𝙎𝒕𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓘𝓷 𝓢𝒾𝓵𝓀

captivating

  Freed from the monsoon onslaught, the Western Ghats basked bronze beneath a cloudless October sky.  Winging the silken blue, a steel-glinted shikara  surveyed the steep Sahayadri range below, across which a speeding figure could be seen: steed and soldier seeming to blend as one. Dismounting, the rider saluted another figure, who materialised out from the shadowy stones.

'Jai Bhawani! Jai Shivaji!' hailed the rider.  Acknowledging the salutation, Shivaji graciously enquired after his soldier's well-being and swiftly the two men conferred their strategies:  Shivaji's general would ambush the enemy's treasure-laden caravan and then capture the key city of Kalyan and its coastal area. The Maratha leader himself would concurrently attack the neighbouring areas and then proceed to Kalyan, where they would consolidate and prepare the next stages of conquest. 

Meanwhile in the wealthy,minareted Kalyan, a pair of hazel-green eyes watched the sky-swoop of the very same shikara, just a glint in the distance.  Ayeesha yawned, brushing a dark auburn strand from her forehead. Gazing at the heavy gold bracelets on her delicate wrists, she felt physically and mentally chained to a life of luxurious languor. 

Her husband was the darling son of the Mughal governor of Kalyan.  The latter had grown rather complacent after an easy win, displacing the incumbent Deccani sultan. Although, given the presence of the wily Marathas in the neighbouring areas, he was taking no chances and therefore sending away to safety, the city treasures and gold coins in a caravan, lead by his son.

 Ayeesha pouted her petulance at being too young too accompany her husband on his journey, for fear of the ruffian raiders, and too old to sing and dance with her playmates in the courtyard, for fear of wagging tongues. No, the only place deemed safe for a young woman of her status was in purdah, savouring dainty sweetmeats.  But simply drawing a veil over herself could not conceal from her the atrocities committed on the kaffir  women, details of whose screams provided  amusement for the women of her father's harem, as they decked themselves in jewellery snatched off the unfortunate captives.

What would happen to her, Ayeesha shuddered, should she be captured by these brazen Maratha bandits, who were at once sneered at but also feared by her father, who despite the strength of the Mughal forces, knew also of the army's weakness when confronted by the guerilla tactics of Shivaji's men. He was quite ruthless and cunning, so she'd heard.  The silence of her thoughts was rudely shattered.

The ground shook with the thunder of galloping hooves and truimphant shouts of  'Har Har Mahadev!'  Hailing the Lord Shiva, Shivaji's trusted general led the charge into the city, his soldiers seizing the treasures of the Bijapur state, gold coins and precious commodities by the sackful.  Just a few hours earlier, the intrepid Marathas had ambushed the Mughal caravan, confiscating all its treasures and taking captive the Governor's son. 

Ayeesha's maids had quickly gathered around her, eyes wide and kajal-streaked with fearful tears. They heard a manly voice roaring:

'Keep all the treasures and the captives intact for Raje!' Moping the wounds and dust of his brow, Shivaji's general reminded  his men, knowing that their beloved Raje always fairly recompensed his soldiers and their families, especially those who fought and died in his military campaigns.

Ayeesha heard the doors to the harem battered down...followed by the tramp of boots and the pungent aroma of leather, sweat and blood.

'And what have we here? Another treasure and a fine one too!'  The general ordered his soldiers to take the women captive, leading them to a rough-hewn tent. 'Remember, do not molest any women or children...we fight only those who resist or harm us!' The city was captured but the buildings and the civilian women and children unharmed, as demanded by the  code of Shivaji, who was himself leading a raid in the adjoining area.

Now the saffron flag fluttered high and proud in the coastal sea-breeze wafting in from the Arabian sea.

A palatial tent was put up, with comfortable furnishings, ready to receive Shivaji, for him to receive all the treasures commandered by the Marathas. 

Shivaji, still saddle-sore,  straight from his adjoining sortie, was offered a makeshift throne of sumptuous cushions of damask silk.  While he graciously appreciated the efforts made for him by his untiring soldiers, he was himself austere, schooled as he was by a wise Hindu yogi. Acknowledging the efforts of his men and making sure they all had refreshments, he seated himself on the cushions, his  legs in lotus position and on his knees, his hands strong as steel.

After presenting all the captured wealth to Shivaji, the general bowed and said:

'Raje...I have left the best treasure especially for you!' At his beckoning, Ayesha's maids led her  into Shivaji's presence. There the young woman stood, trembling in her green silk veil, like a spring leaf shaken by a dervish dust storm.

A momentary frown and a tightening of lips, sent a ripple across the deep-tanned face of Shivaji.

Acknowledging the effort made by his general to please his leader, and also not disdaining the beauty and the status of the captive before him, Shivaji spoke, his words soft as silk and strong as steel:

'We do not harm women and children, who are unarmed - we are not like those who rape and convert others in the name of their religion.  Our dharma is different and will prevail! General - I appreciate your offering, and request that the young lady be escorted safely back to her family - I am sure her husband and her father will be relieved to see her unharmed.''

Thus did Shivaji win the hearts of many, and also the respect of his enemies.  The captured Mughal governor and his son, on release were drawn into the service of Shivaji.

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A/N

A fictionalised account of an incident attributed to Shivaji and loosely based on the historical events of the time.