The ominous, war-torn saga of the kingdom of Patan
Freedom fighter, lawyer and politician Kanayalal Maneklal Munshi has authored The Glory of Patan, a book on the role of the Chalukya dynasty in the history of Gujarat. An excerpt.
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Vikram Samvat, 1150 The summer evening melted into darkness. The radiance of the half- moon increased gradually. At this time, the road leading to Patan appeared deserted and frightening, the stillness of the night shattered by the distant howling of foxes that pierced through the dense woods. Unperturbed by the danger of robbers or outlaws on this empty road, two horsemen sped along towards Patan.
The powerful build of the horseman in the front lent him an impressive demeanor. His large, bright eyes sought the fort of Patan, invisible in the darkness. Impatiently, he spurred his fleet-footed horse on every now and then. His clothes were that of an ordinary Rajput warrior of the time. The ends of his dark beard were turned up towards his ears. The horseman following him was a young man of seventeen or so—handsome and restless. Despite the speed at N TIO FIC N NO which they were travelling, his eyes did not fail to notice his surroundings. He too was dressed like the elder rider. The hazy light of the moon and the enchanting stillness could calm the most miserable of hearts, and yet the horseman in the front had his brows knit, betraying his restlessness. A little farther, he stopped, turned around and addressed the younger man.
‘Tribhuvan! This track should be shorter, don’t you think?’
Tribhuvan smiled. ‘ I don’t remember, but this looks like someone’s field.’ ‘ So what? There’s a Jain upashray nearby and we can go farther from there.’ With this, the horseman in the front turned his horse towards the track.
The track was very narrow and the moonlight barely penetrated the thick canopy overhead. But the horse was well-trained and reliable. The narrow track opened out into a glade. The moonlight had cast its silvery spell on the landscape, but the preoccupied horseman pushed his horse ahead, not pausing to take in the beauty. Just then, the horse in the front stumbled and fell, taking the rider with him. As the rider fell, his eyes landed on a boulder a little farther ahead. His pain forgotten, he stared, riveted by the sight.
In the lambent light of the moon, a woman sat on the boulder. Her clothes were white and simple, her face beautiful but expressionless, her eyes large but sad. The rider caught barely a glimpse of her as he fell. But he drank in every line, recognition dawning upon him. An inexplicable emotion surged deep within his heart. He no longer remembered where he was and what he was doing. He sat Sudha Murty, through the exceptional work of the Infosys Foundation as well as through her own youth, family life and travels, talks candidly about the meaningful impact of her work in the devadasi community, her trials and tribulations as the only female student in her engineering college, and the unexpected and inspiring consequences of her father’s kindness. up and, without bothering to dust himself off, ran towards the boulder: ‘Who? Wha—!’ There was no one on the boulder! His eyes widened in shock. Tremors ran through his body. He searched this way and that. But there was no one. He rubbed his eyes and frantically looked around.
‘Was that a hallucination? Oh god,’ the Rajput mumbled to himself in a pained voice. He pressed his temples to ease the throbbing in his head. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, and sighed. An unfamiliar fear gripped him and he shuddered. In the meantime, his son caught up with him.
‘Bapu, what are you looking at? Did you fall from the horse?’
The father regained his composure with difficulty.
‘No, son, the horse stumbled a bit.’
‘What was it? It is surprising that you should fall.’ The son laughed and brought his horse closer.
Seeing his father’s face, he fell silent. He knew his father well and, at times like these, it was better to remain quiet. Wordlessly, with his lips compressed, the father approached his own horse and slowly mounted it. He let the reins fall carelessly on its nape. His head lowered, he seemed lost in deep thought. He had aged in a moment.
The youthful son noticed his father’s sadness and quietly followed on his own horse. The horse in front followed his own will. For a while things continued in this manner. Once again, the reverie of the rider in the front was broken. Someone shouted, ‘Oi, the gate over there is shut. The horse will run into the thorns if he goes that way.’
The rider gathered his wits. ‘Why? Is this road closed?’
‘Yes, sir. But if you go this other way you will meet the road again.’ ‘What is this place?’ By this time, his son had caught up with him.
‘Don’t you recognize this? It is Minister Vimal’s place,’ the villager replied. ‘Hmm . . .’ The young man asked, ‘How far is the gate of Patan?’
‘Two fields away, just go by this road.’ The villager pointed to the road.
The father and son moved along together.
‘It will cause further delay. If the gates of Patan are shut, we will face serious problems.’
‘That jati, the monk we met, is the cause of this delay,’ the boy said. ‘He seemed fishy.’
‘Bhai, Chandravati’s Jains are very arrogant these days. If they had their way, they would like the Jains to take over Patan. It’s a pity I have no influence.’
‘Father, not so loud. Someone will hear.’
‘Oh, I forgot. Ah, there is the fort. But, Tribhuvan, that monk departed before us. So he should have reached by now.’
‘Yes, he left as we rested awhile.’
They arrived at the gates of Patan, which were about to shut. Quietly, the father and son crossed the gates. After a while, the rider in the front brought his horse to a stop.
‘Son, I’m going to the royal fort. You go to our house.’
The son’s eyes filled with concern as he gazed at his father.
‘Father, will you be safe going alone like this?’
‘Don’t be silly; what’s going to happen to me? Who would dare—’
‘These are bad times. And the step that you are taking is risky.’
‘What do you mean risky? I have done many such things earlier—’ ‘But Mama is astute.’ ‘Go and sleep peacefully. I have dealt with many such ministers.’
‘Fine. Send me news in the morning.’
‘Don’t worry at all.’ The father rode onwards.
The boy waited till he could not see his father any more. After a while, he turned his horse in the same direction.
The powerful build of the horseman in the front lent him an impressive demeanor. His large, bright eyes sought the fort of Patan, invisible in the darkness. Impatiently, he spurred his fleet-footed horse on every now and then. His clothes were that of an ordinary Rajput warrior of the time. The ends of his dark beard were turned up towards his ears.
Extracted with permission from The Glory of Patan, by K.M. Munshi, published by Penguin Random House India