Through this award-winning novel, the author has attempted to illuminate a lesser-known chapter of Meerabai’s life

Meera

By Debasree Chakraborti

Location: Merta, Kurki Chittor

Drifting along the current of time, Meera gradually grew up. One day, Ramabai set out with her and Jaimal toward a tribal village located on the edge of the Aravalli hills. Generally, Rajput princesses had no right to venture outside the palace. But Rao Dudaji had raised his granddaughter Meera in a completely different way. He wanted Meera to connect with ordinary people, so she could become deeply familiar with the country’s social and economic systems, and in doing so, her political understanding would become firm and insightful.

Meera and Ramabai were seated on a camel, while Rao Jaimal rode ahead on a horse. After passing through the orchards of Merta, the terrain began to open into vast plains. As they traveled across the barren stretch, large mountains appeared in the distance. Behind those mountains lay the tribal village. This plain had sparse vegetation, mostly thorny bushes. There were also some medium-sized trees under which travelers could rest. The sun blazed fiercely in the sky, its rays reflecting across the landscape. It was late afternoon, and the sun was spreading its intense, final light of the day.

After going some distance, the camel stopped to nibble on a thorny bush, while Jaimal’s horse had already gone far ahead. At first, he thought Meera and the others were right behind him, but when he realized he had gone too far, he turned back and rode up to them. Then he said, “These are not good times, Ramabai. Meera is grown up now, and besides, you’re not that young anymore either. If we don’t head back now, it’ll be very late by the time we return.”

Ramabai always quietly smiled at Jaimal’s remarks, but sometimes the boy said things that couldn’t be ignored. He was right — nowadays the Aravalli region was seeing a rise in bandit activity. Traveling with a Rajput prince and princess at night wasn’t safe at all. Truly, Meera, She had grown up, and besides, with the radiance of her beauty, anyone might want to abduct her. Ramabai, guiding the camel, said, “Brother, move the camel forward — once we return to the palace, it will be fed properly.”

By the time evening fell, they had reached the tribal village in the forest behind the mountains. The tribal people had already heard that Meera, the princess of Merta, was visiting their village that day. By then, Meera’s songs had already become well known far and wide. Everyone who heard her sing showered her with praise. These tribal people had always believed that society had cast them aside as untouchables, but Meera, the princess of Merta, was not like that. She knew how to open her heart to even those who were seen as strange or different.

The forests of Aravalli are sparse — completely different from other jungles. At the foot of the mountain, a narrow stream flowed gently, and beside it stood a stone platform. Arrangements were made for Meera to sit on it. She sat there alone, while Ramabai went and sat among the common people, and Jaimal roamed around keeping watch.

Meera said, “My grandfather once told me that joy and sorrow are both things we can share. If you share your joy, more moments of happiness will come your way. And if you share your sorrow, the burden of sorrow becomes lighter. Today, I have come to share my happiness with you, and I have come to accept your sorrow, so that I can bring peace into your lives. I will spend time with you today, talk with you, and sing for you the verses I have written. Then I will return to the palace. But let today not be our last meeting. I will invite you all to the Merta Fort. You must come there. See, I have brought my Giridharji with me. I’ve also brought some gifts and food for you. These are offerings of my Giridharji. Once our conversation is over, the guards will distribute the offerings and clothes among you. Now come, listen closely to what I have to say.”

Darkness had started descending over the Aravalli hills. Beside her, the stream murmured gently, and Meera sat holding her Giridharji on her lap. Said:

“See, Shyam smiles when he sees Sudama, see how Shyam smiles.

His torn clothes flutter as his feet rub against the ground while walking.

O childhood friend of Krishna, Sudama, why do you now sit so far away?

Where is the gift of raw rice your devoted wife sent with love?

Where is my broken, leaky roof, adorned with diamonds, pearls, and rubies now?

Where are the old cow pens of mine, now filled with elephants at the gate?

The Lord of Meera, the eternal Hari, sits in the shelter of the devotees.”

After reciting her self-composed pad (devotional verse), Meera said,

“Sudama was one of Krishna’s greatest devotees, and he was also His closest friend. Even after becoming a king, Krishna never forgot Sudama. When Sudama visited him in Dwaraka, Krishna himself washed and dried Sudama’s feet with his own hands. So, what do we learn from this? For Shri Krishna, there is no distinction between high and low. To Him, devotion is all that matters. Whoever has called out to Him with pure devotion has received His response.”

Hearing Meera speak about the friendship between Sudama and Krishna, the common people began cheering and praising her. In unison, they shouted, “Victory to Princess Meerabai!”

Meerabai raised both her hands and said, “My brothers and sisters, please calm down now. I feel deeply happy to have connected with you all today. I want to say only one thing: there is no difference between you and me. Within all of us resides the same being — He is this Giridharji. This means we are all equal. There is no division among us.”

Hearing these words, the tribal villagers again shouted joyously in Meera’s name. From one edge of the Aravalli hills to the other, the echo of her praise reverberated. Just then, torches were lit throughout the village, casting a mysterious aura into the evening darkness.

The soft torchlight reflected off Meera’s face, making her look like a goddess from the heavens. These deprived and neglected people…

They were all gazing at this goddess-like figure. To them, she had come today in the role of a savior. Meera said, “I request all of you—at least once—try to feel Shri Krishna within your own hearts. Always remember one thing: just as He resides in me, He resides in each of you as well. So, feel Him within. You worship many gods—those gods are merely different forms of the same being. Then why so much division? Feel Him as one, indivisible form. If you do that, there will no longer be any difference between Princess Meera and yourselves. He lives in all of us. We are all like Sudama, the one whose feet Krishna lovingly washed. Why did He do that? Because He felt the pain of Sudama’s long journey within Himself. One can only feel another’s pain when they are one and the same at heart. He who is Rama is also Krishna. She who is Jagadamba is also Krishna.

Each of you is a Hindu, and yet there is so much hatred among you. This hatred must end. To end it, we must first establish our God as one and the same, indivisible. It is because of this division among you that you are so easily exploited. Unity makes people powerful. The merchants and moneylenders of your villages exploit you. I want all of you to unite in the name of Shri Krishna. You all have the same religion—love for Krishna. You are all one. Now tell me, did you like what I said?”

Everyone together responded, “Yes!”

Meera began to speak again. She said, “Dark clouds of danger are gathering over our nation. Some of our country’s rulers, entangled in conflict and jealousy among themselves, are inviting foreign enemies into our land. And now these foreigners have turned their eyes toward all of you. If we still do not unite, then we will become their slaves. Now you tell me—do you want foreign enemies to make us their slaves? Do you want this heroic land of Rajasthan, the mother of warriors, to be bound in the chains of servitude?”

The people shouted in unison, “No, never! We will all resist this together!”

One of the tribal leaders shouted, “We will together resist the foreign enemies with bows and arrows. We will stand and fight!”

Meera then stood up and said, “Each one of you is a warrior. And a warrior’s duty is to sacrifice his life to protect his motherland.” She continued, “Not just the men—women must also come forward. Among you, blind superstition is widespread, and that is why you have remained so far behind. It is time for you to step beyond the confines of your household and learn how to wield the bow and arrow. Instead of serving only your husbands, you must now serve Shri Krishna. Just as Krishna exists within your husbands, He lives within each of you as well. That means you are all equal.

Women and men are the two wheels of the chariot of civilization—one cannot function without the other. Always remember this. I urge all my mothers and sisters—come out of your blind faith and stand shoulder to shoulder with the men to defend your nation. If necessary, you must take up bows and arrows and leap into battle against the enemy.”

All the women raised their voices together and cried, “Victory to Princess Meerabai!”

Meerabai said, “At the beginning of my speech, I recited a pad (devotional verse) about Sudama. Now I will explain its meaning.

When Sudama reached Shyam (Krishna), Shyam smiled with joy upon seeing him. Sudama’s shoes had worn out from the long journey, so his feet were bare. From walking barefoot, his feet had become wounded. Sudama sat at a distance, thinking to himself—Shyam is now a king. There is a vast difference between a king and a poor man like me. What if He minds if I sit near Him? But then Krishna’s wife came and offered him betel leaf and sat before him. This gesture changed something in Sudama’s heart. After chewing that betel leaf, Sudama’s body transformed completely—he was suddenly adorned in fine clothes and precious ornaments. Overwhelmed, Sudama wept tears of joy.

Hearing the explanation of the pad, the tribal villagers began dancing with joy. Meera said, “Please calm down now. The guards will now distribute the prasad and clothing among you. After that, I will begin my journey back to Merta.”

Meera sat quietly on the stone platform, holding the idol of her Giridharji in her lap. After the distribution of prasad and clothes among the villagers was complete, she began her journey back to Merta. As they passed through the vast open plain near the entrance to Merta, a full moon, like a shining silver platter, had risen in the sky. In its light, the distant landscape was clearly visible.

As they traveled, they noticed a funeral pyre burning in the distance. As the flames rose, a loud collective cry rang out: “Victory to Sati Mata!” Drums and other musical instruments began to play. Ramabai said, “Meera, a sati-daha is taking place there. We are about to witness something horrific, so close your eyes.”

Meera asked, “What am I about to see, Ramabai? I want to know what sati-daha really is.”

Just then, they saw a burning woman, her flaming veil flying in the wind. She was trying to run out of the fire when people surrounded her and began beating her with bamboo sticks.

Jaimal told the horseman, “Take me over there. What is going on? I have to stop them.”

Ramabai quickly said, “No, Jaimal, you must not go! In such a deserted place, if you protest, they might burn you alive too.”

But Jaimal was stubborn—he was determined to intervene. Ramabai instructed the horseman, “Don’t listen to him. Ride fast. Get us away from here.”

That night, Meera could not sleep. She was not as naïve as Jaimal. She knew that she alone could not have saved that woman. Yet this single incident opened her eyes. She turned to Ramabai and said, “Ramabai, what exactly is this sati-daha? Please explain it to me.”

Ramabai replied, “After a husband’s death, the practice of burning his wife alive on his funeral pyre is called sati-daha.”

Meera exclaimed, “What! Ramabai, is this practice meant for all women?”

Ramabai replied, “Yes, Meera. This practice has been imposed on all women. From a young age, women are taught that their husband is their god, and that they must live their whole life in service to this ‘husband-god.’ Then, after his death, they must jump into his burning pyre and die. That is what a woman’s life is reduced to. The root causes behind this are ignorance and superstition.”

Meera sat up straight and firmly said, “Ramabai, I will never marry. Never. I will remain a virgin my entire life and dedicate myself to awakening the Rajput women. We must eliminate ignorance and superstition from our society.”

Ramabai replied, “But Meera, no one will allow a daughter of the Rathore royal family to remain unmarried for life. No one. You should talk to your Dadaji about this, because his word is final in this family. If he understands your feelings, then perhaps it will be possible.”

That night, Meera couldn’t sleep. She waited for the sunrise. It felt like an endless night. Before the first light of dawn broke, Meera bathed and went straight to the temple of Chaturbhujji, because at that time of day, her Dadaji would be there meditating. That hour is called Brahma Muhurat — a sacred time during which prayers offered with a pure heart are said to be fulfilled. It was Dadaji who had taught her this.

Meera sat down before her grandfather during Brahma Muhurat. Rao Dudaji was silently sitting in front of his deity. Seeing Meera arrive at the temple so early, he asked, “Meera, what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

Meera said, “Dadaji, I need you to make me a promise.”

Rao Dudaji smiled and replied, “If it is within my power, Meera, I will surely promise.”

Meera said, “Dadaji, you must promise first, because what I want—only you can grant.”

Dudaji thought to himself, Meera is a very wise girl. She won’t ask for anything that would harm her family or me. So he smiled and said, “Very well, I promise. Now tell me, what is it that you want?”

Meera said, “Dadaji, I want to remain unmarried for life and work toward awakening the women of our land. Because my mother told me that Giridharji is my true husband. So I will never become anyone else’s servant.”

Rao Dudaji was a highly intelligent man. He knew how to handle every situation…

He knew how to control situations. Rao Dudaji said, “Meera, I promise you — you will never have to be anyone’s servant.”

Just as the colors of abir spread far and wide through the air during Holi, and the scent of that abir binds distant people in the spirit of friendship and celebration — in the same way, Meera’s songs and her sweet eloquence began to spread from mouth to mouth across distant cities and villages. Rao Dudaji received messages through his emissaries that people in remote villages were building stone platforms to invite Meera, and construction of temples dedicated to Giridharji had also begun. Hearing this, Rao Dudaji was overcome with emotion; tears filled his eyes.

He had once wished to dedicate a child of his lineage to Krishna — someone who would unite all of Rajputana through Krishna’s message. The dream he had long nurtured in his heart was now becoming a complete reality. Rao Dudaji thought to himself:

“A flower that blooms in the jungle — its fragrance will one day reach the city. It needs no publicity.”

And it was true — Meera’s virtues were never promoted by the royal family of Merta. It was solely by her own merit that she had become so beloved among common people. It was the very pull of her fragrance that brought people from far and wide to gather in the courtyard of Chaturbhujji’s temple. Everyone wanted to see Meera, to hear her speak.

Moreover, he had never confined Meera within the four walls of a palace. Meera herself, along with Ramabai and Jaimal, traveled to the villages of Merta, organized discussion circles, and tried to unite people under the name of Krishna. In this way, by her own efforts, she had brought together the people of Merta’s villages and forests.

To ensure Merta’s security, Rao Dudaji had placed his messengers all around the region in various forms. These messengers resided around Merta in many disguises — from forest-dwelling tribals to city-dwelling merchants. For his entire life, he had sought to unite the long-neglected and deprived tribal people of the forests with the urban citizens by giving them equal rights and opportunities. Yet he had always felt that the forest people held a particularly deep… 59. Meera

There remained a lingering resentment — one that Rao Dudaji had never quite been able to erase. But ever since Meera had begun visiting these regions, that resentment among the people had begun to dissipate. Meera had been able to convince them that they too were children of this heroic motherland and that they must unite with the rest of the people. Because foreign enemies were preparing to attack them, and it was precisely because of their fragmented mindset that they could easily be defeated and enslaved at any time.

A tribal spy named Monglu arrived in the dark of night to deliver a message to Rao Dudaji. He informed him that under Meera’s command, tribal women, led by a leader named Fulba, were training in archery. These women, it was said, were ready to stand shoulder to shoulder with the men and resist foreign invaders. Monglu and Rao Dudaji watched from the palace rooftop as, deep in the forest at the foot of the hills, the tribals held assemblies under the light of torches in the darkness of night.

Monglu said, “Ranaji, we stay awake through the night discussing our ancient military training. Then in the morning, we begin our day by chanting Krishna’s name. After finishing household chores, the military exercises begin. Divided into male and female groups, we practice battle strategies in different parts of the forest. Then, before dusk, we return home, complete our work, and once again chant Krishna’s name. Where the princess sat when she visited our village, a temple of Giridharji has now been built. In the morning and evening, devotional songs written by Princess Meerabai are sung there. The village women have learned these bhajans themselves and are now teaching them to one another.”

That was Monglu’s account. But Rao Dudaji had many other spies scattered across the cities and remote villages. One such spy was named Shambhu Singh. One night, Shambhu Singh arrived in utmost secrecy and informed Rao Dudaji that copies of Meerabai’s bhajans had now made their way into countless households. Common people were learning these songs and singing them in temples to Giridharji in their own courtyards every evening. Now, Meera’s bhajans were being sung by the women of Merta — passed on from one mouth to another.

There was an old saying in Rajputana — that a Rajput son can never be someone’s shala (wife’s brother, implying subservience). That’s why, to them, daughters had never been considered…

A daughter had never been a cherished wish before. But after seeing Meera, every family in Merta began praying for a girl child. When a woman became pregnant, her family would go to the temple of Chaturbhujji and pray that their child might be just like Meera. Hearing all this would fill Rao Dudaji’s chest with pride. For he had never placed any hope in his grandson Jaimal—whose intelligence, he often said, resided in his knees. Jaimal’s expressions of anger were terrifying, and though he spoke his mind clearly, it was obvious to Rao Dudaji that this young man would never be able to protect Merta from foreign powers. Jaimal was like red-hot iron—easily shaped, but also easily broken. Meera, on the other hand, was calm, composed, and intelligent.

Rao Dudaji wanted to bring about change from within the traditional system. Initially, he had planned to place Jaimal on the throne, but to have Meera manage the actual governance. The bond between the siblings was very strong, and they valued each other’s thoughts and opinions deeply. Reflecting on this, the aging Dudaji began dreaming once again of a renewed, firmly-rooted political landscape.

Meanwhile, Merta’s future heir, Jaimal, slowly transformed himself into his sister Meera’s personal guardian. His sole purpose in life became protecting her. Wherever Meera went to participate in discussions or gatherings, Jaimal would accompany her. His task was to observe the expressions and body language of the audience to gauge their feelings toward Meera. If he didn’t like the look of someone in the crowd, he would have them removed.

Meera would visit local villages and speak with village women. The central theme of every discussion she led was always the same: self-reliance.

Amidst the steady flow of time, where the shadows of past, present, and future danced like celestial performers, a particular village scene emerged vividly among these shadow-dancers. In a harsh and scorching landscape, dust blew across the distance as far as the eye could see. On one such sweltering summer afternoon, just before sunset, Meera appeared—dressed in a green ghaghra-choli, her entire body draped modestly in a yellow odhni…Meera 61

Meera sat on a red carpet laid atop a stone platform beneath a large banyan tree. With her loose, flowing hair, she looked like a celestial goddess. Her hair wasn’t just hair—it resembled the deep monsoon streams pouring from black clouds. Her complexion shone like raw gold.

Below the platform, village women were seated, listening intently to Meera. She was telling them:

“Human life is bound by the illusion of attachment. These trees, plants, villages, animals—everything is merely an outward expression of that illusion. So first, we must free ourselves from this illusion. Chasing a mirage that has no real existence is meaningless.

We are all part of Krishna. Each of us was created from Him, and in that sense, there is no high or low, no big or small—we are all equal.

So there is no need for any woman to become a servant at the feet of an ordinary man. Krishna is the only Supreme Being, the Eternal One.

If you must surrender at someone’s feet, let it be Shri Krishna—not any mortal man.”

Among the women gathered, one asked,

“But since childhood, we’ve been taught that we live under the guardianship of our father in youth, our husband in adulthood, and our sons in old age. Even our food, clothing—everything depends on them. If we do not worship them, we won’t even have a piece of cloth to cover our shame.”

Meera replied, “To change that, you must become economically independent. You must learn to meet your own needs.”

She continued, “There is a way. If you follow that path, it is possible. Tell me, the ghaghras, cholis, and beautiful odhnis you wear—where do you get them from?”

One of the women said, “Princess, we use natural dyes to color white fabric. We collect dyes from greens, vegetables, stones, and bark. Then we dye the cloth and dry it in the sun.

After the fabric is dyed, we use colorful threads to embroider it with different patterns. Sometimes we cut fabric into shapes and sew them on as designs. Other times, we use fabric and thread to make small circles, and stitch them in. Finally, we sew the pieces together and turn them into ghaghras and cholis ourselves.”