Brooding over this merited retort, he was guilty of another sarcasm, which closed the breach against all reconciliation. Seated one day in the garden of Mandor, he asked the same chief the name of a tree. “The champa,” was the reply, “and the pride of the garden, as I am of your Rajputs.” “Cut it down instantly,” said the prince; “root it out; nothing which bears the name of champa shall exist in Marwar.”
Kaniram of Asop, the chief of the next most powerful clan, the Kumpawat, was alike the object of this prince’s ridicule. His countenance, which was not “cast in nature’s finest mould,” became a butt for his wit, and he would familiarly say to him, ‘ao budha bandar,’ “Come along, old monkey.” Boiling with rage, the chief observed, “When the monkey begins to dance, you will have some mirth.” Leaving the court, with his brother chieftain of Awa, they collected their retainers and families, and marched to Nagor. Bakhta Singh was absent, but being advised by his locum tenens of his visitors, and of their quarrel with his nephew, he lost no time in joining them. It is said he expostulated with them, and offered himself as mediator; but they swore never again to look in the face of Ram Singh as their sovereign. They offered to place Bakhta Singh on the gaddi of Jodha; and threatened, if he refused, to abandon Marwar. He played the part of our Richard for a short time; but the habitual arrogance of his nephew soon brought matters to a crisis. As soon as he heard that the two leaders of all his vassals were received by his uncle, he addressed him, demanding the instant surrender of Jalor. Again he had the courtly reply: “He dare not contend against his sovereign; and if he came to visit him, he would meet him with a vessel of water.”[[15]] War, a [747] horrid civil war, was now decided on; the challenge was given and accepted, and the plains of Merta were fixed upon to determine this mortal strife, in which brother was to meet brother, and all the ties of kin were to be severed by the sword. The Mertia clans, the bravest, as they are the most loyal and devoted, of all the brave clans of Maru, united to a man under the sovereign’s standard; the chiefs of Rian, Budsa, Mihtri, Kholar, Bhorawar, Kuchaman, Alniawas, Jusari, Bokri, Bharunda, Irwa, Chandarun, collected around them every vassal who could wield a brand. Most of the clans of Jodha, attracted by the name of swamidharma, ‘fidelity to their lord,’ united themselves to the Mertias; though a few, as Ladnun, Nimbi, were on the adverse side; but the principal leaders, as Khairwa, Govindgarh, and Bhadrajun, were faithful to their salt. Of the services of others, Ram Singh’s insolence deprived him. Few remained neuter. But these defections were nothing to the loss of a body of five thousand Jareja auxiliaries, whom his connexion with a daughter of the prince of Bhuj brought to his aid. When the tents were moved outside the capital, an incident occurred which, while it illustrates the singular character of the Rajput, may be regarded as the real cause of the loss of sovereignty to Ram Singh. An inauspicious raven had perched upon the kanat, or wall of the tent in which was the Jareja queen, who, skilled in the art of the suguni[[16]] (augur), determined to avert it. Like all Rajputnis, who can use firearms on occasion, she seized a matchlock at hand, and, ere he “thrice croaked,” she shot him dead. The impetuous Raja, enraged at this instance of audacity and disrespect, without inquiry ordered the culprit to be dragged before him; nor was his anger assuaged when the name of the Rani was given. He reviled her in the grossest terms: “Tell the Rani,” he said, “to depart my dominions, and to return from whence she came.” She entreated and conjured him, by a regard to his own safety, to revoke the decree; but all in vain; and with difficulty could she obtain a short interview, but without effecting any change in her obdurate lord. Her last words were, “With my exile from your presence, you will lose the crown of Marwar.” She marched that instant, carrying with her the five thousand auxiliaries whose presence must have ensured his victory.
The Udawat clans, led by their chiefs of Nimaj, Raepur, and Raus, with all [748] the Karansots under the Thakur of Khinwasar, united their retainers with the Champawats and Kumpawats under the banners of Bakhta Singh.
Battle between Bakhta Singh and Rāja Rām Singh, A.D. 1752.
Bakhta Singh commenced the battle. Leaving his camp standing, he advanced against his nephew and sovereign, whom he saluted with a general discharge of his artillery. A vigorous cannonade was continued on both sides throughout the day, without a single man seeking a closer encounter. It is no wonder they paused ere the sword was literally drawn. Here was no foreign foe to attack; brother met brother, friend encountered friend, and the blood which flowed in the veins of all the combatants was derived from one common fountain. The reluctance proceeded from the στοργή, the innate principle of natural affection. Evening advanced amidst peals of cannon, when an incident, which could only occur in an army of Rajputs, stopped the combat. On the banks of the Bejpa lake, the scene of strife, there is a monastery of Dadupanti ascetics, built by Raja Sur Singh. It was nearly midway between the rival armies, and the shot fell so thick amidst these recluses that they fled in a body, leaving only the old patriarch. Baba (father) Kishandeo disdained to follow his disciples, and to the repeated remonstrances from either party to withdraw, he replied, that if it was his fate to die by a shot he could not avert it; if not, the balls were innoxious: but although he feared not for himself, yet his gardens and monastery were not “charmed,” and he commanded them to fight no longer on that ground. The approach of night, and the sacred character of the old abbot Dadupanti, conspired to make both parties obey his commands, and they withdrew to their respective encampments.
The dawn found the armies in battle-array, each animated with a deadly determination. It was Raja Ram’s turn to open this day’s combat, and he led the van against his uncle. Burning with the recollection of the indignities he had [749] suffered, the chief of Awa, determined to show that “the cur could bite,” led his Champawats to the charge against his sovereign. Incited by loyalty and devotion “to the gaddi of Marwar,” reckless who was its occupant, the brave Mertias met his onset steel in hand. The ties of kin were forgotten, or if remembered, the sense of the unnatural strife added a kind of frenzy to their valour, and confirmed their resolution to conquer or die. Here the Mertia, fighting under the eye of this valiant though intemperate prince, had to maintain his ancient fame, as “the first sword of Maru.” There his antagonist, the Champawat, jealous of this reputation, had the like incentive, besides the obligation to revenge the insults offered to his chief. The conflict was awful: the chieftains of each valiant clan met hand to hand, singling out each other by name. Sher Singh, chief of all the Mertias, was the first who sealed his devotion by his death. His place was soon filled by his brother, burning for vengeance. Again he cheered on his Mertias to avenge the death of their lord, as he propelled his steed against the chief of the Champawats. They were the sons of two sisters of the Jaipur house, and had hitherto lived in amity and brotherly love, now exchanged for deadly hate. They encountered, when the “cur” bit the dust, and was borne from the field. The loss of their leaders only inflamed the vassals on both sides, and it was long before either yielded a foot of ground. But numbers, and the repeated charges of Bakhta Singh who led wherever his nephew could be found, at length prevailed; though not until the extinction of the clan of Mertia, who, despising all odds, fought unto the death. Besides their head of Rian, there fell the sub-vassals of Irwa, Sewara, Jusari, and Mithri, with his three gallant sons, and almost all their retainers.
The Death of the Mīthri Chief.
Kānān moti bulbula
Gal sonē ki māla
Assi kos khariya āya