The Lion Of Mewar
Chapter 1: Born of Fire and Stone
The night Kika was born, the sky over Mewar burned crimson.
Old women in the palace whispered that such a sky meant only two things—great destruction or a great protector. Outside the stone walls of Kumbhalgarh, the Aravalli hills stood unmoving, as if waiting to witness the fate of the child.
Inside, Rani Jaiwanta Bai clutched the edge of the bed as pain tore through her like a battlefield spear. When the cry finally came—strong, sharp, defiant—the palace seemed to breathe again.
"He does not cry like other children," the midwife said in awe."He announces himself."
Udai Singh, ruler of Mewar, held the newborn in silence. The child's fists were clenched, his eyes open—dark and watchful.
"What shall we call him?" the queen asked.
"Pratap," Udai Singh replied.
But when the boy reached for his mother's finger and refused to let go, she smiled softly.
"Kika," she whispered."My Kika."
The name stayed.
Chapter 2: The Hills Teach Before Men Do
Kika learned the language of the hills before the language of the court.
By the age of five, he escaped tutors and guards to roam the forests beyond the palace. The stones cut his feet, thorns scratched his skin, but he never complained. Pain, he learned early, was a teacher—not an enemy.
The Bhil tribesmen noticed him first.
"Little tiger," one laughed as Kika tried to lift a bow twice his size.
"You'll break your back."
Kika lifted it anyway.
When the arrow fell short, he did not sulk. He retrieved it, adjusted his grip, and tried again.
The Bhils exchanged looks.
"This one," an elder murmured, "has Mewar in his bones."
At night, Kika listened to stories—of ancestors who chose death over dishonor, of kings who lost kingdoms but never pride. He memorized every word like a sacred vow.
Chapter 3: A Prince Among Shadows
Inside the palace, politics poisoned the air.
Udai Singh's court was divided—some favored alliances, others resistance. Mughal power loomed like a monsoon cloud, heavy and unstoppable.
Kika watched silently from the shadows.
He saw how men bowed with their heads while their eyes remained sharp. He heard words spoken sweetly that tasted of fear.
One evening, he asked his father:
"Why do kings bow?"
Udai Singh studied his son for a long moment.
"They bow when they forget who they are."
Kika nodded.
That night, he carved a small wooden sword and slept with it under his pillow.
Chapter 4: The First Blood
Kika was fourteen when he first saw death.
A hunting expedition went wrong. A wild boar charged—fast, brutal, unstoppable. A soldier stumbled. The boar's tusk ripped through flesh.
The men froze.
Kika didn't.
He grabbed a spear meant for display, not battle, and drove it with all his strength. The boar collapsed inches from the fallen soldier.
Blood soaked the ground.
Kika stood shaking—not from fear, but from understanding.
That night, he did not sleep.
He realized something terrible and beautiful:
A king's duty is not to avoid blood—but to ensure it is never spilled in vain.
PART II — THE BURDEN OF THE CROWN
Chapter 5: The Discipline of Steel
At dawn, the palace courtyard echoed with the clash of metal.
Kika stood barefoot on cold stone, a practice sword in his hands, sweat already running down his back. Across from him stood Guru Badal Singh—scarred, silent, merciless.
"Again," the guru said.
Kika attacked.
Steel met steel. The force rattled his arms, but he did not retreat. Every strike he delivered carried something more than strength—it carried intent.
Badal Singh struck him down hard.
"Strength without patience is noise," the guru said. "Rise."
Kika rose.
Day after day, he trained until his muscles screamed and his hands bled. Sword, spear, mace, horse. He learned to fight armored men and bare-handed bandits. He learned balance, breath, restraint.
But most of all, he learned this truth:
A warrior is forged not by victory,but by refusal to fall.
Chapter 6: The Empire at the Door
News reached Mewar like a slow-burning fire.
The Mughal emperor Akbar was expanding westward. Kingdoms fell—not always by force, but by marriage, treaties, and gold.
Courts whispered the same question:
"Should Mewar resist—or survive?"
Udai Singh grew quiet.
Kika noticed his father's shoulders bend, not with age, but with the weight of impossible choices.
One night, Kika spoke boldly:
"Let them come. Mewar has never bent."
Udai Singh looked at him with both pride and sorrow.
"You speak like a king," he said."But you do not yet understand what kings lose."
Chapter 7: Death of a Father
Udai Singh fell ill during the monsoon.
The palace filled with incense and prayers, but fate had already decided. Kika sat beside his father's bed, holding a hand that once held a sword firm enough to defend a kingdom.
Udai Singh opened his eyes one final time.
"Kika," he whispered.
"Yes, father."
"Remember this… a kingdom can be rebuilt… but honor once lost is ashes."
His breath stopped.
The rain outside fell harder.
Kika did not cry.
He felt something else settle inside him—cold, permanent, unbreakable.
Chapter 8: The Crown Denied
Tradition did not favor Kika.
Politics did not want him.
The nobles gathered and crowned Jagmal as the new ruler of Mewar.
Kika stood silent as the crown passed another head.
Some watched him carefully, expecting rage.
He showed none.
Later, alone beneath the stars, Kika pressed his fist into the dirt until blood stained the soil.
"If destiny will not give me the crown,"he said aloud,"I will earn it."
The people of Mewar watched.
And remembered.
PART III — THE KING WHO WOULD NOT BOWChapter 9: The Voice of Mewar
Jagmal sat upon the throne, but Mewar did not feel ruled.
The forts stood uneasy. Soldiers whispered. Farmers looked toward the hills, not the palace.
Kika did not campaign for the crown. He trained. He listened. He waited.
When invaders tested the borders, Jagmal hesitated.
Kika rode out.
With fewer men, fewer weapons, and no crown, he defended Mewar where the king could not. Each victory carried his name further—into villages, camps, and hearts.
The nobles gathered again.
This time, there was no debate.
The crown was placed before Kika.
He did not rush forward.
He knelt, touched the soil of Mewar, and said:
"I accept—not as ruler,but as servant of this land."
Thus rose Maharana Pratap.
But in the hills, the people still called him—
Kika.
Chapter 10: Coronation Without Celebration
The coronation was simple.
No excess gold. No foreign music.
Only steel, saffron, and silence.
When the crown touched his head, Pratap felt its weight—not of metal, but of expectation. He looked out at his people and saw hunger, fear, and hope entwined.
He raised his sword and spoke:
"As long as I breathe,no foreign emperor will rule Mewar."
The oath echoed through stone and bone alike.
Chapter 11: The Emperor's Message
The Mughal envoys arrived dressed in silk, riding horses groomed like royalty.
They spoke of peace.
Of alliance.
Of honor through submission.
They spoke the name of Akbar with reverence, as if it were a blessing.
Pratap listened calmly.
Then he answered:
"Tell your emperor—Mewar will dine on grass before it eats from another's hand."
The envoys left without insult.
But war followed insult anyway.
Chapter 12: Man Singh's Dilemma
The Mughal army advanced under Man Singh, a Rajput who served the empire.
Man Singh knew Pratap's reputation. He knew his courage. He also knew the cost of defiance.
Before battle, he sent a message:
"Bow once. Save your people."
Pratap replied with silence.
Silence was his answer.
Chapter 13: March to Haldighati
The valley of Haldighati waited—narrow, yellow, merciless.
Pratap stood before his men, vastly outnumbered.
"These hills are our armor," he said."This soil is our shield."
Beside him stood Chetak—white, restless, sensing fate.
Drums thundered.
The earth shook.
The battle began.
Chapter 14: When Legends Bleed
Pratap charged like a living storm.
Chetak leapt, spears broke, armor split. For a moment, history held its breath.
Pratap reached Man Singh's elephant.
His spear struck—but fate turned slightly.
Steel met air.
The counterattack was brutal.
Chetak was wounded.
Still, he ran.
Still, he carried his king to safety before collapsing by a stream.
Pratap knelt beside him, pressing his forehead to the horse's.
"You carried me beyond death,"he whispered.
Chetak died free.
So did Pratap's illusions of quick victory.
But not his resolve.
PART IV — FIRE FROM THE ASHES
Chapter 15: Years Beneath the Trees
The forests became Mewar.
No marble halls, no silk banners—only leaves, stone, and silence.
Maharana Pratap lived as the hills lived. His family followed him into exile, sharing hunger without complaint. Grass bread replaced grain. Rainwater replaced wine.
Yet the fire in his eyes never dimmed.
The Bhils stood with him—hunters, archers, shadows of the forest. They knew every path, every ravine, every trick of survival.
"Rana," their chief said once, "you fight like the hills—quiet, sudden, unstoppable."
Pratap nodded.
War had changed.
So had he.
Chapter 16: A Son Watches
Amar Singh was no longer a child.
He had grown watching hunger sharpen courage and defeat harden resolve. He trained beside his father, learning not only the sword—but restraint.
One night, Amar Singh asked:
"Father… will we ever return?"
Pratap placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"We never left," he said."Mewar lives wherever we stand."
Amar Singh understood then.
To inherit Mewar was not to inherit a throne—but a duty.
Chapter 17: The Call of Dewair
In the year 1582, word spread quietly through the hills.
The Mughal outpost at Dewair stood vulnerable.
Its commander—Bahlol Khan—had grown confident, careless.
Pratap studied the terrain.
Narrow passes. Dense cover. High ground.
The hills had prepared this battlefield long before men arrived.
"This will not be a siege," Pratap told his commanders."It will be a storm."
Chapter 18: The Night Before Battle
Fires were forbidden.
Men slept with weapons in hand.
Pratap walked alone among them, stopping beside Amar Singh.
"Tomorrow," he said quietly, "you fight not as my son—but as a Sisodia."
Amar Singh bowed.
"If I fall," he replied, "I fall forward."
Pratap smiled—briefly, proudly.
Chapter 19: The Battle of Dewair
At dawn, the hills erupted.
Arrows fell like rain. Rajput swords flashed from cover. Bhil warriors struck and vanished.
The Mughal ranks shattered in confusion.
Bahlol Khan rallied his men, charging forward with fury—but the terrain betrayed him. From the ridge, Amar Singh descended like a blade.
Father and son fought side by side—steel answering steel.
In a decisive clash, Bahlol Khan fell, his command collapsing with him.
The Mughal forces broke.
Dewair was free.
Chapter 20: Amar Singh's Trial
During the pursuit, Amar Singh was surrounded.
Wounded, outnumbered, he fought on—shield broken, sword nicked, spirit unbroken. His men saw him stand where retreat was easier.
They followed.
When Pratap reached him, the enemy was already fleeing.
Pratap said nothing.
He only embraced his son.
That night, the hills echoed again—not with mourning, but with victory.
Chapter 21: Mewar Rises Again
News spread like wildfire.
One outpost after another fell.
Mughal control in Mewar cracked—not by treaties, but by resistance.
Pratap reclaimed thirty-six outposts after Dewair.
The people returned. Fields were sown. Temples reopened.
Mewar breathed freely again.
Pratap stood on a ridge, watching smoke rise from hearths—not camps.
Amar Singh stood beside him.
"This," Pratap said softly, "is why we endured."
Epilogue of Part IV: The Unbowed
The empire still stood.
But it no longer advanced here.
Maharana Pratap had proven something greater than victory:
Freedom does not need permission.It only needs resolve.
And in Dewair, the hills remembered the dayKika returned as fire.
PART V — THE KING WHO NEVER DIED
Chapter 22: The Weight of Years
Victory returned Mewar's breath, but it did not return youth.
The years in forests, the wounds untreated, the hunger endured—they lived quietly inside Maharana Pratap's body. His shoulders still stood firm, but pain walked beside him like an old companion.
He ruled now from reclaimed land—not in luxury, but in order.
Forts were repaired. Farmers returned to fields. Children learned songs without fear.
Yet one fort remained distant in both land and fate—Chittor.
Pratap never spoke of it aloud.
Some dreams are too heavy for words.
Chapter 23: Father and Heir
Amar Singh rode beside his father, not behind him.
He had learned patience from exile, courage from defeat, and mercy from victory. Where Pratap was fire, Amar Singh was controlled flame.
One evening, as the sun sank into the Aravalli hills, Pratap spoke:
"You must rule longer than I did."
Amar Singh turned sharply.
"You will rule many more years, father."
Pratap smiled.
"A king must know when to let history walk ahead of him."
That night, he gave Amar Singh his sword—not as inheritance, but as responsibility.
Chapter 24: The Last Hunt
The forest was quiet.
Too quiet.
Pratap rode slowly, sensing what others could not. A tiger emerged suddenly—wounded, desperate, dangerous.
The arrow flew true.
But fate answered with cruelty.
The tiger fell—but not before its claws struck deep.
Blood stained the forest floor of Mewar once more.
This time, it was the king's.
Chapter 25: A King's Final Command
The wound did not heal.
Pratap lay beneath a simple canopy, surrounded by those who had followed him through fire and hunger.
Amar Singh knelt beside him.
Pratap's voice was weak—but unbroken.
"Promise me one thing," he said.
"Never surrender Mewar's honor—even if you must surrender everything else."
Amar Singh bowed his head.
"I swear."
Pratap exhaled slowly.
And Kika, the child of the hills, the king of resistance, returned to the soil of Mewar.
Chapter 26: The Passing of the Lion
When the news spread, the land mourned.
Not with silence—but with stories.
The Bhils lit fires on hilltops. Farmers placed swords beside ploughs. Mothers told children of a king who chose grass over gold.
No empire celebrated.
No enemy mocked.
Even those who opposed him lowered their eyes.
Because some men defeat armies.
Others defeat fear.
Chapter 27: Amar Singh Ascends
Amar Singh became Rana.
The world around him was changing. Empires aged. Strategies shifted.
He would rule differently.
But he would rule standing.
When envoys later came with treaties and diplomacy, Amar Singh remembered his father's words—and chose wisely without dishonor.
History would judge him fairly.
But legend had already chosen Pratap.
Epilogue: Why Kika Still Walks
Time passed.
Empires fell.
Stone crumbled.
Yet in Mewar, even today, when storms hit the hills and wind cuts through valleys, elders still say:
"That is Kika walking."
Not as a ghost.
But as an idea.
Because Kika was never just a king.
He was the refusal to kneel.The courage to endure.The price of freedom willingly paid.
And as long as one heart remembers that—
Mewar remains free.
THE END KIKA — The Lion of Mewar