Note: The inspiration of this blogpost is not Ashutosh Gowarikar's 'Jodhaa Akbar' but a scene from K. Asif's 'Mughal-e-azam' and historical findings on different websites on the internet.
Note: An original work of expression like all my blogposts. I try to explore different sides of one germ of an idea.
Disclaimer: I am no historian to make historical claims. I hope the readers appreciate the idea I am trying to put forward.
The year is 1930 - not to add the old-age charm but to plainly pacify the readers who might claim that the content of the writeup is no longer relevant.My claim, however, is that though the social setting has changed, the situation hasn't to a great extent.
The waada* was surrounded by tall stone walls - two pieces of stones sticking to each other. This twenty-feet tall boundary had a small wooden door that was so heavy that it would need two servants to close it. Less than a couple of minutes ago, the servants had closed the door.
Saraswati looked out of the window and saw the full moon sieving through the tree behind the mansion. Once in a while, memories peeped into her mind like this moonlight through the dense leaves and branches.
Saraswati remembered the waada* in the neighbouring village - the house she had grown up in. She could visualise her brother getting her tamarind for her. They would sit on the floor nearly the doorway sucking on the tamarind pod. She remembered playing with her friends in the small patch of grass outside of the mansion. She remembered sitting with her legs on either of her father's shoulders and moving around the house. She felt like a king on an elephant - to her, her father was no less than the mighty, the all-powerful elephant.
The leaves rustled in the breeze and Saraswati came back to the place where she was. She was now the eldest daughter-in-law of this house.
She now carried the name that her husband had given her and the surname of the family she was now in. Her duty, her loyalty was towards this family that she was married in. She was to look after the daily chores of the family though she had some maids for help. She was to participate in the family events like marriages and prove to be a well-behaved and a good daughter-in-law.
She was proud that she was doing all that dutifully...
But somehow, she could never stop her mind from lingering into the past. From sneaking out of this house and going back to the house she had grown up in, from being concerned about her brother's now-failing business, from being worried about her father's dwindling health.
She had heard the story of Akbar's queen Jodhaa who had a Hindu temple constructed in her palace. That corner of the palace was a Krishna mandir, Jodhaa's place of worship. Saraswati realized that the Krishna mandir was also Jodhaa's memory of the life she had left behind her, the life with her parents and their family.
The waada* stood strong and tall in the dark of the night as the moonlight sieved through the window of Saraswati's room. The time that had flown by had come back to Saraswati's mind. It had reminded her of the life that she had lived and the life she had given up the moment she got married.
There was no rebellion, there were no questions. There was no self-glorification by calling what she had done a sacrifice.
She was happy and peaceful. But she could not deny the fac that with the memories of the family and the house she grew up in, Saraswati had her Krishna mandir intact in her mind...
waada* - Marathi word for a mansion. Pronounced as "waa" as in "waah" and "da" as in "dark".
Note: An original work of expression like all my blogposts. I try to explore different sides of one germ of an idea.
Disclaimer: I am no historian to make historical claims. I hope the readers appreciate the idea I am trying to put forward.
The year is 1930 - not to add the old-age charm but to plainly pacify the readers who might claim that the content of the writeup is no longer relevant.My claim, however, is that though the social setting has changed, the situation hasn't to a great extent.
The waada* was surrounded by tall stone walls - two pieces of stones sticking to each other. This twenty-feet tall boundary had a small wooden door that was so heavy that it would need two servants to close it. Less than a couple of minutes ago, the servants had closed the door.
Saraswati looked out of the window and saw the full moon sieving through the tree behind the mansion. Once in a while, memories peeped into her mind like this moonlight through the dense leaves and branches.
Saraswati remembered the waada* in the neighbouring village - the house she had grown up in. She could visualise her brother getting her tamarind for her. They would sit on the floor nearly the doorway sucking on the tamarind pod. She remembered playing with her friends in the small patch of grass outside of the mansion. She remembered sitting with her legs on either of her father's shoulders and moving around the house. She felt like a king on an elephant - to her, her father was no less than the mighty, the all-powerful elephant.
The leaves rustled in the breeze and Saraswati came back to the place where she was. She was now the eldest daughter-in-law of this house.
She now carried the name that her husband had given her and the surname of the family she was now in. Her duty, her loyalty was towards this family that she was married in. She was to look after the daily chores of the family though she had some maids for help. She was to participate in the family events like marriages and prove to be a well-behaved and a good daughter-in-law.
She was proud that she was doing all that dutifully...
But somehow, she could never stop her mind from lingering into the past. From sneaking out of this house and going back to the house she had grown up in, from being concerned about her brother's now-failing business, from being worried about her father's dwindling health.
She had heard the story of Akbar's queen Jodhaa who had a Hindu temple constructed in her palace. That corner of the palace was a Krishna mandir, Jodhaa's place of worship. Saraswati realized that the Krishna mandir was also Jodhaa's memory of the life she had left behind her, the life with her parents and their family.
The waada* stood strong and tall in the dark of the night as the moonlight sieved through the window of Saraswati's room. The time that had flown by had come back to Saraswati's mind. It had reminded her of the life that she had lived and the life she had given up the moment she got married.
There was no rebellion, there were no questions. There was no self-glorification by calling what she had done a sacrifice.
She was happy and peaceful. But she could not deny the fac that with the memories of the family and the house she grew up in, Saraswati had her Krishna mandir intact in her mind...
waada* - Marathi word for a mansion. Pronounced as "waa" as in "waah" and "da" as in "dark".
this one indeed reminds me of Durga Khote as the loving mother yet a strong at heart queen.
ReplyDeleteI m always fascinated wondering hw life wld hav been in the olden golden days and wot stories wld a fort hav to tell us....this post is one such expression...
note: were u in a hurry when u wrote this post? hav never seen so many typing mistakes ever in any of ur posts.... :P