#mehrunissa

[cora-ann]

Mehrunissa

🖤 #fanart of Mehru

#5yearsofpadmaavat means #5yearsofmehru

This is part two of the scene where @aditiraohydari won millions of hearts with her performance as Mehru 🖤

Do you remember part one?

Last year I posted it with a wish to see Aditi Rao Hydari in a Bhansali production again - and I think it's coming true (sooooo excited #heeramandi) 😍🙏🏼

pencil on paper | A5

(Drawing by Cora-Ann S. IG @cora.ann.s)

[jukti-torko-golpo]

Mehrunissa

( Padmaavat : Sanjay Leela Bhansali )

[papenathys]

@ that post about colorism why are people always so mad and "confused" whenever a new term becomes more commonly used?? Like, language changes, it always has, and that's a good thing. Also odds are that term isn't all that new, and even if it is, someone came up with it for a reason.

Exactly, and besides, it is a legitimate term, not some colloquial nonsense invented to categorise fictional ships or something; it is first believed to have been coined by Alice Walker, in 1982 as some people pointed out. I'm sure a feminist Pulitzer prize winning author knows what she's talking about more than some tumblr user who thinks they can go in and turn an important discussion into a meaningless debate over specific jargon.

Colourism is such an insidious and terrible problem in so many communities, because it's your own people perpetuating these ideas about skin colour and norms of beauty. What's worse, no one ever points a finger, no one wants to speak about it due to its relatively microaggressive nature. And thus colourism continues blatantly unchecked in media.

Some examples:

Vikram Seth keeps emphasising how dark his A Suitable Boy protagonist Lata is. Her mother laments no one will want to marry her (compared to her beautiful "fair complexioned" sister) and is delighted when she finally weds a pale, savarna bridegroom. Lata's insecurity about her looks and the passive aggressive remarks of her relatives plays a VERY important role. Meanwhile, this is the actress essaying Lata in the show:

Netflix adaptation of Leigh Bardugo's Shadow and Bone has multiple light skinned poc essaying roles EXPLICITLY written as dark skinned characters, including Inej Ghafa and Jesper Fahey. The actress playing the lead role of Alina went on a rampage crying about discrimination against light-skinned biracial people when the discouse in the first place was about dark skinned actors losing roles.

Fair and Lovely Ads, Indian matrimonials, need I say more?

Obviously, the Zendaya-Amandla-Yara-Zoe holy quadrangle of actresses playing every Black woman in mainstream young adult media.....

Colourism exists. It is a serious problem and people are so satisfied by the barest minimum that when those less represented or privileged speak up about these issues, they are dubbed es jay double ews or told off for shit stirring. I was called out by white people on a discord server due to expressing discomfort about the Shadow and Bone casting (Indians are playing the role, what else do you want???). We are expected to be satisfied with whatever crumbs of representation we get, no matter how narrow, how hyper-specific they are. And the sad thing is, we do end up clinging to those crumbs. What other choice do we have?

[cora-ann]

Padmaavat by Sanjay Leela Bhansali (2018)

“... I’ll make a wish for you too.”

Both turned away of him, although in different ways and for various reasons.

[avani008]

For the five aus, what if Mehrunnisa had refused to marry Allaudin?

1. Mehrunissa’s maid runs quickly, reaching her lady in time to whisper the news just before the fatal vows must be spoken. There is no time to deliberate, to consider what propriety to demand—Mehrunissa looks up into her cousin’s face, imagines his blood-stained hands on her skin, and says, very simply: “No.”

2. In part because he is apologetic for his daughter’s bad behavior, the Sultan allows his reckless young nephew to remain part of his court, and ignores his sullen stares in Mehru’s direction. If the girl didn’t want to suffer them, she wouldn’t have refused him; now, Jalaluddin knows, no one else will marry her after such scandal.

Mehru doesn’t seem to mind—and if anything, seems quite relieved—but Alauddin….Alauddin is another story.

Let me go to war against the Turks, says Alauddin, and the Sultan does not object.

Let me collect tribute from fallen Devagiri, says Alauddin, and the Sultan does not object.

Let me have your throne, says Alauddin, and by then--by then, it is too late for the Sultan to object.

3. As only surviving child of Jalaluddin’s line, it falls to Mehrunissa to welcome the new Sultan. This she does standing upon the chilly stairs, trying not to shiver outright; it would give Alauddin entirely too much pleasure to see it, she thinks.

He smiles at her as he approaches, and says, “A fine crown, is it not, Mehru-beta?” 

She does not shudder, she does not snap back that she’s seen it a thousand times before on her father’s head, she does not shrivel with guilt at the thought that Alauddin has done all this just to win her. Instead, she bows before him.

“Indeed,” she says, and rises to her feet, “dear cousin-brother,” and pretends not to notice the way his face darkens. 

4. When Alauddin first hears of Padmavati’s beauty, he does not send an insulting message or troops to collect his trophy--instead, he sends his cousin-sister as envoy to Mewar. Mehru knows she ought to be offended, since well-born ladies ought never to leave the safety of their house, but in truth she is far too relieved to escape what Delhi has become to mind.

The trip is much as expected. The Maharana is courteous, his first queen less so, and Padmavati--Padmavati is different, so different from anyone Mehru has ever met before. She spends three days and nights in her presence, and wishes it could be thirteen--no, thirty--no, an eternity!--instead. When at last she returns, feeling as though she’s left a piece of her soul behind, she can only answer Alauddin’s gruff question as to whether Padmavati’s appearance had been exaggerated with a thoughtless: “She is a miracle of God--enough to turn the head of angels themselves.”

5. The siege of Mewar stretches on for months.

Mehru reads reports from the front and those letters Padmavati can have smuggled out from the fort alike--both growing equally desperate. Her father’s soldiers will die in service of Alauddin’s whims, and so will the woman she….admires. At the very least. 

There is one way, Mehru knows, that she can stop this; there is one thing her cousin wants more than he does the most beautiful woman in the world, and that is the one woman who will never have him. 

A halt to hostilities with Mewar makes for an odd bride-price, but no less so than an ostrich acquired at great cost. Mehru closes her eyes, thinks of Padmavati’s face one last time, and accepts the inevitable.

[avani008]

Characterization headcanons for Padmavati, Nagmati, and Mehrunissa, Golden Girls AU?

Padmavati

1. She is always somewhat at odds with Singhal and its traditions of self reliance and pacifism, one step out of place no matter how she loves her home. It’s so much worse when she is a royal and expected to set an example for her subjects. In part, this is why she’s so eager to find a new home in Mewar—one that might suit her better.

2. The other reason is, of course, that Padmavati is terribly *young* when it comes to romance—not unlike the middle schooler who reinvents herself with every crush. It’s not wrong or wicked, necessarily, just immature as befits a somewhat sheltered princess.

3. The first realization Padmavati has that all is not well is the fact that no matter how much Ratan Singh might claim to value her intelligence, he certainly doesn’t respect it enough to listen to her. She ignores it, though, because she has made her choice: she has left one home behind, will not leave another.

4. The return to Mewar following Ratan’s rescue marks a turning point in their relationship—yet again, Ratan’s response to her independence is to shout at her, and his petulance in confronting Khilji does not show him to advantage. In a world where “Ek Dil Ek Jaan “ does not exist, she never does look at him the same way she did before.

5. Mehru is the one person she never feels the need to change for fear of losing her love, not as princess, not as queen: instead, Mehru offers only the quiet assurance of accepting her as she is.

Mehrunissa

1. Mehru is a vain child, constantly starting her sentences with, “When I am Empress—“ and eternally confident that her father loves her best of everything in the world. She has no time for the feelings of the less fortunate, including poor pitiful cousin Alauddin.

2. The worst moment of her life is her mother’s death. The kindest thing Alauddin ever did for her was support her through it, acting a clown until she smiled through her tears.

3. Alauddin genuinely believes she will be pleased with her father’s crown, that she wants nothing more in life.

(Alauddin genuinely believes she could be her mother, vicious and ambitious and cold as steel, an Empress would take pride in.

Mehru knows she can’t ever be.)

4. To leave Delhi is to betray her father’s memory; Mehru knows this and can’t bring herself to care—Alauddin’s court is nothing like the haven of her childhood, and Baba’s Delhi was lost long ago.)

5. She remembers, years later, that her mother once said that there were two sorts of queens: those who meekly accepted he kingdoms granted then, and those who created kingdoms for themselves even where they found none.

Looking around her at the crowded cottage, Mehru knows herself to be the latter.

Nagmati

1. What Nagmati loves best as a girl growing up is the reliability of her family traditions: Diwali is always at the same time, Cook’s sweets the same, mother’s voice leading prayers and songs a comfort no matter what else might change.

2. She has little interest in either love or sex, but “Do your duty,” her elders promise, “and all will be well.”

3. Her husband might not love her, but the ladies of the royal household do; and she takes no little comfort in that.

Nagmati is praised for her adherence to custom, and proud of it.

4. It is difficult to find a way to keep her traditions in exile, but Nagmati finds a way: she hoards lamp oil and sugar, shapes household idols from mud, recites her family songs from memory again and again.

”This is nice,” Mehru says hesitantly, and Nagmati softens towards her.

5. In time she grows to incorporate even traditions not her own. They work in the household songs of Devagiri, so Jhatyapali’s son hearing the voices of his ancestors; and no one has the heart to gorge themselves while Mehru fasts for Eid.

“This is nice,” Padmavati says, unbending enough to speak at last of Singhal, and Nagmati takes comfort in it.

[mughalshit]

Nur Jahan

India, Mughal, c. 18th century

Opaque watercolors & gold on paper

 © Victoria & Albert Museum

[avani008]

Five (or three/four if you can’t think of enough) people who noticed Mehrunissa/Padmavati before they themselves noticed

(Note: #5 is a missing moment from this fic. You should probably read that first for this to make sense.)

1. “Is it —seemly,” Ratan Sen asks, only once, “to spend so much time in the company of an outsider?”

Padmavati looks up from her handiwork, a frown furrowing her perfect brow. A queen should be no stranger to sacrifice, all while still smiling; but she has given up so much already. Her bow, her home, her very self, all given up for Ratan Sen and the perfect Rajput bride he deserves. She can give up no more.

Besides, there is something changed in their relationship, since Padmavati broke the laws of propriety to save him, since she saw him imprisoned and petulant in his chains. It might only be that which stops her mouth, has her hum noncommittally and resume her mending.

“I think so,” she says, just in case there is any question, and pretends not to notice her husband does not meet her gaze.

2. “It must rankle,’ the younger Queen says, head lowered, “to watch the happiness of others when your own heart is so heavy.”

Kunwar Baisa would ask what she means--there is little enough happiness within the fort, when even their King glowers--but Khilji’s fugitive wife passes by the doorway, and the younger Queen comes alight. There is no other word for it, no other explanation for her sudden guilt. 

“No,” Kunwar Baisa replies, although it takes no little effort. “My brave boy would never resent joy, and so how can I?”

3/4. “So,” says Jhatyapali, the first time they are alone together, away from the weight of what goes unsaid between the other two,“I--Padmavati and Mehrunissa, are they--how long--why don’t....”

Her hands trace her confusion into the air; more than anything, she wants to know when they might expect a resolution at last. 

“You grow accustomed to it,” Nagmati says tartly and goes back to stirring the dinner with a last humph. 

5. “Mehru,” says Alauddin, without bothering to open his eyes. “You came back.”

“Yes,” admits Mehru, because she has, hasn’t she? Even if she doesn’t intend to stay. 

“I knew you would.” Her husband smiles, leans back against his pillows. “I know you.”

You do not! Mehru wants to protest. If he had--if he had remembered anything from the girl-cousin who had been his childhood playmate, Alauddin would know that she could never forgive him his usurpation of her father’s throne, his transformation into the monster he is today. 

Still. It will do no good to antagonize him now. She only nods, before she remember he can’t possibly see it.

He must guess, though, because he goes on, “And we proved not so different in the end, did we, my Mehru? You heard, too, what that scholar said about the way to victory; you heard, too, of the splendor of Padmavati, and desired her for yourself.”

And oh, that allegation she cannot deny, even in her own mind; Mehru opens her hands, lifts them upwards as though in silent prayer, though for what, she can’t be sure. 

“No,” she tries, voice trembling, but Alauddin laughs. 

“Yes,” he corrects her.  “You are a Khilji, after all, and what runs in my blood runs in yours. I know you, Mehru.”

This time she does not argue. Instead she only leans forward and presses her lips to his forehead. It has been time enough, she judges, for even Jhatyapali in her condition to steal free of the women’s quarters to safety; it is time to go.

“Goodbye, Sultan,” she whispers. “May the Almighty and his angels watch over you, for I will no longer.”

His eyes remain closed; he does not reach for her. 

She leaves him behind in the dark.