Jhansi Ki Rani

~ Chambers ~

Manikarnika sat by the singular arch that allowed the morning sunlight to pour into her room. It was the dawn of a new era in which her husband, Maharaja Gangadhar Rao no longer lived. Their symbol of protection was shattered, and the kingdom of Jhansi was exposed to the ever-looming threat of the British East India Company. The Maharaja had spent 3 years fighting, what the locals called, kaali taar -- a soul-crushing skin disease leading to inevitable death. It was the epoch of uncertainty. Manikarnika had no one to turn to. Even the court’s advisors could not help her navigate ruling Jhansi under an already-ruled British India. 

“Rani Laxmibai?” Jhalkari entered her chambers, with a satin white Sari folded in her hand. Jhalkari was her most loyal confidant and had helped Manikarnika transition into the role of Rani Laxmibai. “The advisors are waiting in the Fort Hall. You must make haste. I hear growing talks of surrendering to the British when they arrive.” 

Manikarnika sighed. The image of her husband’s cremation burned the crevices of her mind. As each second passed, she could feel the British troop marching closer and closer, guns ready and canons ablaze. “Jhalkari… I am not strong enough.” 

Words of vulnerability were seldom expressed by Manikarnika, especially in the face of adversity. She had survived the death of her firstborn son, Damodar, who died at the age of four, for reasons unknown to everyone. Instead of mourning his death, she shed a single tear over the garden where they spread his ashes, vowing to protect the land where he lay since she could not protect him. 

Jhalkari cupped her shoulders and lifted her up to stand tall. “You are the Rani of Jhansi, and the only ruler we have to look to now. The country has been plagued by foreigners and they are coming for us. Do this, not for yourself, but for the women who will be raped. The children who will be abducted and the men who will be enslaved for generations to come.” 

A sense of duty blanketed Manikarnika as Jhalkari draped a bright yellow sari onto her instead of the traditional white. Mimicking the strength of the sun, she walked out the doors of her chambers, bidding adieu to the only life she had known. She mourned the death of, not only her husband but also the young Manikarnika who was a wife and a mother above all. Now, she was the Maharani - the queen, the one true ruler all of Jhansi looked to for guidance in such uncertain times. 

~ Fort Hall ~

“Memsahib please listen to us,” said one advisor. “Our army is not strong enough to take on the invaders.” 

“You fight us to protect Jhansi, but there will be no land left to protect if they take it all.” said another 

“The Maharaja would have made much better decisions” whispered another. 

Manikarnika scanned the room with her eyes, refusing to allow the tears of anxiety to ruin her kajal. She waited in silence as the chatter continued to grow louder, the advisors in a cocktail state of panic, confusion, and anger. As she was about to turn away, to give in to their demands, she noticed the intricate designs that plastered the walls of the Fort Hall. On them, were scriptures of an ancient Indian myth, the story of Ram and Sita. she focused her eyes on the panel that outlined a particular scene of Sita being burned alive from a fire set by her own husband, Ram, questioning her virtue. It was the constant badgering of Ram’s advisors that lead to Sita’s unjust death. Manikarnika had found her strength. 

“It is maharani to you, dear advisor. And I will do as I see fit for my kingdom,” she spoke, in a soft yet firm voice that caused the hall to fall silent. 

“For many years, we have sent only the men to battle. But I will not have my kingdom fall due to the outdated beliefs of our ancestors. I want all women who do not have children to be on the battleground alongside our men. The rest of the women will attend to the wounded.”

Manikarnika knew this would take everyone by surprise. But her mind was clear. 

Upon her signal, the guards rushed to the gates to give notice to the men and women of the city. The army general along with his men surrounded Manikarnika to strategize ways in which they could win the war against the British Army. 

As night fell, the plan was clear. Jhansi would fight for a better dawn and a stronger future. 

~ battlefield ~ 

When looked at from a distance, all that could be seen as a blanket of horses mounted by black shadows. The men of Jhansi stood at the first line of defense. The women, two rows behind with sharpened swords. Their long black hair was tied firmly in a bun while their black cloth waved like flags of death in the dusty wind. 

That's when they heard it. The rhythmic march of the British army approaching their beloved land. The gates of the fort trembled, but the men and women did not move a muscle. 

Manikarnika paced the balcony of the fort wall, watching the scene unfold as though it was a movie. She heard the faint whistle of a canon grow louder and louder until the metal ball of destruction hit the foot of the fort. This was followed by a deafening war cry by the people of Jhansi as they charged into the dusty abyss, leaving behind a trail of long-forgotten memories of peace. 

As time went by, the news of each fallen soldier reached the ears of Manikarnika. The Jhansi army was no match for the advanced techniques of the British. 

“Maharani, you must take Anand and get out of here,” said Jhalkari, packing her a jute bag to carry along. Anand was their two-year-old adopted son, whose claim to the throne was questioned by all, however, remained Manikarnika’s only priority after her land. 

Jhalkari wrapped Anand in a black cloth and tied it to Manikarnika’s stomach. “The British army has surrounded the back gates. The only way out is through the mainland,” said Jhalkari, dressing her in the disguise of the soldiers. She slung the jute bag over her shoulders and mounted a horse stationed inside the gates. Manikarni had no words or no time to process. She kicked the horse and it charged through the fort gates, into the war-filled land. 

Without any thoughts, she rode and kept riding as cries of death echoed on all sides of her. She rode through the sounds of heavy artillery, praying to all the Hindi Gods to not get shot. She rode through her own internal dialogue of remorse for the families she would leave behind. But she would come back for her people. This was a promise to her son and her land.