Arankanwal, the slighted heir of Mandor, determined on revenge, and with four thousand Rathors planted himself in the path of Sadhu’s return, aided by the Sankhla Mehraj, whose son Sadhu had slain. Though entreated to add four thousand Mohils to his escort, Sadhu deemed his own gallant band of seven hundred Bhattis sufficient to convey his bride to his desert abode, and with difficulty accepted fifty, led by Meghraj, the brother of the bride.
The rivals encountered at Chondan, where Sadhu had halted to repose; but the brave Rathor scorned the advantage of numbers, and a series of single combats ensued, with all the forms of chivalry. The first who entered the lists was Jaitanga, of the Pahu clan, and of the kin of Sadhu. The enemy came upon him by surprise while reposing on the ground, his saddle-cloth for his couch, and the bridle of his steed twisted round his arm; he was soon recognized by the Sankhla, who had often encountered his prowess, on which he expatiated to Arankanwal, who sent an attendant to awake him; but the gallant Panch Kalyan (for such was the name of his steed) had already performed this service, and they found him upbraiding white-legs[[56]] for treading upon him. Like a true Rajput, “toujours prêt,” he received the hostile message, and sent the envoy back with his compliments, and a request for some amal or opium, as he had lost his own supply. With all courtesy this was sent, and prepared by the domestics of his antagonist; after taking which he lay down to enjoy the customary siesta. As soon as he awoke, he prepared for the combat, girt on his armour, and having reminded Panch Kalyan of the fields he had won, and telling him to bear him well that day, he mounted and advanced. The son of Chonda admiring his sang-froid, and the address with which he guided his steed, commanded Jodha Chauhan, the leader of his party, to encounter the Pahu. “Their two-edged swords soon clashed in combat”; but the gigantic Chauhan fell beneath the Bhatti, who, warmed with the fight, plunged amidst his foes, encountering all he deemed worthy of his assault.
The fray thus begun, single combats and actions of equal parties followed, the [629] rivals looking on. At length Sadhu mounted: twice he charged the Rathor ranks, carrying death on his lance; each time he returned for the applause of his bride, who beheld the battle from her car. Six hundred of his foes had fallen, and nearly half his own warriors. He bade her a last adieu, while she exhorted him to the fight, saying, “she would witness his deeds, and if he fell, would follow him even in death.” Now he singled out his rival Arankanwal,[[57]] who was alike eager to end the strife, and blot out his disgrace in his blood. They met: some seconds were lost in a courteous contention, each yielding to his rival the first blow, at length dealt out by Sadhu on the neck of the disappointed Rathor. It was returned with the rapidity of lightning, and the daughter of the Mohil saw the steel descend on the head of her lover. Both fell prostrate to the earth: but Sadhu’s soul had sped; the Rathor had only swooned. With the fall of the leaders the battle ceased; and the fair cause of strife, Karamdevi, at once a virgin, a wife, and a widow, prepared to follow her affianced. Calling for a sword, with one arm she dissevered the other, desiring it might be conveyed to the father of her lord—“tell him such was his daughter.” The other she commanded to be struck off, and given, with her marriage jewels thereon, to the bard of the Mohils. The pile was prepared on the field of battle; and taking her lord in her embrace, she gave herself up to the devouring flames. The dissevered limbs were disposed of as commanded; the old Rao of Pugal caused the one to be burnt, and a tank was excavated on the spot, which is still called after the heroine, “the lake of Karamdevi.”
This encounter took place in S. 1462, A.D. 1406. The brunt of the battle fell on the Sankhlas, and only twenty-five out of three hundred and fifty left the field with their leader, Mehraj, himself severely wounded. The rejected lover had four brothers dangerously hurt; and in six months the wounds of Arankanwal opened afresh: he died, and the rites to the manes of these rivals in love, the chhamasa[[58]] of Sadhu, and the duadasa[[59]] of Arankanwal, were celebrated on the same day.
Without pausing to trace the moral springs of that devotion which influenced the Mohila maiden, we shall relate the sequel to the story (though out of place)[[60]] in illustration of the prosecution of feuds throughout Rajasthan. The fathers [630] now took up the quarrel of their sons; and as it was by the prowess of the Sankhla vassal of Mandor that the band of Sadhu was discomfited, the old Rao, Raningdeo, drew together the lances of Pugal, and carried destruction into the fief of Mehraj. The Sankhlas yield in valour to none of the brave races who inhabit the “region of death”; and Mehraj was the father of Harbuji Sankhla, the Palladin of Marudes, whose exploits are yet the theme of the erratic bards of Rajasthan. Whether he was unprepared for the assault, or overcome by numbers, three hundred of his kin and clan moistened the sand-hills of the Luni with their blood. Raningdeo, flushed with revenge and laden with spoil, had reached his own frontier, when he was overtaken by Chonda of Mandor, alike eager to avenge the loss of his son Arankanwal, and this destructive inroad on his vassal. A desperate conflict ensued, in which the Rao of Pugal was slain; and the Rathor returned in triumph to Mandor.
Unequal to cope with the princes of Mandor, the two remaining sons of Raningdeo, Tana and Mera, resolved to abandon their faith, in order to preserve the point of honour, and “to take up their father’s feud.”[[61]] At this period the king, Khizr Khan,[[62]] was at Multan; to him they went, and by offers of service and an open apostacy, obtained a force to march against Chonda, who had recently added Nagor to his growing dominions. While the brothers were thus negotiating, they were joined by Kilan, the third son of their common sovereign, the Rawal of Jaisalmer, who advised the use of chal, which with the Rajput means indifferently stratagem or treachery, so that it facilitates revenge. With the ostensible motive of ending their feuds, and restoring tranquillity to their borderers, whose sole occupation was watching, burning, and devastating, Kilan offered a daughter in marriage to Chonda, and went so far as to say, that if he suspected aught unfair, he would, though contrary to custom and his own dignity, send the Bhatti princess to Nagor. This course being deemed the wisest, Chonda acquiesced in his desire “to extinguish the feud (wair bujhana).”
Nāgor taken by Stratagem.
Once more the feud was balanced; a son and a father had fallen on each side, and the petty Rao of Pugal had bravely maintained the wair against the princes of Mandor. The point of honour had been carried to the utmost bound by both parties, and an opportunity of reconciliation was at hand, which prevented the shadow of disgrace either to him who made or him who accepted the overture. The Rathors dreaded the loss of the recent acquisition, Nagor, and proposed to the Bhattis to seal their pacification with the blood of their common foe. United, they fell on the spoil-encumbered Tatars, whom they slew to a man.[[64]] Their father’s feud thus revenged, the sons of Raningdeo (who, as apostates from their faith, could no longer hold Pugal in fief, which was retained by Kilan, who had aided their revenge) retired amongst the Aboharia Bhattis, and their descendants are now styled Momin Musalman Bhatti.
From such anecdotes it will be obvious wherein consists the point of honour with the Rajputs; and it is not improbable that the very cause which has induced an opinion that females can have no influence on the lords of the creation, namely, their seclusion, operates powerfully in the contrary way.