Friday, 26 September 2014

Roopmati -- Baz Bahadur ...... A forgotten love tale.

 *     Baz Bahadur, a music lover, was the last independent ruler of Mandu. Once out on hunting, he met Roopmati, a shepherdess frolicking and singing with her friends. Smitten by her enchanting beauty and melodious voice, he begged her to accompany him to Mandu. Roopmati agreed to accompany him on one condition that she would live in a palace from where she could see River Narmada, which she loved so much.  

 *     Baz Bahadur built Roopmati's palace to which water was supplied from the Rewa Kund, equipped with an aqueduct. Queen Roopmati's Pavilion was built as an army observation post. It served a more romantic purpose as Roopmati's retreat. From this picturesque pavilion perched on a hilltop, the queen could gaze at her paramour's palace, and also at the Narmada flowing by.  

*      Roopmati and Baz Bahadur fell in love with each other and got married according to Muslim and Hindu traditions. The Mughal emperor Akbar sent Adam Khan decided to invade Mandu. Baz Bahadur with his small army went to challenge him but was defeated. Roopmati poisoned herself to avoid capture. Thus ended, the magical love story steeped in music, poetry, romance, war and death.

*   Tale of Roopmati and Baz Bahadur has been immortalized by Ahmad-ul-Umri Turkoman, who wrote 26 poems in Persian. This manuscript later got translated into English by L.M. Crump under the title, The Lady of the Lotus: Rupmati, Queen of Mandu: A Strange Tale of Faithfulness in 1926.

*     It's one love tale that has remained forgotten in the land of its origin. It's surprising and sad that no Bollywood filmmaker never thought of telling this wonderful story on celluloid. Hopefully somebody someday does it. 

Friday, 19 September 2014

Scotland Vote for Independence !!!


*    So,  finally pragmatism has won in Scotland. British PM must be a relieved man, today. My heart goes out to independence seekers in Scotland. Many minority ethnic groups the world over are seeking independence because their aspirations are being met within the existing framework. It's the responsibility of the rulers in those countries to ensure that people of minority ethnic groups are not discriminated against.  Iraq is the case in point. 

*    Russians living in Ukraine and Ukrainians leaders  need to take a lesson from it. 

*     United we stand divided we fall.  

Wednesday, 10 September 2014

Life's greatest lessons (2).............A Storyteller.

*  We often come across people in our lives who, though, uneducated are excellent storytellers and people who are well read but terrible at telling stories. 

*   About a decade and half ago I too met with a soldier, Tek Bahadur, during  my three year stint with an Indian Para Military Force. On a week long patrolling assignment in the jungles of Mizoram in the northeastern India, we one day passed by a lake, picture of whose lonesome beauty got etched in my heart forever.  

*    On inquiry why there was no human settlement near the lake, the man during the night in the next village narrated me the folktale (read story of 'Palak Dil' in my earlier post) of that lake.  His style of narration was so fascinating, so captivating that I was inspired to take up writing. Until then I hadn't written prose of any worth. 

*     That night fifteen years ago changed my life. He inspired me to write. Today I have written about five dozen short stories and four fiction novels. And for this newfound inspiration, I owe it to him. And I know there would be hundreds like me who have been inspired by people from humble educational backgrounds. 

*      Thank you, Tek Bahadur.

Monday, 1 September 2014

A Dark Alley.

A child is like a rose bud, tender and beautiful. Like a rose spreads its fragrance, a child spreads its smiles. Its heart is as fragile as a petal. Both need plenty of love and care, and delicate nurturing. With love they grow up and blossom, without they disintegrate and die. Ironically, their creator and destroyer is neither Nature nor God but the man. One moment he is a saint and the next moment he is a devil incarnate.
          Varsha was like a rosebud, tender, beautiful and growing up under the protective care of her father and casual love of a rather casual mother. Like millions of children she went to school, played in the gardens with her friends, read comics and storybooks, watched cartoons on TV and once a while saw a horror movie and then kept awake the whole night thinking of demons, and thereafter when she cried in her sleep, her father rushed to her, took her in his arms and pacified her. He told her there were no demons. It was just a nightmare, a horrible little dream.

(for full story go to short stories section above)............
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