To the Women of Rajputana

What does it take to assert a claim?

Claim of the Jauhar

Her Ghumar – Ghaghro – Ghunghat


Under the latch of her lips

Under the arms of her wits

Her blue waters rippling, her plastic liquidity


Polluted fibres of mythical sanctity

A practice portrayed with precision

Crafted under the shadows of a false divinity.


Perverted with the prejudices of a superior clan

What does it take to become a Rajput shan?

                                      “A noble birth of a singular oath!”


She declaims:

She, the lioness, a pride of the pride

Protector of a masculine esteem,


Behold the pride of Rajputana: a Khashtrani

Out and about.

Claiming her Jauhar – her Ghunght – her Sati


As vast as the sea, her pride and a plea

Engulfing the reason with liberation

Under that dark blue plasticity


Under her self-governed austerity

She, is but a slave!

Perpetuating countless soreness.

In her terrains of civility

How covertly she bounds it.


A warrior queen…? Don’t be foolish.

There is much more to a sword than a blade

There is much more to a fire than a scarlet wave

Her concentrated, self-adhered heat.


She holds the esteem high, high above the sky.

A Rajputani does not dissent outside

Her sons, her fathers, her husbands

Her eternal Rajputana – crippled and corrupt


Her heart cold without the warmth of a lover

“Lover…? A blasphemous word.”

For her, it is only devotion, duty, god and husband

                                      “Jauhar – Jauhar – Jauhar “


How chaste is her caste…

She the ultimate price of the Pride

A Rajputani does not dance

A Rajputani does not reveal…


Not in words, neither in skin

A Rajputani is serene, her humour locked in time.

When the drought proceeds and

The water is scarce,  her humour twinges on backward limbs.


“A louder laugh is an indecent remark”

A Rajputani does not speak.

Not in child marriage nor in forced submissions

Neither when left with masochist portion.


I shall not talk about good men in Rajputana

They are few, but this one is for the most part

A lament of a good man…

Who sentiments outside the Gharana,

I have yet to witness such a Nazarana.


                                      “I am Rajputani- a khashtrani”: She claims out loud

An open claimant of superiority.

I’m the pillar, in my shaft the rest of the cast

I do not struggle with enlightenment


A true Rajputani suffers,

Suffering – her eternal cry.

To suffer in silence is my virtue.

I stay quiet when the dawn is abused by the dusk

I stay quiet when the pillars bleed,

Wounded by their own weight.


I stay quiet when the sisters are chopped in half

For straying with a love to a lower order.

I stay quiet when pleasure is forbidden

I stay quiet when I’m guarded and so in return


I jealously guard my feet and my hands

And that of my daughters, and that of my sisters

                                      I guard the fortress of lies and let everyone see

                                      The lamps burning with pure Ghee


With my veil, my silence, my care

I nourish the strength of my men, my sons,

The strength with which they bully my neighbours

The strength with which the orders are maintained

The strength with which they gawk at my maid

The strength with which I claim my superiority

The strength in which I arrest the lovers in the public parks

The strength with which I shiver with fear

The strength in which I deny my son’s right

to be timid and gentle

                                      The strength in which I deny my daughter’s right

to be loud and proud

                                      The strength with which they rape 

                                      The strength with which they commit incest,

                                      The strength with which they demand my complete submission

And I deliver, Oh, I deliver without a question

As if, it was only natural.


As if, it is only natural,

To live on a small sandy Island

Offering its earth to the sea

Oh, I can’t swim…, I can’t swim…


I nourish the strength with which

My back is whipped and

I almost viciously come out with joy

                                      The joy of being superior compensates for my pain


On such proud moments, I rush to my neighbours

With my eyes glimmering with joy,

 I announce:

                                      This is my man, he is a real man.


I nourish that strength which denies me a right to question

I ratify this denial, like a studded diamond in my necklace

I blush when my chastity is rewarded

Guarded in the name of Sanskar

While my husband’s hand fiddles

With the cunt of a Rabaran


I am gentle and nurturing

I’m brave and shattering

I shatter the conception of your modernity

Your equality,


Your nonsensical creativity.

Creativity, vulgar phenomena

To create is to invent,

Inventions are forbidden”


A Rajputani does not create,

She obeys with the zeal of a soldier on a mission.


“I make history, right here…

With the blade of this sharp and agile sword

My eyes fooled by tears…

This is how it will be remembered.


Once open a time,

The only time, a Rajputani is out and about

Standing up for her rights.

“Dare, you tread on my pride,” She shouts:

“My Jauhar, my Ghunghat.”


With all her wrath she speaks:

“Rajputi shan ke liye Hum marne maarne ke liye taiyar he bhi sakte he, aur maar bhi sakte he”



But the stones were being pelted on the Toddler’s caravan.