Thread by @saket71

A #Story: or #History #Assam

The little six year old, broke herself off from brutal arms of the men who did not look like any she had ever seen. 'I am a princess. Bow down you rude men.' She shouted. But all she could get in response was men with strange look in their eyes.

She had seen affection in eyes of the men, she had seen anger in the eyes of her father, She had seen reverence in the eyes of the men. but these men, with those blood-red, angry eyes, looked at her in a different way, in a way she could not understand. /2

Then there was a man who looked similar to them, he directed these cruel men to step back, and when he spoke, his words offered some safety but no compassion, no affection, no reverence.
'She is for the royal harem. Let her be. Will take time to get used to.' She looked around.

Like a dear in front of wolves, she looked around for one face, who she knew, one face she could understand and which could smile back in understanding and reassurance. She could not, as the Ship rocked over the angry waves of Brahmaputru, she fell on the floor, crying. /4

when she could cry no more, she got up and lifting herself on her toes, looked over the Mighty Brahmaputra, the wide spread of stream, a helpless mother watching her daughter being taken away. She felt like numerous fishes caught every morning and sent to be sold in Murshidabad.

She felt she was as dead as those fishes and when she reached after days of being carried over the dreadful dust and foggy streets of December, to a strange place with a huge red building amid a noisy market, so difference from the calm, comfort of the lush green mountains.

The chants of Vaishnav prayers could no longer be heard, the Devi in whose name the venerable and fatherly Atan Buragohain ran his hands over her head in blessing, faded quickly in a world where there were women walking in their quarters, pressing their lips, throwing their heads

The women were different, taught her to look not a man into his eyes, rather to look furtively, run the fingers through the locks of her hairs and smile from the corners of her lips. She quickly began to forget her laughs with abandon, which would flow like mountain stream. /

At the age of Six, the memories are dim and not very adamant. They quickly give way to the realities. The taste of rice with hilsa was quickly forgotten by Ramani Gabharu, as she got used to a strange tasting meat, which was fed to her on the day she reached this place.

The man with long beard had watched her, sitting on a huge throne, as she controlled her urge to throw up, while she for some reason remembered Gauri back home, the naughty, milky white calf, which whole she would talk for hours. As she ate it, driven out of hunger and fear..

A noise of appreciation rose in the hall, the man, they called Alamgir, smiled appreciatingly, and called her with a name with which her father Raja Jayadhwaj had never called her- Rahmat Banu. The men laughed gleefully, she could not understand why...

When left to ladies quarter, she hugged Moina, only person in this strange land who shared her memories, other then her cousin, the Princess of Tipam Raja. Then they, the two six years old kids, hugged each other and wept, and weeping they slept. This was just one day of 14 years

Five years from then, in 1668, Ramani Gabharu, the proud Whom Princess, now Rahat Banu was married to the Prince Azam, and became his third wife. The memories of that foggy December morning became foggier and foggier until one day she saw Alamgir, angrily stamping his feet..

from behind the curtains of the Zenana, cursing the infidels, someone called Shiva, and then she heard a name, of the kind she had only faint memories of from her childhood, Borphukan. She strained her ears and caught the name- Lachit Borphukan. Her in-laws had lost Gauhati.

Prince Azam was shaken that day, he did not come. She anyways was ranked third in the Harem, even the Muttah brides ranked above her. Except from a thin thread of royal sanction, there was little difference between official begums and other consorts.

She was scared for her husband. He might think of her as nothing but a plaything, but for her he was her husband, she was worried. The emperor was not forgiving to those who lost, even to his sons. But this defeat of the Mughals brought a smile to her face, she sighed.

She had not seen Lohit, that mighty Brahmputra for last five and last memories of the mother river was of fog hanging over it on a foggy winder morning, but today she felt, Brahmaputra has breathed free and smiled under a bright mountain Sun this November.

Even if her life has moved into womanhood from childhood, she could imagine the lofty waves of the river dancing like she used to dance on the river banks while under the watchful eyes of Lachit and Laluk. Laluk was now Governor of Gauhati. Years in this foreign world and still..

She had felt a strange pride when she heard that Mother of Ram Singh, the Rajput King told him to spare Assam as it was a land of Sanatan where Shaakt and Vaishnav's prayed to the Devi, cows and Brahmins were protected. And now, her heart leapt out when Moina told her..

About Madhabcharan and Jadunandan from Assam who had come to Jahangirpuri (Now Dacca) to meet the Prince on behalf of Laluk Barphukan and who were arrested. When she pleaded for them, little did she realise that they carried a message from the uncle she left behind decades back

She hoped that Loluk would like the proud Lachit would have sent a message of defiance, a warning to stay off the Ahom lands for the Mughals. But they brought a message of treachery, of willingness to cede Gauhati and get Mughal support to win Asam Kingdom.

Ramani was shocked, saddened. She thought people made compromise out of weakness, out of fear, out of helplessness. Now a brother of great #LachitBarphukan was selling his soul for greed. What was Rahmat Banu Begam to do? what was Ramani to do?

The loyalty to motherland or loyalty to the foreigners who had captured her, converted her and married her? And then she sits down and writes to her Uncle, reminding him of the glory of Lachit and begging him not to abandon Gauhati for greed. He does not listen..

As loyalty to motherland and loyalty to faith is not a family fiefdom, it will be left for another brave in Raja Gadapani who would take up the legacy of Lachit and free Gauhati once again. But the story tells us how a girl who left motherland at six years of age stood by it. 🙏