Tragic Love Story of Rajula and Malusahi

Blood Red Message | 2
BLOOD RED
MESSAGE
Story of Rajula Malusahi
GIRDHAR JOSHI

Blood Red Message: Story of Rajula Malusahi, English, Novel
First published in India in December 2016
Indi Books
Copyright © Girdhar Joshi, 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences
are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance with the any person, living or dead,
organization, or events may be purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in
any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
or any other) without the prior written permission of the writer.
Any person who acts unauthorized in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
ISBN: ………
Cover Concept: Girdhar Joshi
Cover Design: Salman Khan
Typeset in Georgia, 11pt
Printed at: ….., Mumbai

Dedicated to My Mother
Parvati,
Who, Like Ganguli, Mother of Rajula,
Helplessly Cried for Her Son,
Most of Her Life

Foreword
While I was working on my book Khwab Ek Udta Hua Parinda
Tha, I came across lots of information about Rajula and
Malushahi. I listened to a number of old and new versions. The
tale had a tremendous freshness and novelty. Even after a perusal
of those umpteen of mythological stories and commentaries, I
cannot pinpoint the exact origin where this love story came into
circulation from.
In fact, every region has its own history. So has the Himalayan
region of Uttarakhand too. But, history does not give an authentic
background to it. History’s silence over any such issues gives birth
to folk tales and conjectures and pushes back reality into obscurity
and oblivion. At some level, it is detrimental to local culture and
customs too.
In 12th century A.D, the region in the story was ruled by Katyuri
kings of Kumaon. Their capital was Lakhanpur, Bairath. However,
when it concerns Malushahi, then even history is at a loss. This
moving and heart-rending tale is so deeply ingrained in the
consciousness of the people that one feels that there must have
been something of that sort in reality too. I feel this mystery must
be cleared up. After going through numerous versions of Rajula-
Malushahi, one feels Malushahi, the protagonist, is not at all a
historical character. He is just a myth! This poignant tale tells us
how love creeps stealthily into the inmost depths of the hearts of
Rajula and Malushahi and burgeons there, hidden from the
general view.

There is a pleasant surprise and coincidence that in the very same
continuation now Girdhar Joshi has taken up this love story in his
novel Blood Red Message. He has viewed the story from a new
angle and written in a new perspective. Cleverly, he has woven up
his fictional creation with a yarn of contemporary references. It
vindicates the author’s own rendering of theme and tale. His
portrayal of region and characters is somewhat similar to those
that we find in some earlier narratives of the tale; and, yet, this
creative production has an architectonic exclusiveness of tone and
variety. Its highly individualistic approach is its real strength.
Further, what distinguishes this novel is its intrinsic fluidity. I
congratulate the novelist for his innovative structure of the work.
For me Rajula-Malushahi has been an exotic love story that takes
you into a dreamlike world. All the same, I feel, Girdhar Joshi puts
it up before readers of the English novels with an entirely new
flavor. He has given a dramatic expansion to this folk tale of
Kumaon.
I am sure that readers will love this artistic creation.
New Delhi Dr. Harisuman Bisht
17-October-2016

About The Author
Born in 1963 and brought up in Chanch village of Almora district
in picturesque Uttarakhand, India, Girdhar Joshi did his early
education in the village. After completing schooling from Govt
Inter College Naikan Paisia and G.I.C. Manila in 1981, he migrated
to Delhi in search of fodder. He received his bachelor degree in
commerce from Delhi University in 1986 and subsequently earned
Diploma in Business Management form IGNOU and master
degree in Business Administration from Punjab Technical
University. He started his career with a government job in New
Delhi in 1983 and quit the job in 1998 to start business in software
development, which still earns him his bread.
Girdhar Joshi has already published many books which include
fiction and non-fiction. His books on management and
information technology, Information Technology for Retail
(2009) and Management Information Systems (2013) have been
published by Oxford University Press, New Delhi. IT For Retail,
another business solutions book was published in 2012 by Vikas

Publishers. His first fiction Some Mistakes Have No Pardon, a
fictionalized life-story was published in May 2014. Later, Bedoul
Kataran, a collection of Hindi poetry was also printed.
Now, Blood Red Message: Story of Rajula Malusahi is another
attempt to recreate the tale of two lovers of yesteryears.

Preface
Story of Rajula and Malusahi (also spelt as Malushahi) is a
classical love story told and retold in the Kumaon region of
Uttarakhand for centuries. The story belongs to one of those tragic
romance-tales like Sohani Mahiwal, Heer Ranjha, etc. Folksingers
sing the story in a ballad form. Grannies narrate it to their sleepy
kids on the chilly winter nights in the Himalayan region. Religious
invokers of deities chant the story and invoke their deities. This
has been going on for centuries.
Passed on to the new generation with words of mouth, therefore,
the story has many versions. Many distortions to suit the changing
time, ethos, and environments. Though the story is revered as a
story of their ancestors, story of Katyur deities by the Kumaoni
people, yet, the distortions are not termed as sacrileges. There is
no direct religious connotation to the story.
Though the events said to be belonged to 12th century, there is no
available ancient written record of this supposedly historical facts.
Thus, many contemporary writers don’t attribute the story to be
part of any authentic history of the hills. In the known recent
history, the first attempt to present the story in a ballad form was
made by Mohan Upreti, theater director, composure, and play-
writer, in the year 1980, when it was published by Sangeet Natak
Akademi, with the tilte Malushahi: The Ballad of Kumaon.
Another well-researched attempt was made by Dr. Sher Singh
Pagati by publishing the story in the form of a novel in Hindi. But
this book is not available in the market to the readers and
researchers. Dr. Harisuman Bisht, noted Hindi writer has

presented the story in Khwab Ek Udta Hua Parinda Tha, which is
well appreciated by the readers. Madan Mohan Sati has also
rewritten tale of Rajula-Malusahi in a short story form. The first
attempt to write this story in English language was made by Deepa
Agarwal in Rajulaa and the Web of Danger, which is primarily
targeted at the adolescent readers.
What made me to re-write the story?
Well, I wanted to present the story in a form which would be
appealing to the new generation, conforming to the new ethos, and
believable in the new socio-politico-cultural environment. The
various versions of the story available till now, written or verbal,
rely too much on the black magic events in the story. If the
protagonists resort on magic every now and then, things become
easy. Anybody can do anything. I have done away with the magic
part and pulled the story ahead with thrust of individual
character’s wits, imagery, and strength. Though at many instances
the protagonists fall frey to and bear the torments at the hands of
villains. Secondly, in many versions, the story is propelled by
dreams. In the contemporary milieu, one will never chase an
unknown lover who just appears in dreams. The new generation
wouldn’t like to believe that a female protagonist strived and
encountered life threatening dangers to find a man who just
happened to appear in her dreams. I have given a new dimension
to the dreams. Lastly, some versions of the story end with ‘then
they happily lived thereafter’. But given the belief that the story is
based on real life events happened one millennium ago, it could
not be just a happy ending that the story persisted so long. All the
love stories worldwide which transcended the time barrier were,
invariably, tragic love stories. Be it Sohni Mahiwal, Heer Ranja,
Romeo-Juliet, or many more stories based on tragic eternal love.

Thus I can dare say that I have tried to be little realistic in this
matter, while believing in and maintaining the characterization as
appears in folklores and ballads.
Hope readers will appreciate this effort.
Author

**1**
‘Come on, brothers and sisters, ladies and gentlemen…’ she
almost shouted and clapped to attract attention of people
around her.
People started to stop by. She clapped again to attract more
crowds.
‘Just look at the game you may not have ever seen…’ she
said and waved her magic wand to bystanders trying to guess
the game.
‘Hey, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunties, I am Rajula.’
She introduced herself and greeted the audience with her
bewitching smile. Bells rang in the hearts of many young lads
staring at her.
‘I am here to show a magic game. A really black-magic
from Bengal … you will love.’ She said while circling on the mat
she had laid on the dusty ground.
‘Can someone help me please? Can any guy come over the
stage?’ She asked and tapped her fingers. There was some
bustle among the boys but none volunteered.
‘Hey, I’m not gonna kill you boys, nor will I abduct you to
my Bhot. Come on, help me in the play. This is a simple trick of
magic, best-a harmless one.’ She snapped her fingers to create a

sound and cajoled the hesitant boys, ‘anyone…anyone… anyone
who is brave and, of course, who has fed on his mother’s breast
milk.’ She laughed loud and men and women cheered her.
As she laughed, her pearly teeth jetted over the pinky gums
shone. The lasso was a mesmerizing beauty displaying her
magic tricks. Petite, beautiful, slender girl stood in the centre of
the circle, waved her hand, smiled an enormous smile before
she performed her magic. The seductively pretty girl in her
teens wore a black half vest coat over red attire. A shiny
necklace of colorful stone beads dangled on her neck. A red
scarf tied back to her head. Striking features: the broad jaws;
parrot pretty nose; dark globe eyes; dangling long mane. Traps
enough for young men to fall for.
Before Rajula could insist more, a young handsome lad
walked up to her.
‘Thank you…thank you, young man.’ Rajula said with
confidence and looked straight into the eyes of the handsome
lad. ‘So you are who was breast fed.’
The lad missed a beat, as boys and girls squatting and
standing on the ground giggled. Rajula opened her bag and
pulled a peacock feather out. She signaled the boy to squat on
the ground on a small mat. He obeyed like a hypnotized
student. She pulled a black bed-sheet cloth from her bag and
covered the boy with it from head to toe. Rajula encircled the
feather a few times over the head of her prey and uttered a few
phrases undecipherable for the audience but magic mantra for
the performer. The entire audience watched with curiosity.

‘Li’l punchi nihar…aizza sua bhyar’. Rajula uttered her
mantra a couple of times and pulled the cloth-sheet out. Lo and
behold, the lad had been transformed in to a bird. A lovely grey
dove with dotted checkered feathers and a bead-printed neck
muttered and cooed ghu-ghu-ti ghu-ghu-ti as Rajula caressed
the bird.
The valley of Bageshwar resonated with clapping and
sounds of wah-wah and wow-wow. Rajula greeted the audience
with folded hands and bowed in reverence to the masters and
gurus who passed on the unwritten knowledge to generations
after generations since centuries.
As the congregation still clapped, she cajoled the dove to
make a round encircling her in the magical show. The bird did.
Then she picked it, held the lovely bird in her palms, caressed
it, and kissed it. The men in the congregation witnessing the
show envied the dove.
‘So, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, grannies and
grandpas, you have just seen the black-magic of Bengal. The
boy is no more a boy. You see. But I will have to return the boy
in good health and shape lest his parents come and beat me up.’
The magician damsel grinned and declared.
The magician perched the dove on the small wooden box
on the mat and pulled the black cloth over it, the bird hidden
beneath the cloth. Again, she encircled her magical feather a
couple of times over it, uttered her mantras and the cloth
started bulging. As she removed the piece of cloth from the
bulging figure, a hale and healthy lad appeared beneath it. Once

again, the valley of Bageshwar resonated with claps among the
din and bustle of a fairly fair of Uttaraini.
Rajula, the magician, gently held the boy’s hands and
helped him stand up on the mat. They magician and her prey
giggled while the audience was still clapping, mesmerized, and
awestruck. The audience was awestruck with the magic trick
but the stranger lad was awestruck with the beauty and brains
of his mistress of the moment, who possessed the powers to
manipulate men into chickens and vice versa.
Before the attractive lad could walk off the stage, two pairs
of lovely eyes met, one pair clandestinely thanking the other;
two hearts skipped a beat, ah, two beats together; cool breeze
carrying daffodil fragrance from southern hill caused a strand
of curly hair flutter on the forehead of the angelic beauty; the
sun god splurged warmth into that cold evening of Makar
Sankranti festival, when the big star moved into auspicious
time, auspicious region, and auspicious field of energy.
‘I am Malusahi from Bairath. Could you please see me at
the confluence of rivers downstream? At the sunset. I will wait.’
The lad just mumbled which only Rajula had deciphered. He
walked away without waiting for an answer.
The crowd started dispersing. Rajula couldn’t resist
something her heart pressed her to do. She looked back.
Malusahi was gazing her from a distance. Two pairs of eyes
met. Two hearts palpitated together. Undeciphered and
unexplained signals flew. Something inexplicable happened
which only lovers of the world, that and this, knew. Mouths
shut, no verbal communication, but eyes spoke and hearts

listened. Many emotions, like love and hate, don’t need words.
Feelings of the heart are translated and transmitted through
non-verbal communication. Silence becomes the language of
love. In fact, love is better communicated through silence.
Words are impotent to express it. Centuries back when
vocabulary was trivial, hearts communicated their feelings.
And, they did exactly the same manner as they do a few
thousand years later. Men and women so thronged with
gadgets to communicate, but hardly anything of the substance
of heart to communicate. May be because of modern gadgets,
the mankind has lost the subtlety of a heart to heart
communication.
Rajula Sauk from Bhot Desh performed her magic game in
the Uttaraini Fair. The event was organized for seven days
beginning the day when sun entered the northern hemisphere.
And, it manifested social ethos and showcased health,
happiness, and hopes. A huge congregation of men, women,
and children dressed in colorful ethnic attire gathered on the
vast grounds beside the Baghnath Temple in Bageshwar, every
year. The annual ritual of festivities on the confluence of two
major rivers, Saryu and Gomti, portrayed a splendid picture of
the men, milieu, and multitudes of hills of Kumaon. Men
attired in black jacket over white narrow pajama invariably
sported a black caps. January winter of those hills necessitated
woolen scarf, colored or gray, black or white, wrapped around
necks to thwart off the chill of a Himalayan winter. Men in
black and white contrasted with equally dazzling colors worn by

the womenfolk. Women dressed like brides with colorful head-
scarves, dangling earrings, diamond studded large gold nose-
ring, and gorgeously gigantic long skirts which had as many
colors as flowers in the valley of Bageshwar. While young
women chuckled around in the Fair, wearing skintight blouses
and overweight silver neck-rings, the old ladies preferred back
jackets over their long blouses. The fair of Uttaraini was a much
sought after festival for children who pranced around the shops
selling sweets, pakoras, teddy toys, and offered games. Spark in
their eyes, spring in their feet, they jostled for everything new
in the space.
The Uttaraini Fair offered something to everyone. This was
a means of trading and shopping for men, a means of
unwinding for women, and means of entertainment for
children. Everyone, rich or poor, king or wretched, healthy or
sick, glowing young or wrinkled oldies, attended such fairs
which were integral part of social life of the hill populace.
People sang, they danced, they gossiped. Artists displayed
their skills: gamers, magicians, humorists, musicians, flutists,
drummer, and singers all around. While children relished
winding mesh of jalebi-sweets and spicy red aloo-gutak, young
men and women sung in chorus, holding each-other’s hands.
While a flutist mesmerized people at one place, the chorus
singers sang and danced in a circle, holding each others’ hands.
A chorus song echoed in tandem with the splash of water in the
river below.
Don’t sing, O lovely Dove

A saddening song on the Cedar trees,
It reminds me of my motherland
And the warm southern breeze!
I miss my mother’s warm hug
The roasted rice and my land,
I miss the Lily, the Buransh,
The Ganges, and the sand!
‘Raju, it’s enough for the day.’ A grubby voice startled
Rajula.
She was obviously lost in the melodious tune of the song.
But her thoughts were entangled over the events after her own
magic show. A magic show where she considered herself a
magician. But that day someone else proved a master of it. She
had lost her heart to someone, who didn’t pretend to be a
magician.
‘Sure, Ba. I have finished now.’ Rajula startled and tersely
said as she confronted her father, Sunpati Sauk.
Sunpati Sauk, the doting father, had permitted Rajula to
display her skills in magic that year, as she was growing young.
And, a loving father’s heart rejoiced seeing his cynosure of eyes
perform and get applauds from the crowd. He was busy selling
his goods in the adjoining stall. Sauk was a rich trader from
Bhot, migrated and settled in the Burang valley of Tibet near
the Pithoragharh boarder of Uttarakhand. He participated
every year in the Uttraini Fair, which attracted traders from
Tibet, Kumaon, Garhwal, and western parts of Nepal. The fairs
were not only medium of entertainment and socializing, but

regular events that boosted trade and business. Traders from
Bhot, southern region of Tibet, brought ponies, goats, sheep,
furs, deer-horns, musk pods, borax, rock salt, etc. and bartered
their goods with cloths, jaggery, honey, and dry fruits from
traders of Kumaon.
‘It’s nearing sunset. Help your mother in taking the goats
and horses to their shed. Okay? No-doubt-about-that?’ He
thundered, softly.
Rajula obeyed. She had no courage to ask her father for
permission to go to the riverside, that too all alone.
Sunpati, along with his small family, like other traders
from Bhot, Uttarakhand, and Nepal had camped in the fair
ground. As the sun became invisible beyond the western Dhura
Hills, traders started bonfire in front of their tents to ward off
the chill of January.
Malusahi waited for Rajula while his horse slurped water in
the confluence of River Saryu and Gomati. He sat on a high
rock at the confluence, his eyes incessantly roving around to see
what his heart believed in. Would she, wouldn’t she? She
Would, his heart said. As he waited, and waited, the wait
became intolerable, Rajula still not in sight. Every second
passed like a year; he pulled out his flute from his waistband.
Waiting for an unknown magician damsel, he played a sweet
mesmerizing note that set rhythm with the splash on the rocks,
the cold breezes on the pine trees, and the murmur of bees in
bougainvilleas.

**2**
Among the festivities of the Uttaraini Fair, the warming
sunlight in the mountainous cold January, the soaring spirits of
the colorful fair-visitors, the enticing fragrance of the
omnipresent saffron colored jalebi, and the spicy aroma of salty
potatoes, Sunpati Sauk the prudent trader caressed his horses
with his traderly love and care. As his hands slipped over the
hairy hide of his livestock, it shone with extra glare. The
enigmatic smile on his face testified his appreciation for his
goods what he looked at with pride. Ganguli, his wife assisted
him in displaying their inventory and attending customers.
Rajula, the chirpy bright only child of the Sauk couple, took
care of the goats and sheep. She took the livestock to water and
fodder in the morning and was ready for her magic show in the
afternoon.
Next day, Rajula started the game as usual. Repeated what
she did for past six days. But what was unusual this time that
her mind diverted off her mission, bit. She played the game but
her gaze was scanning over the crowd: to spot a man, a lad that
had entered her psyche. But the youth did not show up. Her
thoughts still immersed in the meeting that could not happen
the previous day with a handsome, who was wearing impressive

clothes and had an aura of a prince: Malusahi. She cursed
herself that she couldn’t make it to the river bank to meet him.
She had lost a great chance. A lifetime opportunity to flourish
in love.
She concluded her magic show a bit earlier than usual that
day. Desperate and dejected, she wanted to take a chance.
Chance to go to the confluence and see if the man could be
there. She wasn’t sure if the young man would come that
evening, not seen around in the day. But her heart said
something that her mind didn’t understand. And her mind said
something that her heart didn’t bother to heed. Her heart won
and she decided to venture out.
‘Ba, may I go out for a while?’ She asked her father who
was busy dealing with his customers.
‘May I know what my princess is at?’ Sunpati Sauk
countered with a question.
‘Umm…just…I want to go to the temple.’
‘What need, child? We have been there all these days. Each
day begins with a prayer and ends with a prayer at the
Baghnath Temple.’ Sunpati asked as weighed and packed some
crystal hing for a customer.
‘Nothing special, I just feel like being at the feet of Lord
Shiva.’ Rajula insisted, trying to cajole her tough father.
‘Okay, go and be back soon.’ Ganguli, her mother pitched
in. Sunpati gazed at his wife as if he would say ‘oh, it’s you who
is spoiling this child’. But he remained silent.
‘Return, before the sunset. No-doubt-about-that.’ Sunpati
shouted.

‘Sure Ma …sure Ba. I will be back before the sunset.’ She
chuckled.
Rajula leapfrogged, her legs not willing to stay around,
some bells ringing in to her ears, her heart tick-tok tick-tok,
and she filled with some cocktail of anxiety and happiness. She
jumped-ran straight to the temple. Her parents’ caring eyes
chased her for a distance till she was out of sight and inside the
temple. She bowed to the Lord. Sat on her knees, feet bent
backwards. She folded her hands and closed her eyes.
‘Lord Baghnath, what’s happening to me? Why I am like a
sick girl? Why am I longing for a boy who met just for a couple
of minutes? Is he my prince? Would I meet him again? Would I
ever meet him? Would he come today? Would I ever marry
him?’ She asked many questions at a stretch to the God of her
adolescent faith.
Before the Lord could answer in his own way, Rajula
started off to the river side. Her heart fluttering, her mind
bewildered, her thoughts confused: would he come, wouldn’t
he? Would he? Wouldn’t he?
She reached the confluence of rivers. She looked around.
Her eyes rolling up and down, right and left. There was none.
Her heart almost stopped beating and her legs trembled. Her
eyes turned moist. She felt a lump on her throat. She bit her lip
and tears rolled down her pink cheeks. Pink cheeks turned
reddish more due to her state those moments than the touch of
cruel bitter cold wind which teased her cruelly.
Malusahi was not in sight, anywhere.

Sad and dispirited Rajula lost her all hopes and cursed
herself for not meeting Malusahi the previous day; the day
when he was willing to meet her; and the day when she was
invited by him. She was longing for a man she hardly knew but
met momentarily during the course of a play. Had she lost her
heart to him? Otherwise, why that desperate longing for an
almost unknown hunk? Perhaps this was what generations
called love from time immemorial. Dejected she sat on a rock
on the bank of the rivulet and threw her feet in to the water. As
icy cold water of River Saryu splashed her feet, brooms of
unwanted thoughts numbed her mind. She could think no more
and gazed into the water. She resisted her tears falling into the
clean water of River Saryu. The water in her eyes blurred the
images of hills, woods, and clouds on the sky. Chaste white
clouds on the emerald blue sky mirrored on the water and they
looked melancholically static. As she looked deep down into the
water, she was startled by an image of a man on the horse
zooming from the blue sky behind her. As the water splashed
the rocks downstream, the river roared with full might, Rajula
hardly heard the clinking of hoops of the approaching horse
and tsk-tsk of its rider.
Was she daydreaming? Hallucinating? Perhaps, she
thought.
But, she looked up and turned her head back. A man in
reality on his white horse stood behind her. Oh God! Her man
was there. The tears of grief were overwhelmed by the tears of
joy. Before she could rise up into the rocks, Malusahi jumped
off his horse. He walked briskly up to her. He just kneeled and

sat beside her on the rock. Rajula heaved a sigh of relief and
silently thanked her fortunes.
‘I waited for you last evening late until it was dark’,
Malusahi said as he looked into her dove eyes.
‘Sorry I couldn’t come. My parents were around and they
didn’t permit it.’ She explained.
‘Rajula, perhaps we are made for each other.’ He said, ‘Now
I know what people call – love at first sight.’
Rajula displayed a broad smile. ‘This is what I wanted to
say to you’. She wanted to say, but her lips remained silent and
allowed the lowering eyelids to talk.
‘I must tell you that I am prince of Katyuri kingdom of
Kumaon. I have come from Bairath.’
‘Okay.’
‘And my name is….’
‘Malusahi’, Rajula completed his sentence and laughed.
Malusahi joined her in laughter.
‘I visit the Uttaraini Fair once every year. But today I have
come to see you.’ He said.
‘Is it?’ Rajula naughtily said.
‘I couldn’t sleep last night after you converted me into a
bird.’ He smiled.
‘Is it?’ Rajula could not stop laughing.
Her pearl-like teeth shone up, her already pink cheeks
turned blood-red as she blushed. Malusahi gave her company
in the carefree laughter. Rajula stared at her prince charming.
She knew now what made her fall for him: a shot of a
hypnotizing personality, a well-built youth, a toned body, a

shiny head over a muscular frame. Hair had sprouting on his
jaw line and thin line of hair on his upper lip had constructed
his moustache.
‘Do you know all about me?’ She asked.
‘Only this much that you are an angelic beauty and you
possess the power to convert a lion into a cat and a man into a
mouse.’ Malusahi laughed loudly.
‘Not that much...’ She roared with laughter and continued,
‘I only know one trick that I displayed in the fair and learnt it
from my father. We are from Bhot and settled in the Burang
valley near Pithoragarh boarder. My father Sunpati Sauk,
besides being a prudent businessman is an excellent magician.
But he doesn’t want to teach me more magic.’ She said after
controlling her unbridled laughter.
‘Well, you don’t need to learn more magic. You can bewitch
men with your magical smile.’
She smiled and completed, ‘my father is a trader and he
camps in the Fair with all his commodities and livestock for
sale every year.’
‘Okay, so your entire family is here…including your
siblings?’
‘Yes, my father and my mother…I am the only child of my
parents…pampered and spoilt, you see.’ She laughed again.
‘Brave and beautiful….charming and enchanting, you
know.’ Malusahi pulled a sigh, and continued, ‘you are destined
to become queen of Bairath, Rajula.’
‘You are not kidding?’ She mumbled.

‘Not, at all. I will come to your Bhot and marry you, one
day.’ He said and looked into her eyes. Then he continued after
a pause, ‘or else, if you agree, I can marry you today, right now,
right in front of Lord Shiva in the Baghnath Temple and take
you to my home.’
‘No. Not in that much hurry. And I don’t want to get
married like that.’ Rajula said.
‘We are grown-ups enough now.’
‘Yes, but still I don’t want to annoy my parents. They are
very caring. I am the only child and they have almost begged
me from the Lord.’
‘That’s fine. Marrying secretly would not even please my
elders.’
‘Who else is at home?’
‘My elders compose of my mother, my guru, and my mamu
– maternal uncle. My father, King Dulusahi, died a couple of
years back.’
‘So now you look after the affairs of the state?’
‘No. I am the crown prince, as I, too, am the lone child. But
my mother, counseled by our Guru, manages the knightly
affairs.’
As they talked their past present and future, Rajula took
Malusahi’s hand in her and drew lines on his palm with her
finger. She drew or she followed the already carved lines as if
she was trying to read them, as if she was trying to figure out if
she had anyway a place in the intricate web of lines in the
prince’s fate. As she played with the fate-lines, Malusahi looked

spellbound by the beauty. After a long pause Rajula resumed
the talk.
‘I don’t think that I should be audacious to elope with you
when I am sure my father wouldn’t object to our marriage.’
‘I will send my elders probably my mother and Guru with a
marriage proposal and to discuss the plan.’
‘Do come early, Malu. Talk to my father. He loves me a lot
and he would love to get me married to you.’ She said with
twinkling eyes.
Two loving hearts shared their past and present and bowed
to share their future. They did not realize when the sun has set
and a grey shade of darkness had descended over the hills
making the valley all the more colorless.
‘Oh, it’s dark. My parents would be looking for me.’ She
started.
‘Well, we will part. But I want to drink water, Raju.’
Rajula leaned forward. Cupped her hands. Scooped up
handful of water from the crystal clear stream of River Saryu.
Before she could pour the water into his hands, Malusahi
lowered his head and touched his lips to Rajula’s fingers and
drank the water. Rajula frightened mix with indescribable
pleasure, thanked her destiny. She got up to leave.
‘Little more, Raju. Be with me, little more.’ Malusahi pulled
her scarf.
‘Not now, my Malu. My father would be angry.’
Malusahi held her hand and pulled a small golden ring
from his pocket and slipped it into the finger of Rajula. And he
said, ‘Please don’t forget me.’

‘How can I? … I will wait for you, Malu.’ Rajula said as she
gazed at the shining gold ring on her finger.
‘Be ready, I will come very soon.’
Malusahi tried to pull her to him and embrace her. But she
tore her off and flew like a bee. Her eyes were moist with tears
of parting from the beloved.
Malusahi, the beloved, waved to his beloved.
** 3 **
Sunpati Sauk and his wife Ganguli were worried lot in the
camp. They had already packed up his commodities and
Sunpati was fiercely pacing on the ground. The sun had set long
back and Rajula had not yet returned from the temple. He was
angry that his piece of heart had become irresponsible and
careless. His heart was crashing with worry and praying that
nothing untoward happened to his child. It was more than
common in those fairs that girls eloped with men of their
choices. It was fairly common that married women were
seduced by charming men; and women deprived of love never
thought twice to follow the man to his home. And, frequently
than seldom, married women didn’t hesitate to marry an
already married man. The marriage automatically assumed
legality that is social acceptance, when the new husband paid
off expenses to the old one, if he ever turned up looking for his
lost wife. To get the new relation social acceptability, the new

husband reimbursed the former’s marriage expenses, usually
called mamul which was a corruption of muamala –
negotiation done to provide alimony to the aggrieved husband.
And, the previous husband had rights over the ornaments if he
had ever gifted to his eloping wife. Kings and courtesans apart,
common men didn’t hesitate to keep more than one wives.
Polygamy was as common as the nettle plant, which if touched
stung like scorpions, on those hills.
Thoughts, dreadful and drowning, emerged like water
bubbles in the head of a father. Sunpati paced the camp and
skimmed over the temple path to spot the piece of his heart. He
had turned chilly-red with anger as Rajula came into sight.
‘Hey…you brat. You careless girl. Taking advantage of our
love and care. Where were you?’ Sunpati shouted.
Rajula shivered to see the wrath of her father and couldn’t
open her mouth to answer.
‘You brat, we have overindulged you. And you don’t want
to speak.’
‘I…I’m sorry, Ba. It took me long in the … the temple.’
‘So long in the temple?’
‘I also went to see the downstream water….so enchanting.’
‘You stupid girl…’
‘I’m sorry, Ba…but I am safe...I’m here now.’
‘You know this is last day of fair and we have to prepare for
our long journey to our land up hills. You stupid girl….No-
doubt-about-that.’
‘I’m sorry….am…’

‘Go…go… Keep quiet. Help your mother in packing up. We
will move early morning tomorrow. Okay?’ Sunpati tried to
control his anger.
Rajula helped her mother in packing the unsold
commodities. Hush-hush Sunpati counted the livestock of goat,
sheep, and mules. Discourseless, the three shrank beneath the
woolen blankets to rise early the next morning.
Before the sun splurged its enlivening rays in the valley of
Bageshwar and could kiss the Saryu water frolicking with the
rocks rounded by the incessant thrust of time and shaped by
the destiny, Sunpati along with his subservient wife Ganguli
and loving child Rajula shepherded the herd of goat, sheep, and
mules and loaded the unsold booty on the backs of ponies
marched on the stupendous tough paths on hills towards his
abode in the valley of Burang.
The Shoukas or Saukas belonged to Tibet which was also
called Bhot or Bot in the native language and the inhabitants
were called Bhotias. Bhot or Bot could be a corruption of Bodh
or Buddh over a period of time. Later, some of them migrated
to southern side of Himalayas in the valley of Johar across
Goriganga River close to Uttarakhand boarder. They spoke
Bhoti language which is still spoken in some parts of Sikkim
and areas of Ladakh in modern India. The Bhotias settled in
Uttarakhand were known as one of the oldest tribes of the
region. They were primarily Buddhists but they practiced
Hindu rituals, as they gelled well into their new land.

Sunpati Sauk was the chieftain of his tribe in the Burang
valley of Pithoragarh. He was very active and highly known
trader of the Silk Route. Silk Route was an ancient trade route
for salt and other commodities such as wool etc. It was very
much used by the nomads of Tibet and their kin across the
border in Nepal and upper region of Uttarakhand. Sunpati
Sauk and his tribesmen thus travelled to and traded across the
major regions of Himalayan foothills ranging from Lhasa,
Shimla, Haridwar, Garhwal, Kumaon, Doti and up to
Kathmandhu in Nepal. The trade practice by Sunpati and his
ilk, an important character in the history on these pages, some
one-thousand years back, stopped recently after the Indo-
Chinese war of 1962.
** 4 **
After hours, days, and nights of arduous journey up hilly
terrain Sunpati along with his family and stocks reached his
home in Bhot. Rajula tied the mules and horses in their stable
and shepherded the goats and sheep in their wooden platforms,
which kept them warm, dry, and clean.
The tired family and cattle found peace in their own
natural habitat. Ganguli brewed tea while Sunpati made bonfire
in the Verandah of the house. As the smoke from the bonfire
winded up and touched the blackened oak girders on the roof,
Sunpati broke his silence.

‘We must be more cautious now, Ganga.’ Sunpati
murmured into the ears of his wife as he slurped hot tea and
wrapped in woolen shawls to ward off the chill of a Himalayan
cold evening.
Ganguli gazed at her husband interrogatively, trying to
confirm the context; the context which she understood
somewhere in the corner of her heart.
‘Rajula is getting more attractive as she is adding years to
her age.’ Sunpati clarified.
‘Oh…you’re talking about Raju. Yes, we must. I will keep an
eye.’ She cautiously replied and exhaled a whip of misty air.
‘She is our only child and cynosure of my eyes. My heart
sinks if she is out of sight for a long… …you know?’
‘I understand the cares of a doting father.’
‘I must start looking for a groom for her. You know…
Ganga, that day I didn’t like her escaping for a few hours in the
Uttaraini Fair.’
‘Yes, you must. What else a mother can ask for?’ Ganguli
replied to the first part of his sentence, ignoring the second.
As her parents discussed her future out in the shaded
porch, sipping tea and warming in the embers of oak and pine
wood burning in the brazier, Rajula inside the house was busy
in trying many earrings, noserings, bangles, and plaits she had
bought her in the Fair. She picked out the gold ring from her
pocket, which she had by now hidden from her parents. As she
slipped it into her finger, her heart beat resounded. She
touched her pink cheeks with the finger she had her new ring.
Wow, she looked like a queen. She smiled opposite the oak-

wood framed mirror. And, the image smiled, in equal quantum,
at her.
She never felt her so beautiful. She looked bewitchingly
beautiful that day in her own eyes. ‘What happened to the
mirror today? Why does it give so perfect picture?’ She asked
herself. But many things in the house including the old mirror
had the answer. It was not the mirror, or the wooden canopy,
or the flickering lantern, or the idol of meditating Buddha, or
his extra-large ears drooping down to his shoulders, or the
wooden dove perched on the bonfire-blackened deodar girder
supporting the slanting roof of the Buddhist house; it was
Rajula who was transformed by the magical touch of something
surreal, people call love.
Soon Sunpati Sauk, the determined trader, as usual
embarked for his next trade-sojourns up into vast expanse of
Tibet, cautioning his wife to take care of her, their livestock,
and especially, their child. Ganguli promised that everything
will be well in her husband’s absence. Ganguli the caring wife
cooked bedu-lagad (crushed lentils stuffed bread deep fried in
oil) and arsh-rot (sweetened rice bread cooked in ghee) for her
husband to eat on the way, till he reached high enough and
stayed with his regular customers.
Back home, Rajula helped her mother in completing the
daily chores. Eager to meet her friends, she finished her part of
chores as early as she could. She shepherded the herd of goats
and sheep in the jungle, the grass lands. She wanted to reveal
something to her friends; no, she wanted to hide something

from her friends; yes, she wanted to reveal and hide at the same
time. This is what love does to a man and a woman too. Reveal
hide, hide reveal.
While some of her friends Malati, Pushpa, and Hansi
played pebbles, Madhuli, Dipuli, and Bhaguli swayed on the
swing made by tying ropes on two adjoining tree branches. The
shepherds frolicked around while gigantic Bhotia dogs took
guards to the goats and sheep. The friends saw Rajula squatting
alone on a rock, immersed in some deep thoughts.
‘Hey Raju…what happened to you? Why you aren’t playing
with us?’ Malati, one of her friends called out.
‘Your brain gone numb after returning from the Fair?’
Dipuli teased her.
‘And, your tongue gone dumb at the Fair, too?’ It was the
turn of Hansi to tease her.
But she remained silent, still lost in her thoughts.
‘Hey, who stole your tongue along with your heart?’
Madhuli shouted to awake her friend from deep slumber.
‘Any man? Any prince?...Umm, something very fishy,
darling.’ Two girls said together.
‘Hey, nothing of that sort. I’m just tired of the grueling
work in the Fair, you know.’ She raised her head and mumbled.
‘Don’t befool us. We know…we know.’ Many voiced
together.
‘You all crazy...bas...’ She said and got up.
‘Hey, you can’t hide love and fragrance. If that is there, this
is here. Things are known by all.’ They valley resonated with
laughter of chirpy girls.

She picked some pebbles from the rocky path. Threw a few
at her goats. To organize the herd of unruly livestock? Perhaps
just to deviate from the trivial with friends. Next moment when
the friends engrossed themselves in playing and swinging, she
sat on another rock: to think about her prince charming.
Days passed shepherding her goats but nights turned
intolerable. Days, Rajula remained lost in her man’s thoughts,
and nights she turned sides. Obsessed with the thoughts of her
prince charming Malusahi marrying her; Rajula in bridal attire
on a decorated palanquin to the town of Bairath; many such
thoughts imposed on her nights’ sleep and days’ appetite.
Slowly as the days passed, Rajula – the lovelorn overcame
the pleasantly haunting thoughts and the anxiety and the
curiosity of her being married to her love. As soon as the
hallucination of days thinned, the nights turned into
nightmares. Rajula’s day-dreaming diluted, thinned, and
appeared less intense, but the lover Malusahi started haunting
her in her dreams.
She went through the ordeal of experiencing almost twenty
one dreams every night. A haunted lover’s dreams. Prince of
her heart courting and proposing to her in different ways and
styles: a man dress in immaculate whites dresses kneeled in
front of her with a red rose in his hands; a man dressed in red
attires of a king perched on the saddle of a white horse with a
sword hung by his waist caught her by her arm and pulled up to
his horse saddle; a youth wearing a king’s crown supporting
sword-cut strands of mustache stalking her as she filled her
copper pitcher at the water fountain; an unknown mustachioed

holding her from behind her waist as she milled rice with a
wooden rod in a moonlit cool night of the Bhotan summer;
Malusahi the known face calling her from a distance and
vanishing abruptly as she tried to chase him; a black shadow of
a man following her wherever she went and whatever she did;
some unknown youth blindfolding her eyes with his palms from
behind her head when she sat on a rock and her feet immersed
in a pool at the rivulet out there in Burang valley; the idol of
Lord Shiva morphing into a smiling man when she closed her
eyes to worship the lord; a bridegroom in a decorated horse
along with few hundred people coming to wed her; an unknown
man in white and a sea-blue vest coat over it teasing her by
taking her beloved lamb away and she chasing him for infinity;
some frightening shadow following her when she is up in the
forest and picking dried firewood; a lovely soft hand caressing
her forehead when she relaxed on the bed of dried grass after a
tiring chores in the forest; a warrior fighting with wolves to
rescue her when she was surrounded by dreadful wolves; a
charming man giggling with her when she giggles at a joke by
her friends; a prince flying on a huge eagle’s back taking her to
the far skies and above heaven; a charming lad caressing her
and awaking her from the sleep; the snapping of the incomplete
dream and she crying loud when not finding him around.
Dreams, delusions, hallucinations…and nightmares. Many
such dreams Rajula saw each night. Nights she envisioned the
dreams and days she spent on thinking about the dreams and
interpreting them. She talked more to herself than to her

friends and mates and parents. She slowly drew into seclusion
and assumed a veil of reserved persona.
One afternoon after Ganguli and Rajula had their meal, the
mother and daughter duo basked in the warm sun. Mother
combed Rajula’s long hair and constructed a braid long enough
to touch her ankles.
‘Rajula, I observe that nowadays you are mostly lost in
your thoughts. You don’t pay heed to your work and I have
heard you mumbling in your sleep. What’s the reason my child?
Any problem?’ Ganguli asked while she applied oil on her hair.
‘No, nothing Ma, no problem.’ Rajula said.
‘How can my sweetie be so callous, so casual about
everything. And you don’t even speak much.’
‘Nothing of that sort, Ma.’
‘What sort?’
‘I mean…umm…’ She hesitated.
‘Tell me, darling. Since we returned from the Bageshwar
Fair, I find you a changed person.’ Mother insisted.
‘Ma, I don’t know why, but I see some strange dreams each
night’. She said.
‘What dreams, my child?’ Mother asked as she combed
daughter’s long hair.
‘I see a stranger man coming to my dreams. Sometimes
dressed as a king, sometimes barefoot monk, and many times
as prince on a white horse.’
‘I see. What happens afterwards?’ Mother asked curiously.

‘Umm…yup…Ma, he plays strange acts in my dreams.’
Rajula told half truth.
‘Strange acts?’
‘Yup, he plays unusual tricks to woo me.’
‘Woo you? What does he do?’
‘He assumes many forms, shapes, and shadows and follows
me to jungle, water fountain, and to the temple of the Lord.
And he promises to marry me.’
‘Marry? Oh, Ah… dreams! Don’t take dreams seriously, my
sweetie.’
‘They are incessant, Ma…literally every night since we
returned from the Uttaraini Fair.’
‘Oh…forget it…forget the dreams, my child. They have no
meaning.’ Mother constructed plaits.
‘No…no. They must definitely have some meaning, Ma.’
‘Uh...hun?’
‘But…he is very charming…he is unforgettable, Ma.’
‘Okie, did he tell you something about him?’
‘Yes… he says he is a prince…and....’
‘Prince of ?... Which kingdom?’ Ganguli tried to
understand the dream, seriously.
‘He said…something…like Berut…or Berat…I don’t
remember, Ma.’
‘Bairath?...Katyuri kingdom?’ Mother guessed.
‘Yes…yes…yes… exactly, Bairath. How do you know Ma?’
Ganguli remained silent for a couple of minutes, her
thoughts stranding in many directions, and her heart beating in
anticipation of something unusual. She was aware of Bairath

and she knew about the Katyuri Kingdom. But that was another
story.
‘Did you meet him, ever?’ Mother asked after gaining her
poise.
‘Yes…I told you…he comes in my dreams, Ma.’
‘Beyond dreams…in reality, in blood and flesh, some day or
night?’ Mother’s voice turned stern.
‘Umm…yup…no …I mean….’ Rajula mimicked to put
pressure on her brain and nodded.
‘You met him in the Uttaraini Fair. Didn’t you?’ Ganguli’s
hold on the long braid of Rajula tightened.
Rajula’s heart palpitated frantically. She couldn’t utter a
word. She thanked her gods that she was not facing her mother.
Mother sat behind her. Else, how could have she met eyes with
her? But she remained silent. Few moment of embarrassing
silence for Rajula and moment of pensive thoughts for mother.
‘Is he tall and handsome?’ Mother cajoled her as she had
understood the story and the plan of the divinity.
‘Yes. Extremely. Handsome.’ Rajula said coyly.
‘He must be Malusahi, son of King Dulusahi of Bairath.’
Mother elaborated.
‘Yes, yes. How do you know, Ma? Tell me, how come you
know about him?’ Rajula twisted with a jerk to face her mother.
Her mouth was aghast open with bewilderment.
‘I know, my lovely child, I know.’ Ganguli kissed her
daughter’s forehead and hugged her.
‘Tell me, mother.’

‘I will. I will definitely tell you, my sweetie. Very soon.’
Mother planted a kiss on her blushing red cheeks.
** 5 **
‘It was long back, my child. Your father had inherited the
chieftainship of the Bhotiya people settled in Burang Valley. He
gained status of a respected trader in the Kumaon and Garhwal
regions of Uttarakhand. Tibet and Uttarakhand were his
business lands, buying from one region and selling to another.
Thus he had his customers scattered all over the hills. We had
all the pleasures but not happiness. We longed for a child. After
many years of marriage with your father I was still a childless
woman. We tried many solutions: herbal medicines, divine
appeasement, animal sacrifice, tantric solutions. And much
more. But all efforts went futile. When we were almost
hopeless, he happened to meet Chetnanand Baba who was on a
Himalayan exploration. He suggested that we visited and
worshipped Lord Shiva in the Baghnath Temple in Bageshwar
on the occasion of Maha-Shivaratri, the night when Lord Shiva,
the God who never born and never died, was understood to
have married Parvati, his consorts for many lives. Maha
Shivaratri – the great night of Lord Shiva. This episode dates

back to some seventeen or eighteen years back when you were
not even conceived in the womb.’ Ganguli narrated her story.
‘Hmm…’ Rajula cuddled closer to her mother and pulled
blanket over her.
‘Your father was a regular visitor to that place enroute to
Nainital for his trading profession. So this pilgrimage was not
something difficult for us to undertake. One fine day in the
month of February, we both set out for the pilgrimage to
Baghnath Temple.’ Ganguli said.
Rajula nodded and listened with rapt attention.
‘We reached Baghnath Temple and fasted the day long to
worship the Lord at the stroke of midnight and ask for his
blessings for a child to us.’
‘I see.’
‘That very day we met another couple from Kumaon who
had come to the temple with the same mission in their hearts.
We discovered during our chats that they were Queen
Dharmadevi and King Dulusahi rulers of the Katyur valley.’
Ganguli along with Rajula retrograded some seventeen years
back on the time machine.
‘Katyur Valley.’ Rajula repeated.
‘Yes, Katyur Valley. The king and the queen were a nice
couple. They taught us a lot about their Kingdom. Though
believed to be ruling the region since 7th century, the Katyuri
kingdom, by this century, 11th, to be precise, had shrunk to the
upper reaches of the Uttarakhand. Their Kingdom expanded
over five major regions of Uttarakand i.e. Pithoragarh,
Bageshwar, Almora, Nainital, and Champawat, and Doti.’

‘Then how come they talked about Bairath, their kingdom,
Ma?’
‘Bairath is their capital town Raju. The childless knightly
couple told us that the Katyuri dynasty had shifted their capital
from Kartikeypur to Bairath, which is near to Dwarahat on the
footplains of Doonagiri Mountain.’
‘Oh…they told you so much about them.’ Rajula said.
‘Yes, my child. And, we became friends after the informal
introduction. I shared an instant rapport with the Queen. She
told me that the Katyuri kings of Kumaon were Brahmin
contrary to the fact that most of the dynasties in Bharat Varsha
were ruled by Rajput emperors. Marriages and relationships
between Brahmins and Rajputs were common. The Brahman
Katyur king Dulushahi married Dharmadevi, daughter of King
Gaj Singh of Pauri Garhwal who belonged to a Rajput clan.
King Gaj Singh was descendant of King Kanak Pal of Panwar-
Shah dynasty.’
‘Stories of kings and queens, Ma. Tell me, what happened
after you met Queen Dharmadevi?’
‘As I said, I had an instant rapport with the Queen
Dharmadevi. After the prayer to the Lord, we broke our fast
together and had our meals. The next morning, before we
parted Dharmadevi said, “Sister, if you are blessed with a girl
and I with a boy, promise me to marry her to my son.” And, I
said “I would love to bind our friendship into a relationship.”
And, we both laughed and our men-folk supported us.’
‘So this promise was made in the presence of my father,
Ma.’ Rajula said to confirm what she believed.

‘Yes. He, as well as King Dulusahi rejoiced the
conversation. Though this sacred betrothal happened in the
Temple premises, but it was more in a jocular mood.’
‘Why didn’t you ask for the same promise from the queen,
mother?’
‘No. I couldn’t. That was not possible. That couldn’t have
possible to fulfill. Though your father is a chieftain of the
Saukas of Burang Valley, he is not a ruler. The king and queen
of Bairath could not marry off their daughter to a son of a
trader from Bhot.’
‘And, Lord Baghnath granted your wish and wishes of the
Queen.’
‘Yes. You were born exactly after nine months. And, I heard
that within months of the body-heart-soul filled joint prayers at
the Baghnath Temple, Queen Dharmadevi too gave birth to a
boy. He is Malusahi, my Raju.’ Mother explained.
‘So, Lord Baghnath was witness to the promises made by
our parents, Ma.’
‘I think your meeting Malusahi in the fair and his coming
to your dreams is not just a coincidence.’
‘Yes Ma, it’s what the Lord has planned for me.’
‘Umm…I think I will discuss everything with your father
when he returns back from Tibet.’
‘Why didn’t you talk about the Queen’s promise with my
father earlier.’ Rajula asked.
‘I remembered the promise. I was happy when I learnt that
the Queen has given birth to a boy.’
‘Then?’

‘There were two reasons, child. One, you were still a child,
adolescent. Not of a marriageable age. Two, when I heard that
King Dulusahi died, I thought the Queen may or may not opt
for a relation with the commoners.’
‘That still holds true.’
‘Yes. Things were almost forgotten, baby, but you
reminded me of everything. My entire past, in fact.’
‘But, would my father agree to this relationship?’ Rajula
asked.
‘Actually I don’t see any reason why he should object to it.
You are of a marriageable age. And Malusahi too, as you
describe, is a handsome charming prince.’
‘He is, Ma, he is.’
‘Your father will be more than happy to marry off his piece
of heart to the prince of a kingdom he is aware of. And, above
all, he loves you.’
‘Yes Ma, my father loves me very much.’
Rajula embraced her mother, her arms around her waist.
Both mother and daughter went to sleep with the hope of a
happy and pleasant tomorrow.
The touch of the beloved and the sense of being loved by
someone metamorphosed Rajula into a fabulous beauty. She
grew smarter, day in and day out. As beautiful as a sculpture
whose figures are meticulously carved out by the seasoned
sculptor. She became a lady, suitable to adorn the throne of
some kingdom somewhere.

** 6 **
The Uttaraini Fair over, Rajula was ecstatic with the divine
discovery with her mother. Happy with her fortunes and the
divinity’s hidden plans for her. Divinity’s plans and the
blueprint of which were crafted long back in the womb of the
past which mother Ganguli had unfolded to Rajula.
But Rajula was not alone bitten by the love bug in the Fair;
the prince too was infatuated with the damsel. Malusahi was
no less ecstatic by turns of event in the fair that year. After
drinking handful of Saryu’s water with the cupped palms of his
sweetheart at the confluence, he galloped on his white princely
horse to Bairath, the capital town of the kingdom. The trying
season of winters and the tough terrain couldn’t hinder the
lover’s journey as his brain was preoccupied with the love
thought.
Learned researchers of the future and honorable members
of the jury judging this story may find the thread incomplete if
we don’t lean backwards a bit and discuss about our hero’s life
hitherto.
On the masterly advice of Guru Gorakhnath, humongous
faith of the knightly couple of Bairath, and philanthropic
benevolence of Lord Shiva residing in Baghnath Temple of

Bageshwar, Queen Dharmadevi gave birth to a chubby-bubbly
boy almost after nine months of the divine sojourn at
Baghnath. The couple named him Malu, short and sweet. And,
Sahi, the family name would append to his name naturally. Not
just the aristocratic palace, but the entire kingdom of Katyur
celebrated the incarnation of the next generation king in
Bairath. And, the chief queen was blessed with the gift, in spite
of the king being polygamous and a school of queens being
functional in the lower floors of the palace.
The subjects of the kingdom revered their kings next to
their god. Though the kings those days didn’t have many
obligations to their subjects, yet they commanded awe and
respect. Primarily they didn’t do more than deliver an instant
judgment based on the laws of natural justice and kingsize-
commonsense. They hardly had obligations to construct
pathways, water-wells, or schools. These activities were all
collective efforts of the community. Kings did possess land and
tilled the best of the farms around the capital-town. Subjects
bestowed them with gifts and presents for being their kings and
help them fight and resolve some personal issues. Anyway,
Bairath’s king couldn’t be different.
Centre of education were run by monks, which were called
Gurukuls. But they were very less and were far away from
Bairath and the king did not think it wise to send the cynosure
of his eyes, pampered by the royals and born-with-exhaustive-
efforts, to the distant lands. Malusahi, grew with a princely
pace. Days different and nights all the more different. King
appointed teacher who would make the boy learn things at

home. Malusahi learnt reading and writing. He learnt
languages. He could read Sanskrit and thus was trained to
recite verses and interpret knowledge from Gita, Vedas, and
Upanishadas. But this education was not much relevance to
him. He had to rule a kingdom, so his father engaged him in
learning ways of kingdom. He practiced and sharpened his
skills on horse-riding, martial arts, and dueling and combating.
He became a very good archer and unmatched in sword
dueling.
But, before Malusahi could reach adolescence, King
Dulusahi died. Pages in history books are ambiguous on this
account; some say he died in a war, and others maintain it was
terminal tuberculosis. Songs and ballad writers differ in their
views or are silent. Silence is the better answer when the
answer is unanswerable. For this love-story of Rajula and
Malusahi, the cause of king’s death is inconsequential.
Therefore, the learned researchers of future will allow the story
to swim like a fish.
Though Malusahi was enthroned as king after the demise
of his father, yet his mother Dharmadevi remained a functional
ruler as he was not yet fully bloomed into an adult. Queen took
care of the kingdom, with active participation from and
consultations with Guru Gorakhnath and her brother
Mrityunjay Singh Garhwali.
Time elapsed. The snow on the peaks of Mount Nandadevi
melted many times. And, froze as many times. The paddy-fields
on the plain valley of River Ramganga were harvested as many

times. The effigy of enemy king Khatarua was burnt many times
on the dark night of a rainy August when children plucked fresh
cucumber from the serpentine vines of the fruit and cut it to
offer the Fire God. The children of Kumaon shouted in chorus
‘run away Khatarua’ and ‘Khatarua loses, Cow wins’ to celebrate
the victory of their symbolic king Cow over the symbolic enemy
king Khatarua, as many times. Children on those hilly hamlets,
in rapturous delight on the auspicious day of Flower Festival on
a March Spring day when the Mother Earth abounding with
colors of lily, daffodils, magnolia, tulip, pyoli, and buransh,
visited every door in the village singing ‘phool dehi…’ ‘Flowers
on your doorstep, Let our baskets fill, Be your containers full’,
sprinkling flowers and petals on each doorstep and receiving
gifts of rice, jaggery, and coins, scores of times. Queen
Dharmadevi delivered many more judgments to her endearing
subjects and received gifts in cereals, milk, and ghee from the
people of Bairath. In the hustle-bustle of things called life, the
light-hearted and-yet-uncertain-promises made to the trader
couple from yet another land were long forgotten. None
remembered the promises and nobody bothered to check, at
Bhot or at Bairath, whether the other couple had a child, let
alone if it was a boy or a girl.
Since the day Malusahi met his dream-girl in the Uttaraini
Fair, an indelible imprint of the angelic beauty stuck in to the
inner tissue of his brain. There were no means how he could
have posted his feelings to her. Those days communication to
the beloved was not possible, except written letters through a

dove or a parrot. But that happened only in innocuous
imagination of poets and story writers. Communication was
possible only by a personal visit, self or a human messenger on
horse. No means of contact. But the fire of love which was
ignited in the Valley of Bageshwar besides the frolicking waters
of Saryu and Gomati, on the last day of the fair, kept burning
for a long time in the heart and mind of Malusahi.
Malusahi embroiled with the thoughts of his beloved. He
hallucinated. He talked to her in solitude. And, he saw as many
dreams in Bairath about Rajula as she did in Bhot. He day-
dreamed as much as he dreamed while asleep.
He was unaware that he haunted his beloved in Bhot and
Rajula never conjured up that she teased her prince charming
with equal measures, forces, and drives. The lovelorn Malusahi
silently suffered love pangs and waited for an appropriate time
to discuss the union of the lovers with his mother. The union
which was possible with their marriage only.
** 7 **
Sunpati Sauk was on a trading spree, as usual. The
previous winters he had bought the commodities from
Uttarakhand to be sold over to his loyal clients in the barren
and mostly snow-clad plateaus of southern Tibet. So, he
travelled to the north of Burang with a couple of ponies loaded
with his new stuff.

Even on the business trip, his mind was not free from few
concerns that haunted him: his daughter getting of
marriageable age; she missing for a while in the fair; she
putting on a lot of extra large earrings; she buying gold
imitation nosering; she spending more time in front of the
family inherited mirror; she occasionally talking to herself in
seclusion; and, other times she wearing a veil of silence. A
baffling mind of a caring father of a grownup beautiful girl kept
him disturbed in his leisure times.
He was a regular trader for the Huns in Tibet. Again, this
time he made the sprawling palace of the Huns as his business
destination. He had carried plethora of commodities like,
spices, cardamom, almonds, cashew nuts, jaggery, etc. as
always demanded by people in those cold hilly terrains. By way
of his trade he had developed good acquaintance with Bikkhipal
Hun, a trader and chieftain of Hunas clan in the Himalayan
region.
Learned researchers of the future and members of the
learned jury will not forgive the story writer if it doesn’t dive a
little deep into the Huns background, populace, and habitat. So,
a piece out of what grannies passed over to their next
generations since centuries.
Hunas or Huns were believed to have migrated from
eastern Europe and spoke Iranian and entered India via the
Khyber Pass in the fifth and sixth century. Pages in history say
that the Huns were defeated by the Guptas Emperor and
Yasodhvarman of Malwa Kingdom and driven out of plains of
north India. As time passed, stronger took over the weaker,

their political impact slowly subdued. Many of them then
settled in the northern provinces of Kashmir, the Ladakh, and
the southern Tibetan region. Their progeny assimilated with
the local populace and had marital alliances. Many generations
down on the time-scale a man named Bikkhipal was born. Thus
he was the chieftain of the clan and engaged in trade, but
members of his tribes still revered him as their benefactor.
Sunpati Sauk met Bikkhipal Hun with his commodities.
After the exhibition of goods and selling and buying spree was
over, both smoked hookah and warmed them in the bonfire lit
at the mid of the room and the brazier was surrounded by his
close relatives.
Among the inconsequential talks about kings and
kingdoms, subsiding social values, great past and dwindling
future, warm summers and chilling winters, they spent the
evening together. Bikkhipal’s family served a sumptuous dinner
to the business guest.
‘I am really impressed with the kind of welcome I receive in
this house. Especially for small trader like me.’ Sunpati inhaled
a puff of smoke with the long-piped hookah.
‘Oh, it’s alright, Sunpati. You are known to us so long, as
long as from my father’s time. And, then we didn’t do anything
extraordinary for you.’ Bikkhipal said out of courtesy.
‘That’s your greatness, Huna. You think that way.’ Sunpati
pulled more smoke inside his lungs, before he handed the
hookah to Bikkhipal.

‘It’s biting cold outside, enjoy the bonfire.’ The Hun said as
he put some dried logs of wood into the bonfire.
‘Yup, this is…’ Sunpati paused for a while and then
continued, ‘…Huna, this time I have come here with dual
purpose.’
‘The first is definitely about business. …What’s could be
the other one?’ Bikkhipal sucked from hookah.
‘Business is fine. No-doubt-about-that. My daughter is
getting of marriageable age. She is getting taller day by day. So I
have to look for groom for her.’
‘Yeah…my mother told me about the beautiful Rajula, once
just out of some context.’
‘Yup…she is beautiful too. No-doubt-about-that.’ Sunpati
grinned.
Bikkhipal nodded and displayed a broad smile on his face.
‘So I am a worried father and wish to marry her off. As
soon as possible.’
‘I understand concerns of a father.’
‘I was thinking…if… we two families can bind our
friendship into a relationship, it would be really beneficial for
us, both of us.’
‘That’s really nice, Sauka. In fact, the day my mother talked
about the beauty of Rajula, we have been considering a
marriage proposal for her.’ Bikkhipal said.
‘But we have been waiting for some auspicious time.’
Nanduli, Bikkhipal’s mother said.

‘I am on cloud nine, Rani Sahiba. No-doubt-about-that.
God has blessed my daughter, if you agree for this marriage.’
Sunpati Sauk rose from his seat in excitement and jubilation.
Bikkhipal and other members sitting around in the room
followed suit. Sunpati hugged Bikkhipal.
‘We are ready for marriage as early as possible.’ Huns
mother said.
The news was shared with other members in the house and
was appreciated by one and all. Next morning, while taking
farewell from the Hunian house, Sunpati gifted a pashmina
shawl to Bikkhipal as a gift of betrothal of the man as his son-
in-law. The wealthy Hun gifted him a tiger-skin as an
acceptance of the new relationship. With this exchange of gifts,
the betrothal had happened and the relationship was cemented.
‘I want you to visit us and marry my daughter as early as
you can.’ Sunpati said while giving a farewell hug to his would-
be-son-in-law.
‘Yes, I too want it to be early...’ Bikkhipal paused for
checking an auspicious day, ‘coming summer, on Baisakhi,
which falls on thirteenth of April, I will come to marry Rajula.’
‘That’s fine and auspicious day, Bikkhipal. That timing is
good as winters are substituted by the warm summers.’ Sunpati
said.
‘And, the marriage party will consist of around twenty
people. So you can prepare accordingly.’ Bikkhipal said.
‘Welcome, Huna. I will wait with baited breath. No-doubt-
about-that.’ Sunpati said and folded his hands in reverence.
Bikkhipal too bowed to his would-be-father-in-law.

Sunpati promised a grand reception of the wedding party.
He was elated with this new relationship with the chieftains of
the Huns. It would elevate his position in the Sauk society and
he would prosper more in business, he thought. Not to speak of
a king-size relationship for his daughter, the piece of his heart.
** 8 **
Sunpati Sauk returned home after the long business trip to
Tibet. This trip not only opened more avenues of prosperity for
the shrewd trader but also secured him as a father-in-law of a
powerful Hun chieftain. His worries as a father of a beautiful
young girl were also mitigated. He jubilantly planned for
Rajula’s marriage which was just a month ahead.
‘Ganga, this is a day of jubilation for us.’ He gleefully told
his wife as he tossed his woolen jacket apart, ‘I have found a
suitable prince for our princess.’
‘Found?’ Ganguli whispered and sucked in.
‘Yes… I mean I have promised her hand to Bikkhipal, a rich
businessman and the chieftain of Huns from Hun Desh.’
Ganguli just stared at her husband without saying a word.
‘We have even finalized the day of wedding; it’s auspicious
Baisakhi this summer. We have just a month for preparation.’
Sunpati grinned.
‘Okay…Hun chieftain…that seems fine, but…’ Ganguli said
in soft voice while she brewed tea for her husband.

‘But?...what?’
‘See, we have just one child.… My only daughter would be
so far off to the cold barren mountains?’ She hesitated to differ
from her husband.
‘Oh…Ganga… do you think I love my daughter less? Do
you think I want to get rid of her at the cost of her happiness?...
You don’t worry. She is going to be the queen. And, would live
like a queen in the palace like house. Cold or hot, this isn’t
going to bother her.’ Sunpati sternly said.
‘The Hun Desh is so far from our place. How frequently she
be coming to meet us? How would I live without her?’ Ganguli
had tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘Hey, you women will always be women. You will always
think of instant pleasures and happiness. You would never
think of a happy and secured future. Have farsighted view of
life, my wife, my Ganga.’ Sunpati tried to cajole her.
‘What you say may be right, but do you remember
something?’ She continued without pausing for an answer from
Sunpati, ‘do you remember what happened some seventeen-
eighteen years back when my child was not born?’ Ganguli said
while she offered a brass tumbler of tea and a bowl of jaggery to
her husband.
Sunpati gazed at her, unable to understand what his wife
indicated to. His interrogative gazed asked to explain more.
‘Do you remember when I was crying like a barren land
and we both exhausted knocking at doors of every doctor,
tantric, and sagacious?’ She said in a charged voice.

‘Hey, don’t beat about the bush. Tell me straight what
happened.’
‘We visited Lord Baghnath.’
‘Yes. Our Rajula was born because of blessings of the Lord.
No-doubt-about-that.’
‘And, we happened to meet the King and Queen of Bairath
in the temple. Do you recall something?’
‘Yes, I do. We met them and befriended the great couple.’
‘In your very presence, I promised to marry my daughter to
their son, if we would have in future. And, the Lord heard our
prayers and granted us what we asked for. What else could I
asked for? You remember?’ Ganguli cried.
‘Hmm…hmm…I recall it now…but....’ Sunpati slurped large
sip of tea.
Another sip and bite of jaggery piece gave him more time
to ponder over the past and its consequences to the future.
‘It was there… the promise, the oath…whatever you call it.
It was very much there. Please recall the moment, Raju’s father.
… Lord Baghnath is the witness.’ Emotional Ganguli said.
Sunpati reclined into some thoughts for a moment, paused,
and then calmly said, ‘it was all a joke, wife; a fit of reflexes and
a way of reaction at an all celebratory gaga event.’
‘What do you mean by joke? No, no, no. I don’t think so.
Queen Dharmadevi could not be kidding.’
‘You shouldn’t take it seriously, Raju’s Ma.’
‘Do you recall? The queen gave me a silver coin as a sign of
betrothal of my child?’

‘Ganga, my lovely wife, I am trying to recollect. I am
getting everything slowly. Before we draw large conclusions,
consider some facts. Did anybody bother to know about us all
these seventeen long-long years? Did the King enquire if a child
was ever born to us? Leave apart the question of a son or a
daughter?’ Sunpati voice charged.
‘I know they have a son. Queen Dharmadevi gave birth to a
son around the same time as I was blessed with my Rajula.’
‘Yes, I know that. I did know that a son was born in the
Palace in Bairath. No-doubt-about-that. Birth of an heir to the
throne is big news. And it flashed across the kingdom. And…,
this was me, who broke this news to you. Didn’t I?’
‘You must please once check with the kingdom of Bairath.’
Ganguli said.
Mother’s heart cried for her child, particularly when the
daughter had fallen in love with the prince of Bairath. The
discovery could not be a mere coincidence, she lamented.
‘Check with what? Ganga, don’t lose your nerves. We are
traders from a different community and different plane than
the emperors, present or erstwhile. We are commoners in
comparison to them.’ Sunpati almost shouted.
Ganguli cried. Her response to yells of her husband.
‘They didn’t ever bother to contact us. Did they? They
didn’t, because what the Queen said was plain joke. And you,
idiot woman…my stupid wife…takes it for granted.’ Sunpati lost
his cool.
‘If they didn’t check on us, let’s try it once.’ Ganguli cried
but insisted.

Sunpati sat silent mulling over the outcome of some
bizarre incident many years back. Bizarre enough to mould his
schemes of things. Sunpati and his wife Ganguli forgot the
trivial incident of meeting and something said in a lighter vein
just short of two decades back. The commitment to marry off
their off-springs remained just a joke, as the seriousness
dissolved into the sea of worldly hurly-burly they went into.
They never met again and Sunpati never visited king’s palace in
Bairath for any purpose. Ganguli Sauk was convinced that the
chance meeting of Rajula with Malusahi at the fair was because
Lord Baghnath had a definite plan carved out for her. But
Sunpati belittled the event as a long forgotten fly as none of the
two families bothered to trace the other for so long years, not
even when the son and the daughter turned marriageable age.
And, he had already given a word to the Hun chieftain; who he
considered more competent and powerful; who he considered
more close to his society and social ethos. Any relationship with
him would be beneficial for business interests of the Sauks.
‘Ganga, you know well that I have now promised my
daughter to Hun Bikkhipal. I must tell you that I can’t go back
on my words. This is my final decision. No-doubt-about-that.’
Sunpati’s stern appearance displayed a resolution on his face.
Ganguli remained silent, her eyes filled with tears. She
looked at the face of her husband, as if a goat was seeking
mercy from a butcher for her lamb.

** 9 **
When Sunpati and Ganguli discussed their concerns about
Rajula and fought over the marriage-and-promises, promises-
and-marriage, some dark clouds on the western horizon
collided, thundered ominously, and flashed sparkling lights as
Rajula was still making her herd of goats and sheep graze up
hills. When she heard the ear-deafening crackers bursting in
clouds, she hurried up, collected her favorite Lily, Seti, Rati,
and Kauli, the most troublesome and naughty of goats and
returned home.
Parents still drank hot concoction of herbs to keep them
warm, despite of a hot topic of debate. As she showed the cattle
their stable in the lower floor, Rajula overheard the last leg of
conversation between her parents. ‘Ganga, you know that I
have now promised my daughter to Hun Bikkhipal. I must tell
you that I can’t go back on my words. This is my final decision.
No-doubt-about-that.’ Is it? She couldn’t believe her ears, her
father was adamant on getting her married to some gentleman
of his choice.
‘Hey, come on, how is my princess?’ Sunapti changed his
expressions and grinned as he saw Rajula in the porch.

But Ganguli Sauk wasn’t so deft in changing colors, and
how could a mother do that. She was more concerned with the
happiness of her daughter.
‘I am fine, Ba. How was your trip?’ Rajula asked.
‘It was fantastic. See, what I have brought for my child.’ He
handed over a shining wooden box to Rajula.
‘O my god, what a beautiful set of bangles!’ She exclaimed
as she opened up the box.
‘Yes, it’s for my lovely daughter.’ He kissed her forehead.
‘Earrings to…golden; is it pure gold, Ba?’ Her eyes were
wide open with excitement and joy.
‘Yes, my sweetie. They are made of pure gold, twenty four
carat. My daughter deserves it.’ Sunpati was all praise for
Rajula.
‘Oh…Ba…how much you love me!’
‘No-doubt-about-that.’ Sunpati’s face shone with pride and
happiness.
Rajula joyously looked at her mother, obviously for her
reaction. But Rajula couldn’t find one. Mother Ganguli was
grimfaced. Mother didn’t say anything and went inside the
kitchen to make her busy. Rajula followed her.
‘Ganga, I’ll be back soon. Going to Hareeka’s house for a
chat.’ Sunpati stepped out to smoke hookah, his regular way of
time-pass and interaction with his community brethrens.
Father not around, Rajula commenced talks with her
mother. Mother was tongue-tied but her face spoke many
stories loud and clear. Rajula guessed something had definitely
cooked between her parents.

‘What does father say, Ma?’
‘Nothing special of substance.’
‘Don’t hide from me, you were discussing something.’
‘I told you, nothing so important.’
‘No kidding, I overheard him talking about marriage.’
‘Yeah, he is worried as doting father of a growing up
beautiful girl.’
‘Talking to someone?’
‘Yes, he has promised you to Hun of Tibet.’ Ganguli said
keeping her gaze low and beating many emotions.
‘Hun of Tibet? Who? …How come? ….No, no, Ma, please
no. Please don’t do this to me.’ Rajula quivered.
‘I have tried to convince him…but...’
‘You know Ma? …what Malusahi means to me? He has
promised to come…Ma, and he will keep his words.’
‘I understand, child. Even I want you to marry Malusahi
and be somewhere in our own land. I dislike the cold
mountains of Tibet.’
‘Just cold?’
‘They are very far too.’
‘Just far?’
‘I want you to marry someone you like, okay.’
‘Talk to father, Ma, once again.’
‘I have tried my best, Raju. I don’t think he will relent. He
won’t.’
‘Why so, Ma?’
‘Because he is particular about his promises made to the
Huns. And, he has his business interests too.’

‘Will he weigh his business interests more than the
happiness of his daughter?’
‘You know, he is a stubborn person.’
‘Ma, remind him the promise you made to the queen and
king of Bairath and swear him by the divine witness that Lord
Baghnath stood in the conversation.’
‘My dear Raju, I am a mother: a mother whose heart cries
for her child and her well being. Try to understand, my sweetie.
I have already forced my arguments. And your father is not
willing to take the promise to queen of Bairath seriously. He
thinks the promise was whimsical: two childless ladies taking
about marriage of their children. Children who were not even
born. Kids whose gender not known. Children who were not
even in the womb.
‘But they had faith on the Lord.’
‘And, then, after all, he has already given a word to the
Huns. He has his own dilemmas.’
Rajula cried, whined, and whimpered.
Cruel game of promises. Father Sunpati obstinate with his
promise and mother Ganguli helpless about her promise, the
joys and happiness of a promising child were compromised.
Elders always had a say in the youngsters’ affairs from time
immemorial. With any solution hardly in sight, Rajula
remained dejected, soulless, and solemn. She now hardly had
interest in eating, playing, or shepherding her lambs. The
chuckling and giggling lass lost her days somberly and nights
gloomily. As propensity of embracing her dream prince
dwarfed, the fanciful prince appeared more frequently and

aggressively in her dreams. She saw dreams of the illusive
prince snatching her from the clutches of some dark-dwarf-
goatee-bearded-unknown men and taking her up on his white
horse, sometimes the horse flying like an eagle on the blue skies
over the peaks of Nandadevi and Kanchenjunga and Rajula
embracing her love tightly to escape a sudden fall lest she fell in
the abyss of hell’s well.
Rajula wondered why Malusahi took so long to come to
Bhot. Why didn’t he send his elders, his Guru, his mother, or
his Mama, as he had promised on the banks of River Saryu. Has
Malusahi forgotten her? Was he really serious or just flirting
with her? No, he couldn’t be flirting. Then, did his elders
disapprove a marriage relationship with a Bhotiya trader’s
family? Her thoughts ran amok.
‘I don’t know when Malusahi or his elders will come to
discuss my marriage, Ma.’ Rajula confided with her mother
when her father Sunpati Sauk had embarked on another
business trip. He had cautioned his wife before he left. He had
observed the weird behavior of his daughter and now-grim-
and-then-indifferent appearance of his wife. The shrewd
business man had guessed what must have happened between
the mother-daughter pair. He didn’t need to ask.
‘Even if Malusahi comes, your father is not going to marry
you to him.’ Ganguli said stoically.
‘Ma, can we, anyhow, send a message to Malu?’

‘How can we do that, child? If I send some messenger from
this village, the message will reach your father before it reaches
Bairath.’
‘And he will not take this defiance of ours kindly.’
‘Oh no, not at all. He will kill us. Don’t ever think to defy
your father’s wishes.’
‘Isn’t getting killed better than never again meeting my
Malu?’ She said in a feeble voice and her pale face grimed. She
shuddered with the very thought of never again meeting her
love.
‘Keep up heart, child. Don’t lose reason against emotions.’
Mother embraced Rajula and caressed her hair. Rajula’s sighs
turned into feeble cry. Mother gulped her tears down her throat
and Rajula could sense from her breaths.
Just silence in the room. Only sound of fast breaths,
suppressed sobs, and long sighs persisted. After a gap, a
determined Rajula spoke up her mind.
‘I will have to go, Ma…. Let me go…. Just tell me the way,
explain me the path.’ Rajula didn’t allow herself to surrender to
the fallacies of fate and unbecoming arithmetic of elderly
discipline.
‘How can you go, my darling? Bairth is very far from Bhot.
The terrain is tough and the season is monstrous.’
‘I can Ma, I can. I am brave enough to negotiate the tough
terrains, ward off the cold breezes, and deceive the traders of
death.’

‘This is not so simple, my delicate Lily. One has to cross
many ghostly black mountains, dark forests full of frightening
animals, and unscrupulous men, and brutal thugs on the way.’
‘I’m not afraid of any of them, Ma. I just want to take a
chance. Chance to beg for a life. I want to live again. Even if my
father marries me to the Huns without my consent, I will not be
a happy bride there. I will die in the Huns house every day and
every night. May be I don’t celebrate my wedding day the next
year. Better if I die in pursuit of my love, my Malu.’
Ganguli remained silent, tears rolling down her cheeks.
She could not garner enough courage to say anything. Before
she could say something, Rajula said.
‘Ma, don’t you want me to be happy ever after my
marriage? Do you want to ruin the life of your sweetheart?’
‘No my child, how can I do that? I want you to be happy,
joyfully, and contented in your life. I want my child to have
access to all prosperity. And I want my sweetheart to live like
an angel.’
‘Then permit me to go, Ma. While my father is away I will
swiftly go to Bairath. I want to know why my Lord forgot me;
why my Malu didn’t return quickly. Please support me to my
mission. I hope, Lord Baghnath will protect me and unite me
with my lost love.’
** 10 **

The pale color of crumpling winters was still visible on the
high peaks of Mount Nandadevi. The layers of snow still
adored and sharpened the creases of the cliff despite
astronomical quantum had melted and flowed down the
streams of the Ganga, the Yamuna, and the Yarlung Tsangpo.
Sporadic flora on the high altitude mountains had shed their
leaves due to skin-numbing cold and gave a melancholic look to
the sloppy grassless land. The wretched looks out abated the
restlessness inside of Rajula. She set on a path of her
resolution.
Rajula dressed in a black vestcoat over blood red blouse
and black long skirt embroidered with golden brocades, tied
her head with a hand-printed colorful scarf that would serve
dual purpose of taming her unkempt hair, thwarting off the
chilling cold of the nights, and protecting from misty breeze
carrying snow particles. The ‘princess’ of Sunpati and Ganguli
Sauk had a horse-sense and was adamant to meet Malusahi, the
prince charming of her dreams.
Ganguli, an awful mother, a frightened lady, and a helpless
wife, noticed her daughter getting ready for her mission.
Clothes on, gait straight, stiff countenance, no-nonsense
behavior. There was no way the mother could stop an obstinate
lover from meeting her love. And, she didn’t think it wise to do
so. She had to let her go.
‘So you have finally made up your mind to go alone, Raju. I
will not stop you. But, wait, my cutie, my sweetheart. Wait for a
moment. I know the journey you wish to undertake is full of
dangers. The forests are thick and full of dreadful animals. The

paths are unknown to you. And, you are not yet fully
accustomed to the bizarre ways of this world. But I will not stop
you in what you intend to do. I will help you in your mission.’
Mother said and opened a large wooden trunk where laid her
cloths, her jewellery, and her articles.
Rajula looked on. After almost emptying the trunk Ganguli
picked a tiny glass bottle, a small tin box, and a few silver coins,
out amongst her bangles, earrings, beads, and necklaces. There
were many things resting and rusting in the trunk and she had
not touched or used for decades. Many of the articles were just
obscure even for Rajula.
‘Raju, I am warning you again: your journey is hazardous.
You are vulnerable to animals and men, both. Animals you can
take care, perhaps. As yet animals are less menacing, less
harmful than men. I am going to give you something that will
protect you from men. Keep this li’l bottle, my piece of heart.’
Ganguli handed a tiny glass bottle to Rajula.
‘What’s this, Ma?’ She asked.
‘My innocent child, this is a magical perfume. Keep this
with you while you travel. This scent is very powerful. If you
open the lid of this tiny bottle, within few seconds the fragrance
of this perfume intoxicates people in the vicinity. It pushes
them in deep slumber, into deep unconsciousness.’
‘Fine, Ma. It will protect me. Definitely.’
‘Keep it handy and use it when you confront some ultimate
danger’, Ganguli said, ‘but mind you, it evaporates all in once.
Therefore it will work only one time.’

Then she opened another tiny tin box. ‘See, my child. Here
is the armour that will protect you from getting affected by this
perfume. This is vibhuti – sacred ash from the temple of our
Deity. Let me put a pinch on your forehead. The scent will not
affect you for three days. You can take a pinch of sacred ash
with you. If you happen to take more than three days on the
way to or back from Bairath, you can put another pinch on your
forehead.’
‘Sure, Ma.’ Rajula took instructions.
‘Put this scent and the vibhuti in your pocket. Use them
only when necessary. When you are in danger and when you
don’t have any other way out.’ Ganguli picked a pinch in her
fingers, closed her eyes, invoked the blessings of her Deity, and
smeared the ash on Rajula’s forehead. ‘Though I have never
used this scent but that will definitely work. This was gifted to
me by my mother when I married your father more than two
decades back.’
‘It will, mother, it will. It is definitely going to help me
fight dangers and meet with my Malu.’ Rajula stood like a
determined warrior preparing for the war-field.
Mother took extra care in putting the panacea-magic-drugs
in the vestcoat pocket of the daughter. She tied the scarf on
Rajula’s head and ensured no part of the skin was exposed to
the biting cold that would make her shiver in the depth of the
night.
‘This is sunset and complete dark outside, Raju, and
natives of this village have closed themselves insides the doors
to ward off the cold. You can slowly and silently move and

easily escape their gaze.’ Ganguli’s voice turned hoarse and
tears welled up in her eyes.
‘Please guide me about the route to Bairath, Ma. How can I
reach there?’
‘You are aware of half the path, child. You have been to
Uttaraini Fair in Bageshwar with us. Just tread the treaded
path. Straight path down the hill and you will reach Munsyari.
Further down the other hill you reach Kapkot and a few miles
down you then reach Bageshwar.’
‘Yes, Ma, I know that much only.’
‘From Bageshwar take the path to Kausani. You will have
to climb another mountain to reach the village of Kausani
which is on a high peak and the Himalayas seem dwarf but
golden when the rays of rising sun fall on their creeks. Once in
Kausani, you can descend to the plains of Someshwar, which is
a valley of pine trees and you will find vast paddy fields on the
river bank.’
‘Alright, Ma.’
‘And, always remember that you don’t have to disclose your
destination to anyone. Don’t reveal the real mission. From
Someshwar by trekking up to mountain heights on a pony-
trodden muddy path, you will reach near to your destination,
Doonagiri. This is the mountain whose foothills the town of
Bairath is situated.’
‘Okie, Bairath.’ Rajula immersed in the thoughts asked,
‘how do I know that it is Bairath, Ma?’
‘The capital of the Katyur Dynasty is called Rangilee
Bairath, my sweet child. Rangilee means colorful. Knowing

Bairath is very simple and easy: where every citizen is visibly
happy; where the cuckoo sings sweet song in the morning;
where the breezes seem carrying cocktail of hundred
fragrances; where joyous women seen frolicking when filling
their brass pitchers at the natural water fountains; where men
are heard murmuring songs joyfully when ploughing their
fields; where citizens are helpful to strangers and walk a mile to
show them their path; where old grannies kiss hungry and
thirsty students on the way; where a hungry monk is offered
milk and rice in alms; where cows are milched three times a
day; where oxen’s bells resonate music while they plough a
field; where none seems in grief; where the heaven seems
settled on earth; that place, that very place is Bairath. You will
easily know it, my girl.’
‘Yes, I will, Ma. I will know my sweet Bairath. I will know
my Malu’s Bairath, effortlessly.’ Anxious Rajula, lost in her
thoughts of her love, said.
‘My well wishes and blessings are with you, my child. God
bless you, and be you successful in your mission. Come back
soon, my child, come back soon.’ Ganguli’s voice choked.
Rajula stood up, touched the feet of her mother, in
reverence, in love, and in anticipation of a mother’s blessings.
The mother held her from her shoulders and hugged her.
Hugged her. Hugged her sweetheart tightly and kissed many
times over her head, her forehead, and her cheeks, before she
realized that she had wetted Rajula’s cheeks and scarf with her
tears.

** 11 **
The sun had just set in Burang Valley. The villagers had
closed their doors and sat around the bonfire burning on a
brazier to keep them warm. The young and the grownups
munched roasted black soybeans, the old grannies rued their
toothless jaws for disabling them to chew their share and
instead narrated and re-narrated age-old stories of kings and
queens and courtesans to their young generation who enjoyed
cracking the roasted soybeans. While the grannies kept
repeating the tales monotonously, the quiescent youngsters
snoozed in the warmth of the bonfire, simmering goat-milk,
and grannies’ gravitating voice. While the ponies stood erect
and slept standing on hooves and their eyes wide open in the
stable, the goats and sheep ruminated in the warmth of wooden
enclosures. While the dotted hill-dove, the ghughuti, cared for
her newborns in the nests in the oak trees and the
rhododendron leaves rattled against the chilling Himalayan
breeze, Rajula, almost hidden in her flamboyant woolen
dresses, sprinted her way down the hill to meet her love, her
god, her life, Malusahi.
The fear of men, wolves, and demons had slowly vanished
as the zeal to meet her man overshadowed the fears. Her
disposition preoccupied with the thought of a soon-to-be-union
with the beloved. She mumbled, she confabulated, and she
talked with her beau-in-absence as she marched negotiating the

narrow serpentine dusty and pebbled path. Her focused
disposition to meet her sweetheart insulated her mind against
dangers and she unconsciously didn’t allow anything foreign
enter into it. Few steps out of her village and she accustomed to
the pale light of a moon-crescent, treaded the path with great
aplomb. The moon and the countless stars jumbled over the
deep blue sky just played camaraderie to her and seemed all out
to help her in her mission. No doubt, that’s what made the less
trodden path visible to Rajula.
Rajula walked and walked. She took a steep downwards
journey to Munsyari, the next large town on her way to Bairath.
She walked passed tiny shrubs of jaspers and lilies which were
hardly visible in the pale misty light emitted by stars; she
walked leaving behind large bougainvillea and thorny shrubs of
kilmori – violet berries; she cautiously but hurriedly paced over
the pine needles strewn all over the forest; she paced ignoring
the irritating sounds of crickets on the pine trees; she galloped
unhindered by the horrendous howling of jackals in the forests.
The only mantra she chanted and that occupied her brain:
Malu…Malu…Malu. Malu all the way and even the frightening
stories of devils and demons, wolves and wilds she had heard in
her village could not distract her from her mission.
Rajula walked many miles in the thick forests first time
alone in her life, perhaps more than what her companion on
that night, the moon, did. It was gray dark shade of night, but
not too dark to see the fading images of faraway mountains and
shapes of trees on those hills. She could observe the jungles
receding on one side as the trees became scanty over the

surface. Far below the gorge she could hear the splash of a
spattering rivulet and the sand stone shining in the glare of
gleaming moon light. She figured out her path with the
moonlight that sieved through the silver oak, deodar, and
buransh leaves. The aroma of the paddy plants down across the
rivulet mixed with the smell of wild roses touched her nostrils.
Before she could indulge in the fragrance, a sweet mesmerizing
and melodious note of flute entered her ears.
For a split second Rajula was awestruck. She was
dumbfounded. And, she was both. Who could play a flute in the
womb of a forest in the frightening darkness of night? That
made it so enchanting, so mesmerizing but frightening.
Unbecoming things at the inopportune times distracted her but
she maintained her pace. As she walked past the pine, oak, and
deodar trees, the shrubs reposed scant on the hilly slopes. In
the moon-crescent’s pale glow clearing her vision, her gaze fell
on the land besides the shining river. Some objects seem
moving. She rubbed her eyes to gain a clear vision. The moving
objects looked like humans dancing on the sandy ground beside
the river. Rajula slowed her pace. She looked at the far off
fields. She heeded the sounds and tried to learn the uncommon
activity at an equally inopportune time and inauspicious space:
men and women dancing merrily in the mid of the night off a
frightening forest and beside a cremation ground.
As she approached nearer the rivulet her vision cleared she
could make out the scene. There were two men dressed in
immaculate whites surrounded by colourfully dressed women
dancing around the men. She pulled up her breath,

Tragic Love Story of Rajula and Malusahi

Tragic Love Story of Rajula and Malusahi

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