46. A Salesian in Town
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| Father Anthony saying mass in our village |
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| Chittorgarh- detail of fortress from where the Maharanas of Mewar reigned mainly from 1261 to 1567 now in disuse © ars studio |
Miracles are Commonplace It was still cold enough to light a fire this morning- a real fire that is. I thought I’d specify that because in the 21st century lighting fires means turning on a switch of some sort. This is a fire with real ashes and logs, just like back in the middle ages. As I was grating up the ashes in my night shirt I thought about the other day when I stumbled into the confessional box and found a dark face staring back at me. He must have been from southern India because they are lighter skinned in the north. Anyway, apart from telling him I was a rotten Christian and had no idea when my last confession was which made him react with mirth I asked him where he was from and he said Bombay- I’m sure he said that and not Mumbay and his English was so beautifully perfect that I wondered which planet he had been dropped from.
Of course I had to tell him I was writing a history of Rajasthan but had no idea what to do with it. He then told me he was a Salesian and my mind jerked with pleasant astonishment as the founder of his Order was Francis de Sales who is the patron Saint of writers… of journalists- could I have landed in better hands. “Do the Salesians publish things?” was for me imperative to ask. His eyes opened up wide… “Oh yes… lots of things… they could help you divulgate it…” Could anyone ask for more.... “They could keep the proceedings,” I said ecstatic, “build a nursery… a school- the history belongs to India and it should be theirs.” I gave him my card, which he tucked inside his breviary.
Today
Since then I had heard nothing from him again and it was not until one night late last summer when my sister and I invited the local priests to dinner that I asked them what had happened to Fr Anthony. The reply was not all that clear but I got the impression that this Father Anthony would appear once more in our village sooner or later. And on Christmas Eve or thereabouts I stumble once again into the confessional and guess who stares back at me? Indeed Father Anthony! So this time I decided I would not let go- he had to come and see my history of Rajasthan.
So up he comes (I live on a hill) and he starts flicking his fingers through the half done narrative spanning fifteen hundred years of Rajasthani history- there was a righteous hush in the room, only the spitting of the fire interrupted the ticking of the seconds. Suddenly a bout of laughter cracked the silence- I stared at him affronted, how could he laugh at all my hard work!
“What’s the matter?” I scowled.
“ I wonder why you haven’t published this yet… That’s exactly what they would have said! Look at this bit here…” he pointed to the part where Maharana Raimal had already chosen his cousin Jesa to succeed him thinking all his sons that mattered, including the Great Sanga, were dead. He began to read:
Meanwhile Jaimal, the Maharana’s second born, another hot headed youth, dedicated most of his exploits to the women’s quarters, until a Solanki Rajput put an end to Jaimal’s temporal existence when the latter expressed the desire to put his hands on the Solanki’s daughter. Raimal thinking his first three sons dead racked his brains as what to do. “This is my thirty-sixth year as Ruler of Mewar, I’m not as young as I used to be,” Raimal one day lamented to his faithful Rajputs and Elders, who could do nothing but nod their heads in agreement. “And I have no heir…”
“But Sire, you have ten other sons left!” Ajja said.
“And eleven queens!” Sajja added with a gleam.
“No,” Raimal said firmly, “Prithvi, Jaimal and Sanga are all dead in order to get the throne… I’ll have no other son on this throne when I’m gone,” Raimal said thoughtfully as he looked across to his young and perhaps not too bright cousin Jesa as a possible heir.
“But Sanga’s body has never been found, he may still be alive,” Ajja said.
“How I wish- he would have made a great Maharana even with only one eye…” Raimal said stung with regret, “but after Prithvi killed his great uncle where would Sanga find protection? He has probably been torn apart by the wild beasts in the forest.”
“I think not, Sire,” Ajja began…
“How’s that?” Raimal questioned, quite puzzled, “Have you any intelligence on the matter.”
“There is talk of a great warrior in the south east of Ajmer who is at the service of the Paramar chief of Srinagar…”
“And...?” Raimal demanded.
“This warrior alone has stopped his chief’s lands from being annexed… A savage lion against the Delhi Sultan…”
“That must be Sanga!” Raimal whispered to himself. “Who is this chief? The name of the Chief!”
“Rao Karamchand, Sire.”
“Go to him, find this chief… offer him lands, wives, elephants… anything! But bring back Sanga!”
“I thought you wanted me to sit on the Gaddi, cousin…” Jesa said, suddenly waking up.
“You’ll find yourself sitting on a cactus, if you are not careful,” one of the court Elders snapped.
“My cousin Sanga cannot sit on the throne…”
“Oh,” Raimal said with a threatening look, “and why is that not to be?”
“He’s a crippled…” Jesa yelled childishly. “Sanga has no eye, no hand and no teeth…”
“You’ll soon have no balls- if you don’t keep quiet,” the Maharana admonished.
“It’s true… A disabled Ruler can’t sit on the throne of Mewar. It’s the law!” Jesa insisted.
“You’ll be more than disabled if you say another word!” the Elder said grabbing Jesa by the back of his neck and hurling him out of the tent.
So it was that Sanga was brought back to the Mewar court and with him came the chief, Rao Karamchand, from whom he would not be separated and who was made a member of the Mewar Government. On May 24th of Raimal’s 36th year reign, at the death of his father, Sanga sat on the Gaddi and became, disabled or not, Mewar’s Fiftieth Ruler.
“The kids could have a bit of fun with this at school, I guess.”
“The beauty is,” he answered, “it’s all true!”
© 2007 Eva Ulian – The best of the worstPermission is granted to make limited use of articles in
this blog in your own e-zine, web site or classroom as long as
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By Eva Ulian: Impressionist Painter- Writer
Comments
I think Don Bosco is the founder of the religious order known as the Salesians of Don Bosco. Don Bosco wanted St Francis de Sales to be the patron of his Order and desired that the memebrs be called Salesians.... But after Don Bosco's death and his canonisation, those guys called themselves SDB (Salesians of Don Bosco).
Eva