I am at Baz Bhadur’s Palace in Mandu. There are no tourists. A couple of ladies come but soon go away to the other part of the palace, which is segregated from the one I am in by a connecting door. I ask two accompanying forest guards to excuse me for a while. I find the atmosphere tranquil. The open court has a beautiful cistern in the middle. There are rooms and halls all around. I am sitting at the steps of one of the hall with open courtyard in front of me. I can see green fields and forest and hilly landscape from the open arches. They sooth eyes as well as add diverse texture to the palace. Cool breeze is blowing. I just contemplate of those days when the palace has been brimming and buzzing with life, love and intrigue. I try to be one with the surroundings. I am entirely at peace with myself. The place has some magical charm. Soon I am pleasantly surprised. I hear the romantic song of love and romance and monsoon and….
Aaoge Jab Tum Saajna
Aaoge Jab Tum Saajna
Angana Phool Khilege
Barsega Saawan, Barsega Saawan
Jhoom Jhoom Ke
Do Dil Aise Milenge
Aaoge Jab Tum Saajna
Angana Phool Khilege ….
The man is singing full blast in the other section of the palace. I do not see the singer or audience but find this real mystic. I am elated beyond words.
This experience indeed transports me 500 years back to the legendary love of Baz Bhadur and Rani Rupamati. The history is rooted at this very place. A juxtapose of images is sailing in my mind. I feel as if I am one with the scene. I imagine characters from movies, books and plays to fit in to the eternal romance and history.
The song goes on and on. Every moment is wonderful, soul filling. At the end, I clap silently – applause from the core of my heart. I feel like presenting a gift to the singer but I am in no mood to move back to present. I want to continue soaking in the spirit of the place.
A peacock makes a call to reinforce the fact that we are in the middle of natural surrounds. So do a flock of rose-ringed parakeets flying past and making shrill ‘kir, kir, kir.. .’
Slowly, I move from an opening behind me to the other section of the palace this too has halls and rooms around with a small courtyard in the centre. The only difference is that there is no outside view of the forest or hills.
We take a flight of steps to terrace. This turns out to be another interesting part of the palace. The view of the surrounding Mandu landscape with greenery is pleasing but the functional part probably must have been the clear view in the south of Rani Rupamati pavilions. These are on a slightly higher platform. As a crow fly the distance would be around 500 m only. This palace terrace has two Baradaris (pavilion with three doors like arches on each side, all making 12 i.e. bara). I can visualise Baz Bhadur lazing around in well laid Baradari and admiring the Rani across, in one of the pavilions.
Incidentally, I have visited Rain’s pavilion last time. This is end of the road and highest point in the area. One has to walk about half a km on the inclined path way. There are rooms and halls and arched passages. There are pavilions above. On the back, it is sheer drop of several hundred metres but provides a panorama of Nimar plains with the Narmada winding across. Guide has told me that Rani Rupamati used to visit the place daily from a palace nearby to have darshan of holy Narmada.
Yes, I do spend some time in the Baradari visualising a queen across. The song still echo in my ears and eyes look at the paradise beyond.
PS: I try to dig some history. Pick up a book on Mandu by Archaeological Survey of India. It appears in mid-15th Century AD, one Malik Bayazid after the death of his father, the then Governor of Malwa region, crowned himself as an independent ruler with the title Sultan Baz Bhadur. He was not much of a king and was soon defeated by Rani Duravati. He took to music in which Rani Rupamati was his most famous associate. The devotion and love between them is reflected from the fact that they are well known part of Malwa folk songs.