No known myth or record has been found in India medieval history about saint Ravianand Chalal, who was supposed to be influential and active in and around the Himachal area of north India. Like so many saints, who have been obscured by the clouds of history since populating the medieval Bhakti period, which stretched from early fourteenth century to mid seventeenth century when it gradually petered out under the British, Ravianand Chalal, is supposed to have lived during the reign of Aurangzeb, which though wasn't the best period to thrive as a Bhakti saint, was at the same time one of those high tides of time when people are ready to die for their beliefs.
Born into a poor weaver family little Raviananda from a very young age had shown signs of compassion, curiosity, and an obstinate resistance to authority. He wrote ornate poems in which he tried to delve into the mysteries of the world, its illusions, its discrepancies and contradictions which became common in Himachal households of that time though they have been lost in the shuffle of history now.
The night was unusually cold for even that cold winter night and the falling rain only made it more ugly. Guruji sat in his kutiya. He has been running a high temperature for a week now and he talks from time to time as if in delirium. Yesterday he asked me about his mother. I am afraid these are his last days. He refuses to take medicine, though i doubt weather its medicine he needs. His is a spiritual malady, caused by the pain and suffering of the world, the bloodshed, the fear in people`s hearts instilled by the state.
The relations of Aurangzeb with other non Muslim religious leaders had become very strained by the end of his reign, the symbollic act of beheading the Sikh guru, Guru Tegh Bahadur, in 1665 and many other such recorded and unrecorded incidents in Aurangzeb's life prove this, as does his popular image in the present Hindu milieu of our country. No known reason for this sudden shift in Mughal state attitude towards these non Muslim religious and local communities, apart from the idiosyncrasies of Aurangzeb can be fathomed.
Raviananda has supposed to have left his parents households at an early age of twelve, following a bitter argument with his father, thereafter choosing a permanent itinerant for himself, roaming all the corners of the subcontinent in search of the three supposed questions his father had yelled at him during the argument.
Guruji is showing signs of recovery. It`s the effect of this new city we have arrived at I guess. His temperature has gone down. But I know he is not alright, the vacant look in his eyes , his constant distant stare seem to tell that something is eating him. But things are much brighter than that cold winter night near Agra.
The whole of north has gone crazy in a twisted religious frenzy. Everyone is at each other's throat, trying to kill, murder or mime. A series of state supported attacks on the non Muslim elite has spread a wave of panic and hysteria in the whole of northern part of the subcontinent.
I have travelled much with guruji and i have come to believe and appreciate most of his beliefs. His words still linger in my ears sometimes when I am alone.
"Who are we ? Where do we come from? Where are we going? If you can fathom this, ka, you Will be free. " and I would childishly ask, " have you fathomed it, Guruji ?" and he would laugh, a laugh that sounded like pearls falling into water.
This was before he stopped talking. It`s been months and Guruji has been meditating silently on something. Though he hasn't shared his thoughts with anyone, including me, I know it`s the world around today and its condition that has been bothering him, the religious fundamentalism of his majesty and the way he is imposing it on the people. Although we have come far away from North, the shadow of his majesty and the fear it instils in the hearts of people has nt left us. In fact rumours are doing rounds as down south as Kalyani that Mughal Emperor is planning a southern campaign to bring all of the subcontinent under his control and it has sent a panic wave all across the southern ruling elite.
I really hope we reach Kanyakumari soon, people there are still humane enough, are sane and god fearing, or maybe this is just wishful thinking. If there is a Mughal invasion, I don't want to be at its target.
Raviananda Chalal, according to the native folklore had supposed to have a circle of disciples around him with who he had escaped south during the worst atrocities of Aurangzeb, where he contributed to the intellectual opposition of Aurangzeb's policies and ideas. This had been there since the inception of Mughal state, the state policies were a delicate balance between the needs of a Mughal foreign minority and the wants of a motley majority of non Muslim groups which inhabited the Indian sub continent during the Medieval period, but this balance, fine and fragile was broken by Aurangzeb, resulting in a cut off from the other religious groups leaving to a stiff politico - intellectual opposition to the Mughals.
Sometimes I wonder are we really better off than these eagles flying in the sky, these dogs roaming in the streets, these cats that seem so satisfied? Is our consciousness a gift or a curse? I have come to the conclusion, I have made the decision. I believe in Guruji and I Will do as he wills. We are on our way to Kanyakumari, and last night Guruji broke his silence for the first time in months. I know now why. He has found the answer. I have to go back to Delhi.
The art of history writing is a tricky one. One has to gauge the intention of the author behind the text, read between the lines. But what if there are contradictory stories about the same event, what if the sources are fuzzy.
According to some lesser know medieval Bhakti sources,the morning of 16th December 1707, was a rainy one. It was unusually cold for even that cold winter morning in Delhi. The sixth Mughal Emperor of Hindustan, Aurangzeb, was stepping into the 47th year of his reign. A gathering of scholars had been called in Diwan-i-Khas, where scholars from all over sub continent and abroad were invited. In the gathering a young emaciated monk too had come, though none seemed to notice him, or the long thin blade concealed in the folds of his loincloth. And when the gathering was a bustle, he surreptitiously moved closer to the emperor, and on the pretext of hugging him, stabbed him in the heart.
