Misere
The Maharah of Cooch Nahin had a beautiful daughter Parvatti, named for the Goddess of Harmony, and with her beauty and grace she had attracted hundreds of suitors. Her father had rejected all but two. One was the Prince Ranjit of Bahut Dukh, and the other Prince Ranbir from Bara Sirr. The princess took a peep at them, and could not make up her mind about who she preferred. Father will choose, she told the Maharani, her mother.
The Maharaja was a man of action. He had won two or three battles, was an excellent shikaree, but he usually left the affairs of state to his chief minister, as he had no head for such matters. Sadly he had little idea how to choose a groom for his daughter. Instinctively he preferred the man from Bara Sirr, but he felt that his Maharani liked the other one better, and he hated to upset her.
The famous sage Birbal had been sent to Cooch Nahin by the Emperor Akbar on some business. He was well-known for his wit and wisdom, and had solved many a thorny issue in the past. When the Maharani suggested they asked for his advice, the emperor flew into a rage. How can I trust someone from another state about something as personal as my own daughter’s future, he asked. So how are we going to choose? she asked. Leave it with me, I will find something. But a whole month passed and not a single idea had sprouted in his majesty’s head.
The two princes and their parties had their camps on opposite sides of the state, Ranjit in the east and Ranbir on the West. The local inhabitants soon found out that whilst Ranjit was the studious type, spending his time playing the flute and reading poetry, Ranbir was an intrepid horseman and a shikaree who had bagged dozens of tigers since he started hunting. When this information trickled down to the Maharajah he found himself leaning towards the sporting fellow, but the Maharani had become much more impressed by what people told her about Ranjit. The emperor promised her that he would find a fair way of choosing, although he had already thought of a scheme to favour the shikaree.
Finally the day arrived when he announced his decision. We’ll let the two princes fight it out: bare-knuckled fisticuffs. Next full moon, in twelve days.
Although Prince Ranjit was bookish and something of a homebody, he was no weakling. One would have thought that he would have been at a disadvantage, but he was full of confidence. He would train, and had great hope of winning the hand of Parvatti. Ranbir was overjoyed. He looked at his biceps in the mirror and smiled happily. I will make mincemeat of that milksop, he chuckled.
Ranjit asked his entourage where he might find a trainer, and someone suggested he talked to the famous Birbal.
Birbal laughed when he heard what the bookish prince asked. It’s true that I am a man of ideas, he said, but I know nothing about martial arts. Dejected, Ranjit thanked the wise man from Delhi, and turned his back, when the latter stopped him. I may not know how to add to your muscles, he said, but I could give you an idea or two. What is it you wanted? Ranjit explained that after he had cast eyes on Parvatti, he knew that never would he find another woman to love. She had captured his heart.
‘Oh,’ said Birbal, ‘is that all? That’s eminently achievable.’ And he added, just give me half an hour of your time and I’ll show you.
***
The day of the joust came, and the emperor saw to it that his massive courtyard was cleared, and a thousand citizens from Cooch Nahin were seated around to watch. He was going to be the arbiter.
The two princes, bare-chested, their bodies shining with nim oil gleaming in the morning sun appeared to huge applause. They squared up to each other, and Ranbir aimed an uppercut at Ranjit’s nose. It looked as if the poor fellow had purposely placed his nose in the trajectory of the oncoming fist. Blood started streaming out of it like a tap. The poor fellow was stunned, he put his hand on his broken nose, but Ranbir aimed a deadly punch at his mouth and broke three of his teeth. Now the poor fellow had blood coming out of both his mouth and nose. The spectators guffawed and applauded. They knew who they wanted as their princess’ groom.
To their amazement, Princess Parvatti who was seated next to the emperor jumped out of her chair, and began running towards the fighting princes. She made directly for the clear winner, prince Ranbir, and when she got to his level, with her tiny fists she started pummelling him, calling him a brute. Ranbir opened his mouth wide in consternation, and she went on her knees and with her beautiful gold embroidered sari started wiping the blood from the face of the beaten man, calling him you poor poor lovely man.
