A Tigress in Disguise

Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks, carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak                                                                                                                                                              

But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.

“I am sick of this! I can’t take it anymore' she grunted loudly.

As she sat immersing her pale bare legs into the cool waters of the Godavari, a dead leaf came drifting by and struck to the velvety smoothness of her feet, making her shiver. Absentmindedly, she removed the leaf and set it afloat on the river and watched it till it disappeared out of sight.

“If only I could disappear from everyone’s sight like the leaf”, she thought vehemently and impulsively she decided to do just that. “And why can’t I? “Yes! That’s what I’ll do. I’ll run away, no, swim away from this godforsaken place. Nobody knows that I can swim and they’ll never think of looking for me in these waters”. She jumped up excitedly as a plan began forming in her mind.

She looked up around her, ensured that she was alone, and came out of her favourite spot by the banks of the Godavari, where the river curved gently a eastward forming a cosy nook hidden from the village road by a few jamun trees. Humming song softly Illa went home with a lighter heart. She would not wait; she would execute her plan tonight itself.

That night, Illa went to her quarters early pretending a headache and hurriedly packed her few belongings in a ‘potli’ and waited for night to fall. She lay down in her bed, her small breasts heaving as the dam that had been holding her tears broke down and rivulets of tears rolled down from her almond shaped eyes and wetted the neckline of her red ‘choli’. She controlled herself and tried to get some shut-eye before the time came for her to dive into the unknown waters of the future. She did not know, nor did she bother, about the next day. What will happen, will happen. She was not going to spoil the moment by thinking negative thoughts. The Godavari beckoned her. She tried to focus on the positive aspects of her action. But, try as she might, she could not stop her mind from drifting to events of the past that brought her to the present situation.

Illa was a beautiful child and a beloved of her parents and four elder brothers, though the girl child was frowned upon in their society. But her beauty was also a cause of concern to her family. The mughal armies of Adil Shah passed through their village regularly on their way to Paithan and the womenfolk had to be kept away from their lascivious eyes, lest they be taken away to be molested or (if they are extremely good-looking) to be given to Adil Shah to join his ever increasing harem of concubines.

The menace of the Muslim invaders had ended the glory days of the Vedic Age for the Indian woman and drove them behind the closed doors and long ‘ghunghats’. They were treated as mules, a beast of burden to be kicked and tortured without any rights and entitlements to a good life. Girls were barred from going to school or to take part in any activities besides looking after the household matters. Such evils as child-marriage, sati, dowry, etc., became rampant. Widows who had been leading active lives during the Vedic age and were allowed to re-marry were now treated with disdain and not allowed to remarry.

This became the bane of Illa’s life. As she grew up, her beauty enhanced. Her skin gleamed like the gold of the zari of a Paithani sari and a saffron tint highlighted her delicate cheek-bones. Her small oval face shone with the exuberance of her youth; thick, perfectly crescent shaped brows emanated from a point just above her sharp nose and looked down on a pair of almond shaped eyes, the colour of a dark moonless night and framed by sweeping lashes; her wine coloured, bow shaped lips hid a straight row of small pearly white teeth that shone like silver when her lips curled into an angelic smile. Long, ebony black hair hid the elegant swan shape of her slender neck and fell upon the gentle slope of her shoulders like the shadow of the moon on earth during the solar eclipse; a tiny waist rested on the swell of her ample hips which curved down into long slender legs. A sweet, bubbly personality to go with her alluring features endeared her to all who met her. But it also became a matter of concern for her family.

 “How long can we keep her hidden from the evil eyes of these mussalman devils?” her mother would lament.

“As long as we can!” her father determined. The apple of his eye, he was loathe to the idea of parting with her.

Unaware of such tensions, Illa grew up happy and carefree. There was only one thorn in the bed of roses that was her life- she was not allowed to go to school like her brothers. But she would not let that dampen her spirits. She cajoled her brothers to become her teachers and they agreed. She soaked up everything they taught him like a sponge. Soon she mastered the Vedas, the Upanishads and the Purans besides gaining knowledge in medicine, astronomy, philosophy and mathematics. But more then all these, she was much more interested in learning the art of horse-riding and warfare.

 Soon, too soon, for her doting father, her carefree days came to an end. At the age of 13 a dark red stain on the back of her “lugada” heralded the dark days of her life. She was confided within the courtyard of the house and not allowed to venture out alone, not even to the fields or to go for a swim in the banks of the Godavari. There was a desperate frenzy within the household. To find a suitable groom for their beloved Illa became the foremost priority of her whole family. A handsome groom of a favourable background was found and her marriage was fixed at the earliest date.

On the fateful day of her marriage, her groom never arrived. He fell off the horse he was riding on, on his way to claim his bride, broke his neck and died on the spot. Since then, Illa was considered a bad omen and shunned by the villagers. But her father remained the same. Pandurang Shinde,  opted to stand by his daughter even in the face of public ostracism. This led to many humiliating moments for her and her family. Being a cotton planter, this hampered Pandurang’s work also as nobody would come to work in his fields during the peak plucking season and he had to pay exorbitant price to hire people from other villages to pick cotton.

For 10 years Illa bore all this silently. But the events of the day before broke the dam of her tolerance and made her come to her present drastic decision. It involved her 4 brothers, who worked in Shivaji’s army. Her brothers were home, on furlough, to help their father in the cotton fields. In the evening, after finishing their work they went out to the village ‘chowk’ for refreshment and entertainment. A tamasha party was in town. However, some village youth barred them from entering the theatre saying that their family could not attend any village functions and were not allowed into any public places. A fight ensued. The lads got a good bashing from her brothers, but the village elders intervened and drove the four brothers’ away from the square with harsh words. The brothers came home dejected and later when Illa heard about the incident she felt very bad for them and ultimately came to her present decision of running away from home.

It was after mid-night when the village became still. Illa rose from her bed, took the potli and bade a silent goodbye to her parents and brothers. She prayed for their forgiveness and hoped they did not have to face any more humiliations. As she threw a last glance at the place where she was born and grew up in, past memories threatened to smother the life out of her.

 Then she ran. She ran fast and within a couple of minutes reached the hidden spot on the banks of the Godavari. She quickly tied the potli on her back, uttered a prayer to the Godavari to keep her safe and, without giving herself time for second thoughts, jumped into the river. Swimming for around an hour along with the current she ultimately came ashore at a place near a forested area. She had no idea where she was. Dawn was still a couple of hours away. Thoroughly tired, she scrambled up from the waters and entered the forest. Finding a secluded spot on the branches of a huge tree she let herself fall into a deep slumber.

She woke up to rays of the sun beating down strongly upon her and sharp pangs of hunger. Looking up around her she found herself sleeping on a mango tree, her potli serving as a pillow. As luck would have it, the tree was laden with ripe fruits. She thanked Vitthal and devoured a few mangoes till her hunger subsided. She swung her potli onto her left shoulder, climbed down from the tree, and found a forest trail that would lead her to a village. As she sauntered down the trail, her thoughts on what must be happening at home, she stumbled upon a group of soldiers camping in a clearing in the forest.

She quickly retreated behind some trees before anyone could spot her and observed the camp for some time. Except for a single woman who was preparing a meal and a little child playing in a muddy puddle, the rest were all males- young and virile. The relatively small number and the presence of the lone woman and child puzzled Illa as she knew Shivaji did not permit the soldiers to bring their concubines or family along with them during military operations to maintain order and discipline within the troops. As she was pondering on this, from the corner of her eyes she saw a slight movement on her right. She turned around and froze. Just a couple of feet away a leopard was slouching behind a bush and looking out towards the camp just as she was doing. Fear paralyzed her for a moment. But, the next moment, all the training given to her by her brothers came to her mind. She turned to look at the camp to see what had caught the attention of the big cat and her heart seemed to leap into her throat. The leopard was eyeing the small, dirty baby who was playing in the muddy puddle a little away from the elders who were busy with their job, unaware of the lurking danger. Intuitively she picked up a stone that was lying beside her and ran silently towards the child, all the while keeping an eye on the leopard. She reached the child, yelled a warning to the elders and flung the child towards them just as the leopard leapt into the air and landed exactly where the child had been. A hidden maternal instinct made her look back for an instant to see if the child had been caught safely or not. Assured of the child’s safety, she gave her full attention to the danger that now faced her. Angered that it had been robbed of its meal, the leopard turned its wrath upon Illa and with a ferocious growl sprung towards her, aiming for her throat. Seeing the leopard’s intention in his eyes, where she was focusing her full attention as she had been taught to do by her brothers, Illa arched her back and balanced herself with her left hand as the leopard missed his aim and flew past her head and landed with a thud behind her. Without missing a beat, both Illa and the leopard turned towards each other and stood still for a moment each regarding and trying to estimate the next move of the other. The leopard snarled once, baring its sharp teeth, probably in an attempt to intimidate Illa. Illa shifted from one foot to the other in a lithe movement, in an attempt to distract the leopard. Her ruse worked. Thinking that Illa was about to make a move, the leopard jumped towards her. Illa was ready for it. Just as the leopard fell on her, she raised her right hand which had been clutching the sharp stone she had picked up while running towards the child, and drove the stone with tremendous force into the right eye of the leopard. The leopard screeched in pain as blood spurted out of the wounded eye and it fell back rolling on the ground in pain. By that time one of the soldiers, who were watching the scene spellbound, had regained enough sense to get his gun and shoot the beast before it could rise up and charge towards anyone of them in a mad rage. The bullet entered the exposed chest of the cat and went right through the lung, crushing the rib-bones on its way and killing the beast instantly. Blood frothed from its mouth and its lean body twitched a couple of times and suddenly it lay still, dead.

For a few moments after that an eerie silence ensued, as the soldiers looked on warily at the lying beast as if it would spring to life once again and come charging at them. When they were assured that it was really dead, they focused their attention on Illa who was trying to regain her composure. The mother of the little baby rushed to Illa, fell on her knees and clutching Illa’s ankles thanked her profusely for saving the little child, her first-born. The soldiers too came and offered their salutations to her and admired her courage and wit. Then the questions started pouring in: Who was she? Where did she come from? What was she doing here in the jungles? Were there no males accompanying her? And so on and so forth. 

She made up a story on the spot. She was the wife of a soldier in Shivaji’s army whose husband had gone missing after the raid of the mughal territory in Ahmednagar and she had come searching for him when she got lost in these forests. She came from a military family and so was trained in warfare and also in nursing the sick and wounded. Then, assuming a ‘lost lamb’ look she asked them deploringly,

“I am sick and tired of looking for my husband and I have no other family. Please allow me to join you all. I can cook and clean your clothes. I can also treat the wounded during war-times. I will find a purpose for my meaningless life and hopefully, one day, I may also find my husband”.

The men immediately denied her request saying women were not allowed into their troops and this rule was strictly followed by all or else repercussions were very severe.

“Then what is she and the child doing here”? Illa asked indignantly, pointing at the woman who now held the child in her arms.

 “We are not at war now”, one of the soldiers, clearly the leader of the group and husband of the woman, spoke up defensively. “We are from Mungi and had been home on furlough and now we are going back to join our duty. She’s my wife, Mrigaya, from Ahmednagar and while I am away on duty she and my child will be staying with her parents and so she is accompanying us till Ahmednagar”, he explained.

Illa was crest-fallen. Then again she brightened up as a plan formed in her mind.

“I have a way around this, if only you are game and just a little daring”, she challenged the soldiers.

“OK! Let’s hear your plan”, the leader enjoined, nettled that a woman was daring him.

“I could dress up as a man, as the men in the tamashas do for female roles, and join your troop as a cook. When needed I can fight and treat the wounded too.”

The men were stunned and impressed by her ingenuity. They felt trapped. Saying no would mean losing the challenge and admitting that they were not daring enough. While if they agreed to her plan and were somehow caught they would be severely punished. More than anything else, Illa’s suggestion appealed to the recklessness of the youth in them and they agreed to take her with them. The men at last conceded, saying that as she had saved the little child, they were morally bound to help her in return and that they also admired her valour. And so she stayed.

After reaching Ahmednagar the soldiers escorted Mrigaya to her parent’s place and after light refreshments they continued their journey to Poona. Illa had changed her appearance at Mrigaya’s place. She cut off her long ebony hair and topped it with a red turban. Donning the Maratha soldier’s dress of full sleeved white Barabandi, a knee length tuman, stout leather Vahana on her feet and sporting a luxuriant mustache over her delicate lips, she tagged on along with them to join her beloved Shivaji’s army.

This was the turning point in her life. She managed to convincingly convey herself as a young man and pass the tough recruitment process required to join the army. In every battle from then on she fought valiantly along with the males and took as many battle scars as any other male soldier. At the end of the day when the battles ceased, she would look after the injured and heal their wounds. The soldiers who brought her in remained in awe of her and became like her brothers. Tales of her courage spread through the ranks and amongst the different troops. All the while she very carefully hid her identity.

When Jai Singh laid siege to Purandar fort, Illa fought bravely alongside her adopted brothers.  The Marathas emerged from the fort to fall upon Jai Singh’s Mughal armies in the trenches they had built outside the fort. Hand to hand fights ensued. Though the Maratha’s fought valiantly, they ultimately lost the fort to Jai Singh’s huge army. Illa was killed while staving off an attack on their gallant Commandant, Murar Baji, who tried to defend the fort till his last breath but ultimately gained martyrdom and became immortal in Maratha history.

Illa remained unknown in the annals of history. But she did change her destiny and from a non-entity, derided by an entire village for no fault of hers, she became known as a great warrior and healer among the troops of Shivaji’s army.