Mythology and history melt into each other in India. As Devdutt Pattanaik says, “Within infinite myths lies the eternal truth/Who sees it all?” So who can vouch for the truth about Rani Padmavati, the heroine of the 16th century heroic poem by Malik Muhammad Jayasi.
The lines are divided along arguments of authenticity. Did Padmini exist? Jayasi may have imaginatively expanded on a pre-existing figure of folk imagination in which the ultimate sacrifice is the self-immolation of the queen and the palace women in preference to falling prey to the lust of enemies. Since a story must evolve, Jayasi created an elaborate plot establishing the evil intentions of Alauddin Khilji, the Sultan of Delhi. In Jayasi’s poem Khilji is supposed to have seen the reflection of Padmini in a mirror and vowed to capture her. Padmini’s husband Raja Ratan Singh of Chittor is equally determined to protect his queen and his kingdom against the marauders.
Malashri Lal
Even if this is creative writing, local people will show evidence of Padmini’s existence in the Chittor Palace and the chamber in which the jauhar, the Hindu custom of mass self-immolation by women, took place.
Once Padmini has been granted existence, womanhood, beauty, royalty and heroic potential, a new kind of story emerges in the light of 21st century notions of female honour. Padmini from being a shadowy figure in recorded history, which tends to ignore non-martial women, now acquires agency and activity in the eyes of film producer Sanjay Leela Bhansali.
What performance is permitted to Rani Padmini? She is the defender of Rajput women’s honour as we are repeatedly reminded, but can she be seen performing ordinary antarmahal activities such as perform ‘ghoomar’—a traditional dance form with signature twirling movement—neither fast nor in a seductive manner? Can she supervise the royal cuisine, dress attractively, participate in festive events?
Presumably such mundane activities are not to be seen but assumed. But there is one heroic role that Padmini must perform—send her King husband ceremoniously off to battle, and subsequently take over the responsibility of preserving female honour. Old and new values clash in modern readings.
Sati is outlawed now, but was a heroic act once upon a time in Rajasthan and elsewhere in India. One must note that jauhar that is committed by Rani Padmini is not sati. This is mass self-immolation by women only when they hear of their King’s defeat in a battle and anticipate themselves being violated by the victors. Today, there can be no heroism attached to women going into self-willed death, but during the partition of India, such stories were reported.
What can be done by the filmmaker and responsible public, in and out of Rajasthan, to allow this mega-pic to be screened in cinema halls without provoking violence?
Bhansali has agreed to show the film to the detractors and has repeatedly refuted all accusations of disrespect towards Rajput tradition. He deserves a chance. As an astute filmmaker, he would have ensured research into the plot and into cultural sensitivities. Creative freedom should not hurt the community’s feelings. Just as Jayasi built his story on floating folk versions (and Lieutenant-Colonel James Tod cemented them), Bhansali too may have created a film that will leave Padmini on a pedestal. Bhansali is one in a long line of presenters of this tale, Abanindranath Tagore’s Rajkahini (1909) in Bengali, Chithrapu Narayanamurthi's film Chitoor Rani Padmini (1963) in Tamil (starring Sivaji Ganesan, Vyjayanthimala) , and Jaswant Jhaveri’s film Maharani Padmini (1964) in Hindi, among others.
Chittor’s legend of Rani Padmini, a young woman said to be from Singhaldeep (Lanka) , who made Mewar her home and lived and died for its honour, will continue to colour our imagination. Some might seek faded alta palm prints on the walls of a charred chamber. Whether this is history or myth—does it matter?
Malashri Lal is a writer and academic, and co-editor of the popular volume In Search of Sita: Revisiting Mythology



