The Cotton Princess of Paithan

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 their 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 carried for the 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. 
‘Ssshhh…Ilaa don’t shout, you are not supposed to’, said Manasi by putting a finger to her lips.

‘And why so, because I am a woman’

‘You know it Manasi, you have seen me throughout. We have been friends from our childhood days. Tell me one boy leave alone a girl who knew all the vedas and shastras the way I do.’

‘You remember when we were 11 years old and GuruJi informed that it’s the last year of learning for us. Every girl in the village was happy except me. I wanted to know so much more, but my father refused to go against the customs of the village.’

‘He always knew I was more able than all the other boys, he even wanted to support my education but the customs of the village prohibited him to do so.’

‘If it wouldn’t have been GuruJi I would never have learnt Accounts. He agreed to teach me as he saw an eager student in me, and my father devised a way to send me for his medicines daily to GuruJi’s house. You know Accounts is so interesting the amount on both sides equate and then…’, her face lit up with joy remembering the early days and tears rolled down her cheek, both at the same time.

‘Every girl dreams about her marriage. You know whom I always wanted to be my companion’, Ilaa said resting her face on her arms looking towards the reflection of
the Sun in the river.

‘I know Saumya, GuruJi’s only son. He sent him to Nalanda, to master the arts of Accounts, so that he would return and help our village, no one has seen him since, he has been gone long it has been more than what 8 years, but tell me something, I know I am not as intelligent as you are, but the cotton traders come to trade; they take the cotton, exchange goods or gold for the value and leave. How Saumya or GuruJi or anyone for that matter can help. The process is as simple as…’ Manasi was about to complete but interrupted by Ilaa.

‘Yes I know but do you know what the correct value of the cotton we produce is, are we paid correct amount of gold? A sack of cotton sells for 8 gold coins in the Deccan region and for 7 in the Bengal region and how much do we get?’

‘What…we are paid only three gold coins, and sometimes four’, Manasi almost shouted in surprise.

’Every year they have the same excuse that they need to pay multiple taxes to the Mughal emperor in order to procure cotton from the villages’

‘But they have all the documents which they show regarding taxes…’, answered Manasi.

‘And who will verify them if they are genuine. They have calculated the same taxes over repeated number of times just to get rebate from us. For ex they just need to pay a onetime tax to the Mughal government in order to trade cotton which includes purchasing and selling process, and they say they have to pay once for purchasing and once for selling and then for crossing borders, to gather these information Saumya is out there learning and gathering all information’, said Ilaa.

‘Okay I see…Now I get it why Saumya our savior is out there’ said Manasi as she chuckled.

‘Do you remember Ilaa, back then in our childhood days you too looked so similar, It was a strange thing but it was so hard to distinguish you both as a child, you both had a striking resemblance.’

‘Okay but tell me one thing, how do you know so much about the trade and taxes and all, did GuruJi told you all this?’ asked Manasi.

‘No Saumya did.’

‘But how he writes to you, I mean. Who delivers the letters to you?’

‘No one’

‘Wait a moment, you mean he comes to meet you’ asked Manasi her eyes open wide in surprise.

‘Yes we have met multiple times since he left. We can’t stay from each other for long.’

‘ We married here at the banks of Godavari last week when he was here, Mother Godavari stands witness to it and of course we two. We have also consummated our marriage’, spoke Ilaa looking in Manasi’s eyes proudly.

 ‘Wake up Ilaa…What about your husband? Don’t you remember you have been married already?’, said Manasi angrily grabbing Ilaa’s arms.

‘Yes I remember I was married at 12 to a 70 year old man which was only to fulfil an old promise, which my grandfather did to Eknath’s father that we would wed a girl from our family to theirs...’ ,paused Ilaa briefly before starting again.

‘ …I was the only girl and look what fate had in store for me, Eknath didn’t had any child so after his wife’s death I was married to him. And now as he is on his deathbed, they want me to beSatimata. Never. All this just to fulfill a stupid promise. I want to live. Saumya will be coming any time soon and I will be gone with him. We two will escape leaving this place behind, the place which only reminds me of shackles. No more shackles Manasi, No more shackles, No more shackles…’, she got up speaking these lines and Manasi watched as Ilaa headed towards the cotton fields.

It was the same evening as Ilaa returned from the fields she saw Eknath’s condition deteriorate. GuruJi was called upon to check the condition.

GuruJi walked slowly through the gates of Ilaa’s house. He reached the room where Eknath was sleeping.  An oil lamp was kept on the window above the bed, the flame fluttered as Ilaa stood by the bedside waving the wooden hand fan.

She stopped as she saw GuruJi enter and folded here hands.

GuruJi sat beside the bed on wooden chair. Ilaa waited anxiously as GuruJi took the left wrist of Eknath to check the pulse and looked up towards Ilaa. He shook his head after sometime and let go Eknath’s wrist. 

‘No GuruJi you have to do something, he cannot die, he should not die’, pleaded Ilaa. 

‘He cannot be saved Ilaa, it’s just a matter of time, may be an hour or so’, said GuruJi. 

‘You don’t understand GuruJi just make him live for one day, please I beg you’ Ilaa fell in GuruJi’s foot and started crying. 

‘You have always been like a daughter to me. I always thought to ask you for Saumya from your father but I waited too long for the return of Saumya and see what fate had in store for you.’ he wept and left the place.

The news of Eknath’s death spread in the entire village and the panchayat immediately made the decision that Ilaa would be sati and will burn along with Eknath and ordered the necessary arrangements to be made. According to the village customs, a hut was supposed to be constructed inside which the husband’s body and wife would be locked and burnt.

Women from the village started offering prayers and preparing Ilaa for the ritual. Manasi was by her side. GuruJi came at the night to meet Ilaa.

He asked everyone to please excuse him as he wanted to talk to Ilaa alone. After some time Ilaa started crying loudly which drew everyone’s attention.

GuruJi opened the door and came out after some time.

A bamboo hut was constructed at night inside which Ilaa was supposed to be cremated alive along with Eknath’s body, which would be locked from outside.

The next day everything happened as expected and Ilaa burnt inside the hut along with Eknath and with that burnt her many dreams.

After a couple of days the cotton traders were supposed to start the trade as the villagers waited for GuruJi to come and start validating the transactions. GuruJi came to the village market along with a man.

The man wore a turban on his head, had a full beard and moustache, he wore a loose robe which covered his entire body. He looked extremely composed. His appearance suggested that of a Sufi saint.
The villagers got up and greeted GuruJi with folded hands. 

‘Saumya come validate the transactions and check if the taxes mentioned here are correct’, said GuruJi.
Everyone was shocked and murmurs started among the villagers as Saumya the only son of GuruJi came back to 

the village.
Saumya took the papers and carefully examined each of them, circled the errors and highlighted them to GuruJi. 

GuruJi then took these matters with the traders .They were shocked as they could not defend their theory this time and had to pay the villagers at par with the Deccan region.

The villagers danced in joy as they earned more than they expected.

Saumya was seen as a savior and the villagers bowed down to him, many even touched his feet, but he never spoke a word and kept to himself.

Most of the time he kept to himself and kept writing his findings. A close friend of GuruJi confirmed that, Saumya has vowed not to speak until the vow that Sivaji took at Raireshwar of Swaraj is not fulfilled. His respect grew even more after the murmurs.

Few months passed and one day suddenly Manasi fell ill. GuruJi examined her, but Manasi did not open her eyes and remained unconscious.

GuruJi returned to his home and told Saumya of Manasi’s condition.

‘She has completely given up. She doesn't want to live it seems. Her husband is old. She fears Sati is coming her way as well. Will you go and have a look at her?’ asked GuruJi.

Saumya nodded in a ‘Yes’ and started towards Manasi’s house along with GuruJi.

As they reached the place GuruJi asked everyone to leave the house and to wait outside. Saumya checked the pulse by holding Manasi’s wrist rubbed her palms, her feet and then rubbed her chest. Mansi did not respond. 

He then looked at GuruJi and GuruJi nodded in a Yes.

‘Manasi, get up look I am here’, he spoke softly in Mansi’s ears and Manasi opened her eyes.

‘You are not Saumya, you are Ilaa, but how can it be possible?’ she asked.

Saumya removed the beard, the moustache and the turban and indeed it was Ilaa.

‘How did all this happen?’ asked Manasi.

‘You remember the night my husband died and GuruJi came to meet me. He asked as why I asked him to keep my husband alive for one more day and I told him about me and Saumya…’

‘…He then told me that Saumya was murdered by thieves who robbed him on his way yesterday as he was returning to the village at the forests surrounding the village. After that he talked to me about how my father contacted him and told that he has hired men to dig a tunnel below the same hut and placed a girl’s body inside it.’

‘I had to get in the hut open the remove the lid from the tunnel get in, place the girl’s body in the hut and remain in the hole for few days.’, said Ilaa.

‘When I went inside for the first time I felt like being a Sati as my Saumya was no more. But all the knowledge and hard work of Saumya would have gone in vain, so I lived and was rescued two days later. And then the cotton came to rescue as GuruJi made me a beard and moustache with it and also a false belly.’

Suddenly the door banged open and in came the members of the panchayat.

‘You thought you will do this sin and we will allow it.’ They took Ilaa by her arm and dragged her out in the open with the whole village looking. 

‘Pray to your God you are going to die, you sinner’

‘Yes I have sinned by helping the whole village prosper so that no Ilaa is sold to another Eknath. I have sinned by passing the knowledge of Saumya to you. And you ask me to pay to God.’

‘You know how I got my name. Listen all of you especially all the women there was a king named Ilaa and he mistakenly crossed a prohibited forest and was cursed to be a female by Shiva.

Later on the persuasion of Goddess Parvati, he turned down the curse and allowed Ilaa to switch genders every month. When even God thinks that being woman is a curse, why would I pray to the Gods? You do as you wish.  

But why should we immolate and why not the men when we die? ‘

‘You want to refuse any help if it comes from a woman so refuse your wife’s help when she bears your son. Refuse help from mothers when they feed you her milk. I know you can’t refuse that. So please go on and kill me and with me kill the one chance our village got to flourish.’ shouted Ilaa.

‘Burn and die’, yelled a head of Panchayat and threw a fire torch at her. Ilaa started burning but did not resist.

At one instance there was an eerie silence, which was soon broken by women crossing the men, pushing them aside and putting out the fire on Ilaa using a blanket. Ilaa succumbed to the burns 2 days later.

GuruJi implemented the notes complied by Ilaa, and not only Sauviragram but all the neighbouring regions benefitted immensely from the book featuring Saumya’s findings and research on the Cotton Trade Knowledge and Taxes validation.

Slowly Sauviragram turned into a Cotton Export Hub and the generations prospered, the core of which remained the book compiled by Ilaa on teachings of Saumya.

In the current day you would find a shrine dedicated to Ilaa and Saumya which is of prime importance to the people of the region and is worshipped before every Cotton Export Fair.

The wall on the shrine reads

 ‘Here lay the remains of wife and husband, brave Ilaa and Saumya of Sauviragram’.