Book excerpt: In Life and Death of Sambhaji, a peek into the court of the Maratha ruler and whether he lived up to Shivaji's legacy

Author Medha Deshmukh Bhaskaran’s latest novel Life and Death of Sambha ji tells the story of the illustrious Sambhaji, from dealing with the Maratha-Mughal conflict at a young age to becoming Chhatrapati soon after, and from tackling battles and palace intrigues to preparing for Aurangzeb’s descent on the Deccan. Will he be able to protect the Maratha empire and the Swaraj that was his father Chhatrapati Shivaji’s dream?

The following excerpt from Medha Deshmukh Bhaskaran’s book Life and Death of Sambha ji is reproduced here with permission from the publisher, Penguin Random House India.

*** Henry pens down the details of the coronation in his diary. The date is 6 June 1674. He writes about the invincibility of the Maratha capital, the grandeur and the religious ceremonies. He does not realize this will go on to be regarded as a vital document in describing the coronation of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj in the centuries to come. What Henry knows, however, is that his meeting with the crown prince Sambhaji is to take place the next day. It is for letting the English do their business peacefully in the Maratha territory. Henry has done his homework—the prince has been raised as a warrior, to command and even to be a general, if need be. He has been a Mughal mansabdar from the age of seven and has been to the Mughal terrain several times in his young life. He was even left behind in Mathura for the safe escape of his father from Agra. Other than that, the prince is a scholar of the ancient language Sanskrit. He is married to the daughter of a warrior, Yesu Bai, an intelligent and gritty young lady. The meeting is held the next day in the ministers’ chamber, which is on the left side of the coronation courtyard. It is a large room with pillared windows overlooking the valley below. Sambhaji walks in, followed by three ministers Henry saw on the coronation platform. One of them is the peshwa, the chief minister in Shivaji’s council of eight ministers. The other two are the dabir, the minister of external affairs, and the surnees, the minister of land revenue. Henry bends slightly to show respect to the new prince. Henry is a tall man but even he has to look up at the prince. The peshwa takes the lead. Henry wants to know if the Marathas will compensate for the Rajapur storehouses destroyed by them and reduce the tax collected on salt entering the Maratha territory. The ministers are stern, making it clear that the salt tax will be collected, some compensation will be given for the loss at Rajapur but the English will not be allowed to build any fortifications on Maratha terrain. Shenvi is busy translating and Henry trusts his interpretations. Henry wants to hear Sambhaji’s voice. He looks directly at Sambhaji and asks, ‘Yuvraj, how did the elephants climb the steep hill to reach the fort?’ Sambhaji’s eyes light up with a smile for a fraction of a second when he says, ‘They were brought up when they were still calves—in specially made cages.’ Henry comments wryly, ‘When you are young and little, you are taken wherever people want to take you—you cannot do much against it, can you?’ Sambhaji is quick to understand and quicker to answer. ‘Is that so? You are older and wiser—you must know more than I do.’ Henry is taken aback but persists with a question he has in mind. ‘Your Highness, what does your father—the Lord of the Chhatra, the new king of these lands—think is the most important thing for your new nation?’ There’s a spark of an unknown fire in Sambhaji’s eyes. The Maratha prince replies, ‘Without doubt, the morale of our people.’ Henry will never forget that answer and the look in those eyes. * Eleven days after the coronation, Rajmata Jijau breathes her last. All through the years, the women of the household have lived under the watchful eyes of Jijau. Her death shakes the entire Bhosale family of Chhatrapati Shivrai. The moral leash on womanly jealousies felt for their husband’s other wives and their children is gone and things start changing. The atmosphere at home has turned acerbic, as if someone has thrown a bowl of curd in the milk of the family’s happiness. Soyara has taken Jijau’s place. Who can say anything against Soyara? She is the queen consort and has a son, Ram Raja, who is thirteen years younger than Sambhaji.   Sambhaji, along with his young wife Yesu, regularly visits his three stepmothers—Soyara, Putala and Sakwar—who live in the queens’ palace, Daruni Mahal at Raigad fort. During one such visit, as soon as Sambhaji and Yesu enter Soyara’s privy chamber, she welcomes them with great exuberance, seating them on her divan. Immediately she breaks into tears, saying, ‘Jijau Bai Sahib’s last rites reminded me of Yuvraj’s last rites performed by his father after the Agra escape.’ ‘That was to fool Aurangzeb,’ Sambhaji says, his face flushed. ‘Whatever the reason, performing the last rites of a person who is alive is inauspicious. Our last rites hand over the dead one’s atman to the universe. What if the universe claims the person’s soul because it was offered to it?’ ‘Do you mean Aba Sahib has made a mistake? Are you driving a wedge between us?’ Sambhaji snaps. ‘Are you suggesting that I am going to lose my soul because the universe wants to reclaim what was offered to it once and was denied?’ ‘I am your mother and I worry about you.’ Soyara Ma looks terribly hurt at the accusation. ‘You need not worry about me, Soyara Ma Sahib. I still have my father.’ Sambhaji does not want to hold back. Soyara starts sobbing and everyone gathered around sees only a mother, hurt and wailing, and a son, angry and raging—a monster. A year goes by. Most of the time, Shivrai is in the Konkan, establishing the Maratha navy. In the meantime,  Sambhaji remains at Raigad fort and is soon known for his anger and impulsive behaviour. A young man who does not deserve to be a crown prince. * Behind the ministers’ offices, adjacent to the Chhatrapati’s court on Raigad fort, is an antechamber without windows. It has a staircase that goes down to a tiny vault of a room lit by a lone earthen lamp. Surnees Anna Datto whispers while leaning towards Peshwa Moroji Pinglay, ‘We have made it happen.’ ‘We invented the system of agricultural revenue collection so that watandars are made redundant,’ Datto says as he curls his moustache and removes his pagri. Pinglay has become bulkier with age. He shifts awkwardly to show his discomfort. The conversation is heading where Pinglay does not want to go. ‘Shivrai wanted to do away with the watandari system,’  Datto says. Pinglay nods. He knows that watandars are born to the soil, with hereditary rights to collect agricultural revenue. The deshmukhs and the patils, the high-born bullies, are getting richer, generation after generation, fleecing peasants, building fortresses and keeping private armies. Shivrai wants their hereditary rights taken away and people appointed on merit, to be paid directly from the nation’s treasury. ‘We, with our hard work, visited village after village, measured lands, considered natural disasters and calculated loans for farm tools, animals and seeds. We fixed the new rules of revenue collection, subduing the watandars by taking away their ancestral rights.’ Datto says, running his hand over his tonsured head. His large black eyes search Pinglay’s face, as if trying to read his mind. Pinglay lowers his gaze, lest he gives away how much he hates being part of this conversation. It is true that they have done all of the above—but under the guidance of Shivrai, who has a vision no one has. ‘For centuries, emperors and kings have depended on their mansabdars and jagirdars to maintain their cavalry. Most of the kingdom’s land remains in these people’s hands and they rule the way they wish, sometimes becoming more powerful than the king himself. We are changing the system—we are trying to employ cavalrymen, infantrymen as well as seamen, paying them directly from our treasury, making the jagirdari system redundant.’  Datto wants full credit. ‘We—you and I—have made it happen,’ Datto continues vehemently, nodding meaningfully at Pinglay as if to relay that he is also protecting the latter’s interest. ‘You are telling me what I already know, unless you want to reinforce the facts to support whatever you want to propose,’ Pinglay retorts, but not without a hint of guilt on his face. Datto lets the silence grow between them.