
she turned around and ran, taking the men away from the direction of the ambush
point.
Iila was much lighter footed than any of those men and managed to put
some distance between herself and them. But she knew she had to get hold of a
sword to protect herself. She quickly climbed up a tree with dense foliage and
waited for the men, pouncing upon one of them who had got little distanced from
the group. She managed to wring the sword from his hand, by which time the
other men arrived, alerted by the scuffle.
Illa sparred with the men for a considerable time, all her lessons learnt
from Daduji being put to test. Suddenly she stumbled upon a stone while moving
back and fell down. “Today is the day I give my life for my king” thought Ilaa,
sure that the men would not leave this chance to finish her.
“You can do that in your dreams” called out a voice that came from a tall
and muscular figure. The figure belonged to the head that came to see Illa
everyday on the banks of the Godavari. “Men, take these traitors to Shivaji
Maharaj” he ordered. “Here, let me help you” he said to Ilaa offering her a
hand.
“Who are you and how do you know my words?” asked a thankful but curious
Illa. “I am the chief of Shivaji Maharaj’s bodyguard force. We had heard a word
that Shivaji Maharaj’s convoy, which was on its way to Paithan, was going to be
ambushed in this part of the jungle. I reached here, to see you valiantly facing
these men. I have been following you and was testing your resilience. And … you
have passed your test” informed the head. “Would you like to become a bodyguard
to Shivaji Maharaj”?
Illa could not believe her ears! “Have I actually been offered what I
have dreamt of my entire life?” she thought unbelievingly. “May I know the name
of the person who has saved my life today?” Ilaa asked shyly, suddenly
conscious of the admiration she saw in the young chief’s eyes. Admiration and
something else that made her heart beat suddenly faster. “Karna, Daduji’s son”,
said the head.
“Another one like me, of an ill-fated name. I wonder if providence has thrown
us together, to turn our unfortunate names into a fortunate destiny?” thought
Ilaa as she took Karna’s hand.
