This day in 1540, around midnight in the separate quarters of Kumbhalgarh fort, was born a prince who would go on to be his dynasty's most famous king. Not because he won a battle or had a huge kingdom, but because of his resistance against a bigger power, his dream of freedom, his rebellious heart, the qualities that a true leader possesses. Of course, he was not perfect. He was impulsive and often put his heart and emotions above his head and mind. He was sometimes not rational either. You see, rational people don't do selfless things that may harm them. He did. He resisted with all his might. He fought against all odds. He inspired people who came four hundred years after him to fight for freedom. He never had the life of a king, of luxury and privilege. He chose the life in the forest, the guerrilla tactics that forced him to stay away from his family, the life that led him to many personal losses. But he did not feel defeated. That's where he became the man he is. Happy birthday, Pratap. I know it's a tradition to pay tribute to Maharana Pratap, but to me, you are someone personal, someone close, someone who gives me the strength to be a dreamer.
From the window of the Rani Mahal of Kumbha Palace, she could see the wide walls of Kumbhalgarh, the decorated roof of the temple dedicated to Lord Shiva. She prayed from her window now that it was difficult to move much. The Daima said her baby was due any day soon. She placed her hand on her belly gently as she smiled to herself. She wanted a boy. Not because Mewar expected its king's firstborn to be heir, but because she wanted to finally have a man who wouldn't disappoint her expectations of
men. She would mould him into everything his father was not. Brave, respectful and chivalrous. She would live her life through his experiences. She would protect her baby no matter what. A sudden pang of pain alerted her as she called out for her maid in slight panic. The woman
inspected her and smiled. It was time. The cry of a newborn rang through the air of the silent night at Kumbhalgarh. The excited maids whispered how he was born in the same Prahar at midnight as Kanha, the lord their queen prayed to for a boy. Jivanta Bai was coming in and out of consciousness as she watched the baby cradled by the wet nurse. Conch shells blew, and the bells in the temples rang in good news. It was a boy. Jivanta Bai extended her trembling hands at the wet nurse as she placed the newborn beside the queen of Mewar. She gently kissed his soft forehead as he let out a cry. He was her hope and joy. Jivanta knew the moment the astrologer predicted his future as a unique one, that of an immortal hero, that her task as a mother, her responsibility as queen, was greater than she had imagined. She had given birth to a boy; she would have to raise a king. A king who would be father to his subjects, respectful to his queens and honour the names of his forefathers. The astrologer suggested names. Jivanta cradled her child in her arms as she whispered into the cooing baby's ears before he was taken to his father for the official naming.
"Kunwar Pratap Singh Sisodiya, welcome to Mewar, your home and your motherland."
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