No one, not even Rao Viramdev, could move till I had gone and paid my respects to Father. I may no longer be heir apparent but I was still the eldest and chief of the army that was returning victorious. I hobbled down painfully.
‘Are you all right, Prince?’ There was concern in Father’s voice. ‘Why was I not informed about your being wounded?’
I was about to tell him that I was ashamed to return from such a long campaign without much to show for it and had arranged for a minor mishap to overtake me on my way to the court but Vikramaditya didn’t give me a chance.
‘Nothing of the sort, Your Majesty,’ he smiled deprecatingly and hovered a full ten seconds on the edge of the next word before he unburdened himself of the rest of the sentence. The court waited with baited breath and so did I for Vikramaditya to deliver his punch line. ‘He was gamboling with the fair Leelawati, the great-granddaughter of our illustrious Chancellor of the Exchequer, on the lush lawns of the Atithi Palace where he slipped and fell a little foolishly and happily over her. A small price to pay for such delicious company, wouldn’t you agree, my friends?’ There was a nervous titter from the audience. ‘The Veer Vijay saafa he is wearing is a gift from the same lady.’
For some reason the durbar found this last uproarious. Perhaps humour is a matter of expectation and works on a graduated scale. Once you lay the groundwork, even the mildly funny or indifferent lines spoken with enough verve and a casual, throwaway tone will elicit peals of laughter.
My brother had been, as always, more than willing to make somebody else pay the price for an easy laugh. Adinathji would find it difficult, if not impossible, to get Leelawati married now that my brother had light-heartedly suggested that the Maharaj Kumar and the girl had had a romantic assignation which they had not even taken the trouble to conceal. It was of no consequence that Leelawati would soon be one of the most beautiful women in Mewar. It mattered little that Adinathji could pay a king’s ransom as his great-granddaughter’s dowry. An aspersion, however false or jocular, does not make a girl-woman suspect in Mewar, it proves her guilt beyond any doubt and condemns her. There was not an extra crease in the Chancellor’s expressionless face but his rice-flour complexion had gone a dead grey.
‘I suggest you apologize to the Chancellor of the Exchequer,’ my voice was cold.
My brother looked lost. He had baited me and at the most, expected me to rise to the bait. Instead I had changed the terms of the game itself. Vikramaditya is essentially stupid and tried to make a joke of it even now and sank deeper in his own tasteless mirth.
‘Not on, brother, not on. If you have all the fun, it’s you who must apologize to our venerable Chancellor.’
I took a step forward. My voice was a metallic whisper. ‘You heard me, Prince. You will apologize to Adinathji and his great-granddaughter.’
The Audience Chamber and the people in it had grown eerily quiet and still. I could feel Rani Karmavati’s wrath directed against her foolish son who seemed hell-bent on destroying all the years of effort she had put in on his behalf.
‘Maharaj Kumar,’ it was millenniums since I had heard those two words that had been the compass of all my waking and slumbering hours, ‘don’t be a cad and ruin such a lovely day. I’m sure the Prince was only joking. He’ll apologize to the birds and the bees, the children and adults of Mewar and to this court. How would our beloved Finance Minister like the Prince to apologize?’
Wasn’t that brilliant? The son may be an ass but I was no match for his mother. Rani Karmavati had not just checkmated me, she had skillfully retrieved the situation by putting the Finance Minister on the spot. But my brother didn’t know how to leave well enough alone.
‘Me, apologize? Have you taken leave of your senses, Ma? A Prince of the realm does not apologize to a common moneylender.’
‘You are quite right, Prince. You wouldn’t normally have to apologize to anyone, commoner, minister or royalty,’ Father spoke with a deliberateness that gave added weight to his words. ‘But you have behaved abominably. You have insulted this august assembly and an elder who is our friend, guide and financier of last resort. You’ll not dishonour a child who is as close to us as our own granddaughter. We suggest that you apologize without further delay.’
Vikramaditya pouted sullenly but did not budge. His mother came down and spoke to the Chancellor.
‘If the newly returned Prince had not made such a peevish ado about a little light banter, this happy day would have passed without incident. The people of Mewar have expressed their displeasure with his dastardly exploits and hence he is trying to sow dissension amongst us old friends. I beg you to accept my apologies, Adinathji. Otherwise, we’ll ruin this great occasion when so many of our valued allies have come to honour us.’
‘We asked your son to apologize, Queen, not you,’ Father held his ground but it was clear that the crisis had passed.
‘Your Majesty, let bygones be bygones.’ Adinathji had totted up the accounts and decided it was wiser to close the books. The damage had already been done. To continue to dwell on the matter would only end up doing further harm to Leelawati. ‘With your permission, may I request His Highness, the Maharaj Kumar to complete his interrupted journey (smiles all around) and then call upon the Prime Minister to start reading the honours list?’
I prostrated myself at Father’s feet, all six feet one inch of me plus the two feet of my outstretched hands.
‘May the blessings of Lord Eklingji be upon you.’
I forgot about my injured ankle and would have lost my balance as I rose, but Father bent down and steadied me. My protestations to the contrary, did I still expect Father to renege on yesterday’s events and award me my triumph? Now was the time for Pradhan Pooranmalji to announce my name and hand over the Veer Vijay turban to Father so that he could adorn my head with it. The Prime Minister would then read out the titles, honours, lands and other gifts bestowed upon me by His Majesty. I must have lingered for Pooranmalji felt compelled to call upon Rao Viramdev to come forward. I did not look up and embarrass my wife’s uncle. I could feel the tension and puzzlement in Rao Viramdev’s walk. Was his niece’s future at risk? Had he made the wrong choice by getting her married to a Prince who no longer seemed to be heir apparent? And what was his oldest friend, His Majesty, the Maharana up to? Today’s ceremony was going to be more difficult for him than for me. If memory serves me right, I must be the first general in the history of Mewar not to have rated a Veer Vijay after leading our troops to victory.
The day’s agenda proceeded without a hitch now but my travails for the day were not over yet. As always, Father was meticulous. After each engagement, a commanding officer was expected to send a list of all those whose contribution went beyond the call of duty. It was a tricky and sensitive task since outstanding courage and bravery was the rule rather than the exception and the officer-incharge had to work hard to substantiate why one of several of his men was deserving of special mention. In all, two hundred and twenty-seven officers and soldiers received awards. Tej walked off with three, one for himself, one in absentia for his friend Shafi and a posthumous one for his brother Rajendra. Despite the expression on my face which turned from surprise to disbelief to anger to rage to despair, despite every signal that I could summon to warn off Tej after he had touched Father’s feet, he walked towards me. Did the dear fool not know that at this moment, he could do no greater disservice to me than acknowledge my presence? He walked slowly and with great deliberation. Please, my friend, please, today’s not the occasion to assert your loyalty to me. You were more use to me as an enemy than you are as a friend. Don’t do this Tej, don’t. He lay his head on my feet. He would not rise till I had lifted him.
Would to God that I was not so transparently fair of complexion. All those years of self-discipline were of no use to me. I went red in the face two hundred and twenty-five times, for Tej had set a precedent which the rest followed sedulously like sheep. No amount of practice, choreography and orchestration could h
ave achieved such a damning and devastating effect. It had the look of not just a premeditated snub, it was as if I was serving Father and the country notice of a time-bound revolt together with a list of the officers and the braves who would lead it under my aegis. How could Father ever trust me? How could he feel safe while I was still alive? I have no idea how the court and the queens and the guests reacted to this absurd turn of events. Were they aghast at this show within a show? Did they think that Father and his advisers had misjudged the temper of the armies and overplayed their hand? Did they believe that I had put up the men to this madness? Would they recommend that I was too dangerous to be allowed to walk the streets again? All I knew was that I dared not look at Father but sensed instinctively that he was watching me in his one-eyed way. One is never sure whether he is sneering at you, lost in his own thoughts, trying to get the dead eye to work again or is just plain sleepy. I waited for him to call the guards and take me into custody.
Chapter
23
On Thursday, I got up at four as always. Kausalya helped me bathe and dress. My foot was larger than a bloated, oversized pumpkin and I had to keep the pain at bay with generous helpings of opium balls stuck between my left cheek and gum.
Seven. Seven-fifteen. Seven-thirty. Eight. Despite the throbbing in my foot, I paced my room, I went down to the garden, I climbed back to my suite of rooms. I was not going to take a no for an answer. Besides, whatever the reason and however serious, Leelawati never misses an appointment. All I had to do was be patient and wait and she would come.
Kausalya had been to the Finance Minister’s house four times since eight o’clock.
‘Where is she?’
‘They don’t know. Or rather they tell me a different story each time I ask. First, I asked at the gate. They said she was asleep. The second time I ran into her uncle. “Children,” he said vaguely, “you know what they are like. I’m sure she’s around playing with her cousins and friends.” The next time I went to the kitchen. The cook shook his head. “You won’t believe how much tamarind that girl can put away. No wonder she’s had the runs for the last two days.” “That’s a cute story, Sajjonath, but if you don’t tell me the truth, you’ll no longer get the special discount on the lentils and the vegetables which you pocket and lend at some criminal interest rate to the other servants in the household.” “I don’t know, Kausalyamai,” he says, “I swear I haven’t seen the young mistress since the day Prince Vikramaditya spoke about her in the court.” I went back to the sentry. “What’s the point of asking me, Mai? Do you think they would let even her cousins or brothers know her whereabouts? Is there a more tightlipped man in Chittor than the Finance Minister? Maybe she is at Abu, Ranakpur or with her relatives at Chanderi. Your guess is as good as mine.”’
‘If they had slipped her out, Mangal would have known. I asked him to watch the city gates from the day of the incident at the court. Call Mangal.’
‘Your Highness, give it time. She’ll surface once things cool down.’
‘How do you know they haven’t done something to her? How do you know she is alive? Tell the servants to call Mangal.’
A full-grown banyan tree of pain burst forth inside my foot and I lost consciousness under the afternoon sun. Kausalya was bending over me applying cold compresses on my head while her son stood beside her. Mother and son were, as always, studiedly cold with each other.
‘The Raj Vaidya’s on his way, Maharaj Kumar.’
‘Have you found out Leelawati’s whereabouts or do you think you and your progeny have been awarded a sinecure in perpetuity?’ Why was I asking these inane questions and venting my impotent anger on Mangal? Would I not have done exactly – whatever that was – as Adinathji had secretly arranged, if Leelawati had been my sister or daughter and a prince of the reigning family had cast aspersions on her virtue? Did I not know the moment my brother had spoken that I would never again set eyes upon Leelawati?
‘Answer me. Where is she?’ There was a thick fog gliding though the stark sunlight in the room but I wasn’t willing to let go of Mangal.
‘I don’t know, Your Highness. My men have kept a record of whoever’s gone into or out of the house. We’ve made enquiries, we’ve oiled palms. Nobody knows where she is.’
‘How convenient, I bet even dear Adinathji is not aware of her whereabouts.’
I knew then that I had lost Leelawati for good.
* * *
‘Black or white?’
‘Black.’
She had been sitting next to the bed for seven days, maybe seven years, I’ve lost count, but I had not said a word to her. Now without any intention of having converse with her, the word had slipped out of my mouth. She made her move. Either she was a novice or a deep and devious player. So what’s new, was there ever any doubt about it, of course she was the latter. I had been foolish enough to respond but I could still go into a huff and back out. I did not, however, want to appear childish and had no alternative but to play. Besides, I was curious about her game. But no more dialogue, that was for sure. She wasn’t going to make a fool of me again. It was years since I had exchanged a word with her. I saw no reason to become convivial merely because I was stranded in bed, my foot and ankle in splints and raised nine inches above the rest of my body. She had insisted on bringing my food, filling my glass with water or wine, adjusting the pillow under my head and the bolster under my foot. She had had the gall to suggest, I still can’t get over it, that she undress, soap and dry me and help me put on my clothes and spend the nights nursing me. I had put my foot down, don’t take that too literally. I had successfully turned a simple hairline crack into a serious fracture by being a hero and carrying on with business as usual with the help of progressively larger doses of opium but I wasn’t prepared for the humiliation of facing a wife who would solicitously perform every wifely duty but one. I had, instead, one of my absurd triangular conversations with Kausalya.
‘Kausalya, I trust you are not going to a mujra or mushaira tonight and will make it convenient to be in the range of a few hundred feet just in case I fall out of the bed or need to be breast-fed.’
Kausalya must have discovered the code to the future of our planet in a turkey in the Persian carpet on the floor for she stared fixedly at its plumage while my shameless wife almost rolled over with laughter.
‘How you embarrass Kausalyamai. No one, not even I, could hope to love you as much as she does and take this nonsense from you.’ Greeneyes, as you’ve no doubt made out, did not need an intermediary.
I won the game of chess but she didn’t make a habit of losing. She was an unorthodox player, talk about understatements, she had a bizarre and volatile approach to the game and no qualms about changing her strategy midstream. It was both, a ploy to throw the opponent off his guard and the natural bent of her mind. She took astounding risks, offered an elephant, even the vazir, when there were plenty of other options available, teetered on the edge but was never reckless. She was shrewd, contrary, disciplined in her own perverse fashion and just about the worst loser I have known.
‘You cheated, I don’t know how you did it, it was somewhere between your seventeenth and nineteenth move,’ she flung the chessboard at me. ‘Admit it, you are a Shakuni Mama. You were afraid of losing, so you fixed the game.’
Her tantrum was so unexpected and so genuine, I lost control and laughed idiotically. She picked up whatever pawn, camel, king came to hand and flung it hard at me. Tears were streaming down her face. I crossed my arms and covered my head but she got one direct hit on my forehead with a horse. That didn’t abate her anger. I doubt it had registered in her mind that I had an inch-long cut above my right eye. I should have stopped laughing but her flying hair, her clogged and sniffling nose, the crazy glint in her eyes added to my mirth.
‘You brought the chessboard and the pieces into the room. How could I have fixed them?’
‘So what? They are made in Chittor, you must have bribed the craftsman. I guess you didn’t
even have to do that since you are the Maharaj Kumar. I bet they do it routinely. You wait, let me get a set from Merta, I’ll give you such a thrashing, you won’t forget it for the rest of your life.’
‘You are doing that pretty successfully anyway. And what’s to prevent your Merta artisans from loading the pieces in your favour?’ It did not take me any effort to regress to her childish level.
‘Are you suggesting that there are cheats and liars in Merta? I’ll have you know that unlike you, we are an honourable people.’ She was advancing towards me now, her rage indistinguishable from her sobbing. That slight, shy and petite woman leaned over me. I was sure she was going to throw me out of the window but with an ever so light flick of her hands, she pushed me off the bed.
‘Give me back Kumkum Kanwar. What did they kill her for? She was harmless and innocent. She was about to become a bride when they set her on fire. She looked black and crumpled like charred paper. She looked so dead and helpless when it was me they meant to torch. Oh God, I’m so alone and lonely in your house.’
‘I can’t move. Something seems to have happened to my other leg. Will you send someone to get the Vaidya?’
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