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Act 1:
Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in her area. It was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks, carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they had for cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak! But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.
'I am sick of this!' she grunted loudly. She threw another pebble into the white water and shed another tear. Ilaa wasn't usually capable of crying, but sometimes when she'd be overcome by emotions, she used to throw pebbles into the Godavari, as it helped her cry. Strictly speaking, she had never cried in her life, never in front of people anyway. She'd just carry the bundle of her tears inside her glazy brown eyes and dump them in the river, one pebble at a time.
The reason for her present grief wasn't her brother's demise. No, she had cried her fill for it two weeks ago when a soldier had appeared beneath the Sauviragram elder tree (where the panchayat meetings were held) to announce the names of the brave sons of the village who had laid their lives defending the fort of Devagiri, one of the most turbulent military establishments in the Maratha empire. The fort had been the only survivor of the multitude of struggles between the Mughals and the Marathas in the region, sieged and repaired and changed ownership, but still standing tall. The traders and travellers from Paithan often mentioned it in songs and ballads, they said that the fort could never die because it was being constantly revitalised by the blood of patriots. Ganesha, her brother, didn't see it that way. He often used to say that only the worst kind of soldiers die in battle because a dead man cannot protect anyone.
And yet, he had become the worst kind of soldier himself.
Honestly, Ilaa didn't believe it at first. Her brother. Dead. It didn't rhyme to her, didn't make any sense at all. Ganesha was the bravest man she had ever seen, not just fearless, but gentle and protective too. He had joined the army voluntarily after their father had refused to pay for Ilaa's education stating that they didn't have enough money for such unnecessary expenses. There hadn't been much discussion about it. Father declared his verdict in the night, Ganesha was gone the next morning. Later, a soldier arrived with a peculiar contract saying that Ganesha Nayak, son of Raghava Nayak, had waived his lifetime salary in return for the proper education of his sister Ilaa Nayak. Ilaa's father nearly went mad that day. But he bowed to his son's stubbornness, and Ilaa was on cloud nine!
Ganesha went to war seven times since that day, and he always came back victorious, having moved up in the world. He had quickly grown in rank and reputation in the army. In days of peace, he'd take Ilaa to the banks of Godavari and train her in combat and military tactics, lessons she enjoyed the most.
One such day, Ilaa had asked, 'Why do you give me these lessons when you know girls cannot join the military?'
Ganesha had simply smiled to himself. 'Honestly,' he said, 'the way this war is going, a day might come when the army starts enlisting women. I mean, they are already taking the children, aren't they?'
Ilaa had twitched her brows angrily.
'Okay,' Ganesha had taken his clue, 'I admit it. I like teaching you warfare, and you're better at it than many men who have fought beside me at Devagiri. Besides, I don't see why a woman shouldn't be allowed to fight for her country. As per your caste, you are a Kshatriya. So, in my opinion, it's not just your duty to fight for our country, it's your right.'
The next pebble fell too close, splashing water over her face. Her train of thoughts was broken, and she realised that she had been sobbing heavily for a while. But she had forgotten why she was crying in the first place. She pondered over it for a moment, then it came back to her. Ilaa's father had told her that he was planning to get her married!
She hurriedly got up and dived into the water. It was early spring and the water was calm, so there was no danger of drowning. The river, that appeared so pure and white from above, appeared dark and muddy inside. She held her breath and wondered how similar that was to her life. Clear and uneventful to a passer-by, but fuzzy and confusing to her own mind.
'Why did mother name me Ilaa?' she had asked one day, wadding her limbs to keep her afloat in the river.
'Actually, I named you, Ilaa,' Ganesha had huffed through his strokes. 'I named you after King Ila of Bahlika. Legend has it that he lost his way during a hunting trip and mistakenly entered Lord Shiva's forest. Lord Shiva cursed him to become a woman. Later on, Ila managed to please Lord Shiva with the help of the planet Buddha (Mercury). He left his kingdom of Bahlika and established the city of Pratishthana, which is known these days as the city Paithan.'
Ilaa emerged from under the water with a loud gasp and splash as her breath gave away. She panted hard, her ample chest heaving at the heavens. Ilaa, named after a man cursed to be a woman. At times, she felt that she really was a man trapped in a woman's body.
'I don't think so,' Ganesha had shaken his head at this revelation. 'You're not a man trapped in a girl's body. You shouldn't be.'
'But I want to be like a man,' she had snapped. 'I want to be free.'
'In my experience,' Ganesha had patted her head, 'being a man and being free are mutually exclusive of one another. Don't try to be like a man. Become a woman that every woman wants to be like. Become a woman that every man wants to be like. Have you heard the stories of Ghosha, Lopamudra, Maitreyi and Gargi?'
'Yes, they were eminent scholars of the Vedic era. Everyone knows their names.'
'And what is common about these popular figures of the past?'
Ilaa hadn't taken long to ponder over that question. 'They were all women.'
'That is right,' Ganesha had beamed and snapped his fingers. 'They were all women. And they immortalised themselves in the pages of our history, our culture, our Vedas and literature.'
'But things were different then,' she had revolted. 'Women had a very high status in the early Vedic society.'
'No, my dear,' Ganesha had held her by her shoulders. 'They didn't have a very high status in society. They earned a very high status in society. Yes, our society can learn a lot from those days. It should. But someone has to teach them, and it can't be a man. Gargi Vachaknavi challenged the sage Yajnavalkya, the most learned scholar of his time, in the court of King Janaka of Videha, and she defeated him. She had to fight for her place as a scholar just like any man in that court. Probably more, but when has life ever been fair to all? If you want to be free, you will have to struggle for it Ilaa.'
Act 2:
Yashul, the bookkeeper of the Maratha army's enlistment records, stared blankly at the woman standing in front of him, dripping from tip to toe.
'My name is Ilaa. I am the last survivor of a poor farming family from Palkhed village. My three brothers died fighting the Mughals at the fort of Devagiri. They taught me everything they knew about combat and military. Please, I want to enlist in the army.'
Ilaa was surprised at the fluency of her lies, more so by the readiness of the man she was facing in accepting them. He tried to send her back but she was in luck. A high ranking soldier was passing through and he caught sight of her struggle with the guards who were trying to escort her out. She kicked one in his thigh, swirled about, and knocked a tooth out of the other. Soon, she was locked in melee with four men. That's when the highly decorated soldier stopped the ruckus and invited her in.
'You fight well, young girl,' he said, 'but you are a woman.'
'I haven't heard of a rule in the army that forbids women from fighting for their king.'
Her eyes were locked with the soldier. He sighed, then moved about and smiled. 'The army does not enlist women.'
'I am a Kshatriya,' Ilaa snarled. 'It is not just my duty to fight for my country, it is my right.'
The soldier stopped as if interrupted in his train of thoughts.
'Even if I enlist you, there is no way that the men will fight next to a woman.'
'I would not worry about that,' she smiled. 'When the enemy strikes, everyone will be busy fighting.'
Joining the army, it turned out, wasn't so difficult. The difficult part was to survive there. Her brother had taught her well, and she was easily the best recruit in her regiment. Maheshji Gaekwad – the soldier who had helped her enlist into the army – was the only thing that stood between her and her jealous fellow recruits, who'd sooner rape her than fight next to her.
But the world gets tougher only before it is about to get easier, so Ilaa held her patience. Soon, she graduated as a soldier from the academy. She was given the title Kiledar, as she had provided no surname during enlistment. She was appointed to Fort Devagiri, where her brother had once fought and bled.
It was during one of her patrols on the fortress walls when Ilaa Kiledar first took command of an entire army battalion.
Act 3:
'All infantry units, fall back to the inner walls.' A soldier called out as the alarm horns blew out. 'Archers mount and ready. We will be under attack very soon! Cavalry scouts have spotted movement to the west. The Mughals are preparing for a siege!'
'We are not ready to stand against a siege,' Ilaa Kiledar pleaded to her superior. 'We need to hold them off outside the walls if we want to have any chance of defending what is inside.'
'Who would go out there and meet certain death for that?'
'Only the worst kind of soldiers die in battle,' she replied, 'for dead men cannot protect anyone. Give me twenty men, and I will hold off their army, even weaken them up.' The soldier wasn't ready to hear her, but she had a plan.
'They are carrying siege weapons, so they must have them in the centre in order to protect them. And they must have big fires to make sure that their men do not lose sight of their weaponry and units in the dark. We can use it to our advantage and attack them from the shadows. They will not be able to react in time.'
The superior turned to his regiment and roared.
'Ilaa Kiledar has an idea to hold off the approaching enemy. She needs twenty volunteers. Raise your hands if you want to help her.'
Seventy-five hands went up in the air. Ilaa smiled.
The fires of the enemy banner came up into view like a sunrise in the middle of the night as Ilaa led an army against the unaware Mughals to protect her homeland. Her brother's smile sparkled in her eyes and she tightened her grip on her horse's reigns. She wasn't being a son to her father. She was being a daughter that every mother would wish for. She was being a daughter every son would want to be like. Her brother was right. The society needed to learn from the past days, but it wasn't possible unless the women stepped up and taught the society those lessons. No woman could be free unless women struggled for freedom. If women wanted equality at this time, they had to fight for it. Like Gargi did in the court of King Janaka in the Vedic days. Like Ilaa Kiledar did near 17th-century Paithan, a city of the Marathas whose traders and travellers would one-day sing songs of her glory!
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