Rebel Queen

by Michelle Moran

  Mandar nodded. “We’re all allowed to go home to see our families. That’s more than many of the raja’s soldiers get.”

  “Only ten days now,” Kashi said. “What are you going to do when you get home?”

  “Eat my fill of kheer,” Moti said.

  “I want to see my niece,” Kashi replied. “She’ll be two years old the day I visit.”

  I pictured a miniature version of Kashi, with soft brown curls and big eyes.

  “And what are you going to do?” Mandar asked me.

  I pictured my house in Barwa Sagar and my eyes instantly welled with tears. “Wake up next to my sister,” I said, “and hear about everything I’ve missed these four months. See Father’s new carvings.”

  “He’s a carpenter?” Mandar asked.

  “And an artist. He carved the image of Durga that Kahini broke.”

  For the most part, none of us mentioned Kahini, for the same reason most of us tried not to think about what life would be like if we were somehow made wealthy and found ourselves free to quit the Durga Dal. Because really, what was the point?

  “It’s a shame she’s so close to the rani,” Mandar said. “I bet she’s in the rani’s chamber right now.”

  We hadn’t seen either the rani or Kahini all afternoon after Sundari had told us to spend the remainder of the day in leisure.

  “Well, in ten days,” Kashi said, “we’ll be with people who’ve never even heard of her.”

  But that wasn’t how it happened.

  The next day, just as we were leaving for our walk to Mahalakshmi Temple, Sundari took me aside. “Thank you for volunteering,” she said. “I know how difficult it is to be away from your family, so I understand the sacrifice.”

  I didn’t understand what she was thanking me for. “What?”

  “Your offer to remain with the rani over Durga Puja. One Durgavasi has to stay behind and it was very kind of you to volunteer. And of course, the rani is grateful.”

  I could feel the blood rushing to my face. “No! But I—”

  Sundari waited for me to finish. “You did offer, didn’t you?” she asked.

  Kahini had tripped me again. More than anything in the world, I wanted to be with my family for Durga Puja. But if I said that now, I would disappoint the rani. I felt a crushing pressure in my chest as I made my choice. I said, “I am happy to do it.”

  For the next week I watched as all of the other Durgavasi prepared to go home. Everyone understood what Kahini had done, but it had been my own choice not to disappoint the rani by telling the truth. A part of me wished I had spoken out, and the night before everyone was going to leave, that feeling very nearly became a wave of emotion, threatening to overwhelm me.

  The Durgavas was filled with packing chests. Jhalkari was laughing with Moti, warning her not to eat all of the laddus her mother baked, or she’d be sorry when she returned to the maidan. Kahini and Rajasi came in from the courtyard, trailed by two older women who had once been Durgavasi themselves. “I was very specific when I said I wanted my yellow sari cleaned for today,” Kahini said. “Tell me, Rajasi, wasn’t I specific?”

  “I heard you tell them myself.”

  “So where is it?” Kahini demanded.

  “I’m very sorry,” the oldest woman said. “It’s very delicate cloth—”

  Kahini reached back and slapped the woman’s face. “I didn’t ask for excuses!”

  I rose from my bed.

  “It’s not your business,” Jhalkari whispered. “Sit down.”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman wept. “I’ll do it now.” She left at once, and the other woman hurried out behind her. Kahini saw that I was watching and her face lit up. “Decided that your village wasn’t worth going back to after all?” she asked.

  “Your behavior in this Durgavas is shameful,” I said.

  The other women turned around. I knew it was foolish of me to speak, but what did it matter? She had already taken from me what I wanted the most—to visit my family.

  “Really?” Kahini said, drawing out the word as if this was the most interesting piece of information she’d heard. “I’m sorry. Which one of us was raised on a farm, and which at court?”

  “Leave her alone,” Mandar said.

  “You keep out of it! Sita here thinks that she knows more about palace life than I do. Well,” she said as she walked toward me. Her slippers slapped against the floor. “I guess we’ll find out over the next three days. A favor which you never even thanked me for.”

  She was standing so close to my bed that I could smell the jasmine perfume on her skin. I wanted to hit her hard enough to make her regret every petty thing she’d ever done to me. But then I would be dismissed. And Anu would have no future.

  “You see, I thought you would enjoy not having to return to that hole you call a village. How much better is it to be here, with beds and toilets and running water?”

  “Enough,” Mandar said.

  “And good luck with the raja. I’m sure that when he visits the rani you’ll have all sorts of entertaining things to talk about.”

  Mandar rose threateningly from her bed, but Kahini only smiled and walked away.

  The next morning, I watched from the courtyard as the women left, and my heart felt as if it were made of stone.

  “Jhalkari told me what happened,” Sundari said. She put her arm around me and steered me back to the queen’s room. It was empty, the only sound coming from the trickling fountain. She took a seat on a long yellow cushion next to the door and indicated that I should do the same. I crossed my legs and waited for her to speak.

  “Kahini will never care about what’s fair,” she said. “She will keep needling you. Small holes, until she finds the spot where the needle can make a great wound. The less you say around her, the better. We must always remember she’s a great favorite of the raja’s. However, Kahini thought she was punishing you, but what she’s done instead is give you a push toward a better life. This is an opportunity.”

  “She’s stolen my chance to see my family!”

  “Don’t think of it that way. For the next three days,” Sundari advised, “prove your worth to the rani. You will have her undivided attention. Kahini has been so eager to see you suffer that she’s overlooked something very important. I’ve heard you speaking with the rani, and I know you can be entertaining. You’re very fortunate. Your father did you a great service by teaching you English.”

  I did not feel fortunate at that moment, and I said so.

  “Use these days to your advantage,” Sundari insisted. “It’s the last thing Kahini will expect.”

  The rani summoned me at noon. I followed the servant she sent until we reached a pair of soldiers posted outside a pair of heavy wooden doors. One of them had gold earrings, and as we drew closer, I recognized him as Arjun. He smiled when he saw me, and for some reason, my heart beat faster in my chest.

  The old woman pressed her hands together in namaste, but when Arjun made the gesture in return, it was me he was watching, his face full of concern. “I thought you would be going home to celebrate Durga Puja,” he said.

  I tried to keep the resentment from my voice. “Not this time.”

  He nodded, and something told me he had already heard the story about what Kahini had done. “The rani is waiting for you inside. She wants someone to read to her in English. It’s certainly becoming a popular language. They say that we’ll all be speaking English if things continue the way they are.”

  “And what way is that?”

  “Well, I can tell you this—the British certainly aren’t praying for the rani to deliver a son.”

  I frowned. “They have far more soldiers than we do. If they wanted Jhansi, they could easily take it.”

  Arjun gave a half smile. “That’s not the British way,” he explained. “In order to justify acts of
aggression to their people, they need to look as if they have a good reason. And what better reason than a kingdom without an heir?”

  The rani’s servant shifted from foot to foot, but I ignored her. This time, I wanted to know the truth. I was tired of being an ignorant village girl.

  “Is that why they haven’t reissued new hats and new cartridges? Because they’re hoping the sepoys will rebel?”

  “Yes. And when they do, they can take over Jhansi under the guise of crushing a rebellion.”

  The guard next to Arjun shook his head sadly, and a chill went up my spine like cold fingers on warm skin. What would that mean for the rani? What would that mean for any of us? Then I realized why the guard was shaking his head. “The rani doesn’t believe this, does she?”

  “No. The British can be very . . . convincing. Particularly Major Ellis and another captain named Skene.”

  I glanced at the tightly sealed doors of the library and wondered what I should do.

  “Are you ready?” The rani’s servant sounded nervous. “Her Highness has been waiting. . . .”

  “Yes. Take me inside.”

  Arjun and the second guard opened the door, and for a moment, I was too overwhelmed to move.

  “It had the same effect on me the first time I saw it.” Arjun grinned.

  It was the most beautiful room in all of Jhansi. The doors swung shut behind me, stirring up the scents of leather and dust. From ceiling to floor, the entire chamber was filled with books, each of them bound in leather, brocade, and extraordinary silks. At the farthest end, beneath a high arched window, the rani was settled comfortably on a wide leather cushion.

  “Sita,” she said, as if she was welcoming a very old friend. “This is your first time inside the library, isn’t it?”

  I made the gesture of namaste with my palms, and bowed as I approached her. “Yes, Your Highness. And this—well, this is magnificent.”

  She followed my gaze up the high walls of the chamber to the carved wooden images of Saraswati at the top. The goddess of the arts was one of Father’s favorite images to create. I thought of him now, celebrating Durga Puja without me, and blinked back tears.

  “It always stirs my emotions as well,” she said. “I’m sure that Sundari told you, but I appreciate your dedication. When Diwali comes next month, you must take the entire week to be with your family.”

  “Your Highness—”

  She held up her hand before I could properly express my gratitude. “Come,” she said, patting the cushion next to her. There were bowls of food around her—fruits, nuts, a platter of roasted corn. I maneuvered around the long silver trays and adjusted my sword so that I could sit.

  “I’ve received another missive from Major Ellis.” She handed me the letter, and after I’d read it in silence, she said, “Well?”

  She was asking my opinion. Had she heard me speaking with Arjun outside the doors? I began by repeating the most relevant facts. “The British aren’t replacing the greased cartridges.”

  “Yes.”

  “And they aren’t exchanging the leather caps.”

  “What does this make you think?”

  My heart beat quickly. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. Perhaps your advisers—”

  “I know perfectly well what my advisers think. Or what they claim to think. Right now, I’m asking Sita Bhosale. A girl from a farming village. Why won’t the British make these simple replacements?”

  I looked down at my hands. “Because they hope for rebellion,” I whispered, my heart pounding. Why couldn’t I ever just listen without giving my opinion, even if it was asked for?

  “But why would they hope for that?”

  I had already spoken out; there was no sense in changing the tune now. “Because if Her Highness gives birth to a girl,” I said, “and the sepoys are rebelling, Jhansi will be viewed as an unruly kingdom with no future.”

  “And then the British will come to save us all. That’s exactly what I think as well now,” she said. She folded the letter and placed it back inside its envelope. “So I will have a son,” she said simply.

  Just then, the doors of the library swung open and a giant man appeared. His eyes looked wild and excited, and I leaped to my feet reaching for my pistol.

  “Sita—no!” The rani got to her feet as quickly as her swelling belly would allow. “This is my father, Moropant Tambe.”

  Immediately, I lowered the gun and apologized. But instead of being angry, Moropant laughed. “I will never worry for my daughter’s safety while you’re here.” He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Manu!”

  “Baba!”

  The pair of them met in the center of the room, and even though I knew it was rude, I couldn’t keep from staring. The rani’s father was dressed in loose-fitting churidars and an open vest, the same outfit Arjun and the other male guards wore. A pair of golden hoops hung from his ears, and a dark beard shadowed his chin. I doubt anyone would have described Moropant Tambe as handsome, but there was a larger-than-life quality about him, as if he had stepped from the pages of Robinson Crusoe.

  “So who is this?” he said, looking at me.

  Immediately, I lowered my eyes to the ground.

  “My youngest Durgavasi, Sita Bhosale.” A silent conversation seemed to pass between them and the rani added, “She can be trusted.”

  Moropant strode across the room. I bowed in front of him.

  “Stand up, Sita, so that I can get a better look at you.”

  I did as I was told, and the rani’s father studied my face, which made me extremely uncomfortable.

  “You’re almost as pretty as Kahini. I’ll bet two of you have become good friends, haven’t you?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  When Moropant laughed, the rani scowled.

  “Enough,” she said, but her father ignored her.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Moropant said.

  “Kahini was raised much like my Manu here, believing she was destined for titles and thrones. If she is bitter about her station in life, she has only herself to blame.”

  I glanced at the rani, and was surprised to see her nod. “She was engaged to a very wealthy man,” she confided. “But she was carrying on a secret relationship with someone else, and when the letters were discovered—” The rani spread her hands, and in that empty space was everything that didn’t need to be said. To be caught writing to another man while negotiations are being made for your marriage to someone else . . . Well, it will end your chances at marriage forever. “It was a young woman’s mistake,” the rani went on, “but we pay for those the same as we do those we make when we’re older.”

  I tried my best to look sorrowful. “I had no idea.”

  “I never learned who she was writing to. Her father’s servant found the letters, but two days later, that servant was found in the Ganges.”

  I gasped.

  “She didn’t kill him,” the rani clarified. “She wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  “But her father might have,” Moropant remarked. “I knew him when he was young,” he reminded his daughter.

  “Her father has passed,” the rani explained to me, “but he swore to me—to this entire family—that nothing more transpired than letter writing. If it had, she wouldn’t be here.”

  “Sit.” Moropant gestured toward the cushions, and he clearly meant me as well as the rani.

  “Another letter from Ellis?” he said, seeing the envelope on the carpet. “The sepoys will rebel. You know this. And I hope those men drive the British from here to the sea.”

  “We cannot have rebellion,” the rani warned. “It would be the end of Gangadhar’s rule.”

  “Only if we lost. I could train them.”

  “And when the British discover the rani’s father in league with rebels?”

  “These men a
ren’t rebels, Manu. They are citizens of the kingdom of Jhansi.”

  “Who have signed contracts with the British to fight for them,” the rani reminded him.

  “Their allegiance is to Jhansi, whatever contract they’ve signed. The British Empire reaches from Hong Kong to Ireland. If the sepoys make enough trouble for them, they might think twice about how much effort a tiny kingdom in the north of India is worth.”

  The rani was silent. Neither raised the point that the child she was carrying might be a girl.

  “I could be ready to train them at your word,” he said. “Talk it over with the raja.”

  “Gangadhar is . . . you know what he will say.”

  The rani’s father glanced at me. “Manu—”

  “I know. Something has to be done. I will ask Shri Rama what he thinks.”

  “Shri Rama is a guru, not a general.”

  “Lord Krishna was not a general, but I believe he counseled Arjuna well.”

  The rani was referring, of course, to the story of the Bhagavad Gita in which Lord Krishna came to Prince Arjuna to guide him during a very difficult time. Arjuna’s family was at war, and although Arjuna didn’t wish to enter the fray, Krishna’s advice was to fight; however peaceful you may wish to be, we all have the responsibility to rise up against evil.

  Moropant nodded, then gestured toward me. “Be sure you take this one with you. Any Durgavasi willing to shoot the father of the rani is dedicated indeed.”

  That evening at temple, after all of the food had been served to the poor, I met Shri Rama. Usually, Sundari was the only Durgavasi invited to sit with him alongside the rani, but this time, the rani said, “Sita, I want you to join us.”

  I followed them through a series of painted halls, and was careful not to walk too close to the oil lamps, which were suspended by long chains from the ceiling. Kahini had told stories about women who, due to inattention or some unlucky wind, had caught their dupattas in the flames and ended up vanishing in great blazes of fire. But the lamps were beautiful, and their flickering lights cast deep orange hues over the golden statues that watched us quietly from various niches.