Holkar protects Mewār Interests.
The Tragedy of Krishna Kunwāri.
Krishna Kunwari (the Virgin Krishna) was the name of the lovely object, the rivalry for whose hand assembled under the banners of her suitors (Jagat Singh of Jaipur and Raja Man of Marwar), not only their native chivalry, but all the predatory powers of India; and who, like Helen of old, involved in destruction her own and the rival houses. Sindhia having been denied a pecuniary demand by Jaipur, not only opposed the nuptials, but aided the claims of Raja Man, by demanding of the Rana the dismissal of the Jaipur embassy: which being refused, he advanced his brigades and batteries, and after a fruitless resistance, in which the Jaipur troops joined, forced the pass, threw a corps of eight thousand men into the valley, and following in person, encamped within cannon-range of the city. The Rana had now no alternative but to dismiss the nuptial cortège, and agree to whatever was demanded. Sindhia remained a month in the valley, during which an interview took place between him and the Rana at the shrine of Eklinga [462].[[48]]
Battle of Parbatsar. Defeat of the Mārwār Forces.
Nawāb Amīr Khān.
Thus finished the under-plot; but another and more noble victim was demanded before discomfited ambition could repose, or the curtain drop on this eventful drama. Neither party would relinquish his claim to the fair object of the war; and the torch of discord could be extinguished only in her blood. To the same ferocious Khan is attributed the unhallowed suggestion, as well as its compulsory execution. The scene was now changed from the desert castle of Jodha to the smiling valley of Udaipur, soon to be filled with funereal lamentation.
The Tragedy of Krishna Kunwāri.
The rapacious and bloodthirsty Pathan, covered with infamy, repaired to Udaipur, where he was joined by the pliant and subtle Ajit. Meek in his demeanour, unostentatious in his habits; despising honours, yet covetous of power,—religion, which he followed with the zeal of an ascetic, if it did not serve as a cloak, was at least no hindrance to an immeasurable ambition, in the attainment of which he would have sacrificed all but himself. When the Pathan revealed his design, that either the princess should wed Raja Man, or by her death seal the peace of Rajwara, whatever arguments were used to point the alternative, the Rana was made to see no choice between consigning his beloved child to the Rathor prince, or witnessing the effects of a more extended dishonour from the vengeance of the Pathan, and the storm of his palace by his licentious adherents—the fiat passed that Krishna Kunwari should die.
But the deed was left for women to accomplish—the hand of man refused it. The Rawala[[51]] of an Eastern prince is a world within itself; it is the labyrinth containing the strings that move the puppets which alarm mankind. Here intrigue sits enthroned, and hence its influence radiates to the world, always at a loss to trace effects to their causes. Maharaja Daulat Singh,[[52]] descended four generations ago from one common ancestor with the Rana, was first sounded ‘to save the honour of Udaipur’; but, horror-struck, he exclaimed, “Accursed the tongue that commands it! Dust on my allegiance, if thus to be preserved!” The Maharaja Jawandas, a natural brother, was then called upon; the dire necessity was explained, and it was urged that no common hand could be armed for the purpose. He accepted the poniard, but when in youthful loveliness Krishna appeared before him, the dagger fell from his hand, and he returned more wretched than the victim. The fatal purpose thus revealed, the shrieks of the frantic mother reverberated through the palace, as she implored mercy, or execrated the murderers of her child, who alone was resigned to her fate. But death was arrested, not averted [465]. To use the phrase of the narrator, "she was excused the steel—the cup was prepared,"—and prepared by female hands! As the messenger presented it in the name of her father, she bowed and drank it, sending up a prayer for his life and prosperity. The raving mother poured imprecations on his head, while the lovely victim, who shed not a tear, thus endeavoured to console her: “Why afflict yourself, my mother, at this shortening of the sorrows of life? I fear not to die! Am I not your daughter? Why should I fear death? We are marked out for sacrifice[[53]] from our birth; we scarcely enter the world but to be sent out again; let me thank my father that I have lived so long!”[[54]] Thus she conversed till the nauseating draught refused to assimilate with her blood. Again the bitter potion was prepared. She drained it off, and again it was rejected; but, as if to try the extreme of human fortitude, a third was administered; and, for the third time, Nature refused to aid the horrid purpose. It seemed as if the fabled charm, which guarded the life of the founder of her race,[[55]] was inherited by the Virgin Krishna. But the blood-hounds, the Pathan and Ajit, were impatient till their victim was at rest; and cruelty, as if gathering strength from defeat, made another and a fatal attempt. A powerful opiate was presented—the kusumbha draught.[[56]] She received it with a smile, wished the scene over, and drank it. The desires [466] of barbarity were accomplished. ‘She slept!’[[57]] a sleep from which she never awoke.
The wretched mother did not long survive her child; nature was exhausted in the ravings of despair; she refused food; and her remains in a few days followed those of her daughter to the funeral pyre.