But when Khwaja Rasheed Jalali spelt out that this natural calamity could not be cured unless Raja Sahib was involved, perforce, the people gathered in the grounds in front of the royal palace and started shouting slogans. The gatekeepers and soldiers tried to remove them forcefully, scared them, threatened to beat them up, but the people were ready to give up their lives. They refused to budge from there. Their unheard voices were being heard now, to such an extent that it caused a hindrance in the luxury of the king. In anger, he asked a gatekeeper, ‘Who are these people creating this ruckus?’ The scared gatekeeper replied, ‘My lord, a huge crowd of the city dwellers has gathered and is refusing to budge at any cost.’
The king asked, ‘What do they want?’
A minister replied, ‘Huzoor, I don’t know exactly what they desire. They are saying that it will be their good luck if they could see the king.’
‘Why do they wish to see me today?’
‘Huzoor, I tried to make them understand but they are adamant that they will not leave without being successful in their mission.’
‘Then shoot them and get rid of them. They should know that I rule them, and they do not rule over me. They are my subjects and it is not the other way round.’
‘Exalted lord! I have tried everything possible. I have a feeling that even if we open fire, they will all be killed but not move from the decision that they have made.’
The king thought for a while and then replied, ‘That means they have a problem. Get my carriage ready.’
A palanquin was arranged in a moment. Apparently, Raja Sahib didn’t step out of his home without a carriage. Sitting in the palanquin, he appeared in front of the people. At the sight of him people began to shout ‘Long live the king!’ The anger of all those people vanished the moment they saw their king. Moreover, they needed him at that hour and so couldn’t afford to remain angry with him. The real cause of their enthusiasm was that their hearts welled up with such devotion at the sight of the king that it swept away all their complaints against him, like the wind sweeps away dry leaves. The sound of ‘Long live the king!’ rent the air. The people pleaded, ‘Maharaja, we’re in a terrible crisis. You are our king. We will die without food and water if you don’t save us.’
Surprised, the king asked, ‘What crisis are you talking about?’
The people replied, ‘Lord of the impoverished! There hasn’t been a drop of rain for a year now. There is total chaos in the entire kingdom. There is no water in the ponds, the wells have dried up, so has the river. You are our master. This trouble would only be solved with your kindness.’
‘I have come to know of this problem today. Was there really no rain?’
‘Come and see our condition for yourself. Without a grain to eat, our condition is critical.’
‘Didn’t you all pray to the gods and perform yagnas?’
‘Huzoor! We have tried everything possible.’
‘You should have offered sacrifices to the mahatmas and sadhus. You should have caught hold of Mahatma Durlabhdas and Khwaja Rasheed Jalali. They are godly personalities. If they want they can have the whole area flooded in an instant.’
‘Huzoor! Even these godly people tried their best but could not do anything.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely, huzoor!’
‘I have heard a lot about their miracles.’
‘O protector of the poor! These people sent us away saying that we must take refuge under the king, and only the king can solve our problems. This heavenly wrath can only be driven away with the king’s intervention.’
The king laughed, and replied, ‘What can I do when such great personalities could not do anything?’
‘Huzoor. You are the master of this land, the ruler. If you take our prayers of survival to the divine court then we are sure that our plaints will be addressed.’
Trembling, the king replied, ‘I don’t have any hope. I am sad that all of you are plagued with these problems. But what virtue will come your way from the pleading of a king who is always surrounded by seductresses, who is unaware of the conditions of his people, who is always in a state of drunkenness, who is a victim of his libido? But I don’t want to disappoint you people. I don’t want to increase your problems with my carelessness. I am not capable of requesting God for anything. I am ashamed to ask anything of Him. But shamelessly, I will ask for mercy for all of you from Him. Rest assured.’3
It was afternoon. The sun was spitting fire on the land, causing dread in the minds of the people. The scorching sand was reeking, as if the helpless land was emitting smoke. At that time, Raja Prithvi Singh stepped out of the palace. He had no clothes or jewellery on his body except a loincloth. His hair was rolled up and his face was painted with black soot. The blood-red eyes on his blackened face seemed like red silk flowers on a dark cloth. His face was withered and sad, and he was crying. He came and stood on the scorching land in front of the palace, barefoot and without his crown. His ministers tried very hard to stop him but the king had made such a firm decision that no one could dissuade him.
When the people heard of this, they ran and gathered at the spot. There wasn’t a single soul who wasn’t moved seeing the king in that condition. They pleaded with immense fondness, ‘Please wash away this black soot. We are pained to see you in this condition.’
The king said nonchalantly, ‘Brothers, this soot will now be washed away only by the rains that will come as God’s blessing.’
An hour passed. The king’s face was burning like a heated pan. His eyes were emitting sparks.
