Cuckold

by Kiran Nagarkar

  ‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ His Majesty sounded peeved with me, ‘I’m not going to Chittor until I’ve vanquished the Padshah.’

  I could barely keep myself from smiling. ‘But that’s precisely why we have to get back. We need to be at home. The Rana must be on his throne with the full machinery and dignity of his office behind him for us to marshal our resources and launch our next attack upon the Moghul intruder.’

  ‘When I gained consciousness this afternoon, I took a vow in front of our allies.’

  ‘We’ll go back on it. Nobody’s going to hold it against you. You were, after all, in shock and had lost an incredible amount of blood.’

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ He turned his head away. ‘I cannot show my face at home.’

  ‘This is not the first time that Mewar has been given a thrashing and it won’t be the last. Look at Babur, he made a career of defeat but he hung on till he had forced the fates and fortune to change his luck.

  ‘I’m not going home.’

  ‘You rest now. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’

  The mood at Baswa was, at first, a little down, at times even downright morose. But just the fact of a number of people in the small palace had given it a busy, purposeful air. Now, all of a sudden, Baswa has become eerily quiet. My father-in-law, Medini Rai had to rush to Chanderi when word reached us that the Rai’s capital was under threat from Babur. The Padshah of Delhi was moving swiftly, annexing smaller kingdoms and principalities and there was a good deal of uncertainty about who he would attack next. Almost overnight all our allies, Amber, Jodhpur, Sirohi, left for their homes fearing that Babur might turn his attention to them.

  There are just thirty of us now in Baswa: Father, me and Rawat Ram Simha, chief of the elite security force of twenty guards attached to His Majesty. The soldiers play cards, chess or sleep when they are not on duty but there’s no denying that morale is tepid.

  Like me, the soldiers want to go home. We suffer from the same malaise, boredom.

  Some days ago, my mother wrote saying that she was coming to Baswa to be with the Rana and keep house for him. Father sent her a curt note telling her that he would prefer it if she looked after her home in Chittor rather than take care of somebody else’s palace in Baswa.

  A month has passed and I’ve still not been able to persuade Father to return to Chittor.

  ‘Who’s going to look after the administration, the civilian, military and financial affairs of the kingdom? A sovereign state cannot and must not function without a sovereign.’

  ‘The Prime Minister and Mangal are quite capable of looking after Mewar. No man, be he prince or pauper, is indispensable.’

  ‘Mangal has been sending a courier almost every day asking us to come back. Are you reading his reports, Your Majesty? There’s serious trouble brewing in the capital. Vikramaditya and Her Highness, Queen Karmavati, are now openly talking of removing the Pradhan, Pooranmalji, from office. If you don’t show up in Chittor right away and take the reins of the kingdom in your hands, it will be too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’

  ‘The war’s been over for weeks. Your subjects can’t understand why you won’t return and take charge. Pooranmalji is old and feeble. Now more than ever Mewar needs a firm sense of direction. What they have got instead are a lot of rumours and fear of what the future holds in store. You must go back before the machinery of the state breaks down altogether.’

  ‘Is that really why you want me to go back? Is it because you want me to wear the crown or because you wish to secure it for yourself?’

  ‘You are the crown. Which is why you must go back and take charge of your throne. Of course I want the crown. I am the firstborn and the Maharaj Kumar. It will descend from your head to mine but only after you have lived a full life and long after you have driven the Padshah back into the Hindukush mountains.’

  What had happened to Father? Was it that last wound and the injury to his head as he fainted and fell from his elephant? Or had he lost his nerve? Did he really believe that the people of Mewar would scoff at him? Even if they did, did he not know that hired hands are but parrots, they’ll repeat anything they are taught? I am impatient and irritable with Father because I know time is running out. But that doesn’t in any way mitigate the fact that I’m being crass and unreasonable. He has suffered a terrible defeat and it is little wonder that his spirit has been crushed.

  * * *

  Two days later, I sat down to write to Leelawati. It had taken me over a month but I had finally got down to it. I may have got a little carried away before the battle but I had not changed my mind about one thing: if she would have me despite the defeat the Padshah had inflicted upon us, we could start living together. It was, however, not going to be easy. What would she tell her husband? Would she run away? Her great-grandfather would probably resign the moment he learnt of our intentions. That was all right with me. We owed him so much money, perhaps that would get written off. Besides Leelawati could take over his job. No, facetiousness apart, it was going to be difficult, almost insurmountably so. Was a Rajput prince, a Maharaj Kumar in this instance, allowed to marry someone else’s wife? More to the point, could the Maharaj Kumar marry below his station, and that, too, a Jain moneylender’s daughter? No. That was unthinkable. Well then, we would have to set a precedent. There was, of course, the question of His Majesty’s approval. And then there was Queen Karmavati. But I needn’t worry on the last count. Leelawati would be more than a match for the Queen.

  How had this romantic streak suddenly shown up in me? Why was I fantasizing like an adolescent? Was I out of my mind? It no longer mattered. One of these days I would be king. I needed a woman who would manage not just the home and be the mother of my children but also take care of the finances of the kingdom and be queen to Mewar.

  I heard Father’s footsteps. ‘We’ll leave the day after tomorrow at seven in the morning for Chittor, Maharaj Kumar. Enough loitering and lingering. I’m like the patient whose only ailment is that he likes to stay in bed. We must get back to work as you suggested.’

  Maharaj Kumar. How many years had I waited to hear those two words from His Majesty?

  ‘I’ll tell Ram Simha to have everything ready for departure by tomorrow evening.’

  I called the Chief of the Security Guard, Rawat Ram Simha, and told him about the Rana’s decision. His old and lined face broke into a smile.

  ‘Shri Eklingji be praised that His Majesty has recovered his will. We’ll teach that King of Kabul a lesson yet.’

  ‘King of Delhi,’ I reminded him.

  ‘Not for long. His Majesty will send him back to his mountain hide-out soon enough.’

  The guards had gathered around us by now and it was as if we had already vanquished Babur. ‘Long live His Majesty, long live Mewar,’ they cried again and again till the Rana showed up on the balcony and waved to them.

  * * *

  Why hasn’t Mangal written or sent word in the last four days? Even if it’s a three-line note, he sends a letter and a report every day. Is he all right? In the past few weeks it seems that things have come to a breaking point between Queen Karmavati and the Little Saint. Life teaches me a hundred things every day, and I forget ninety-nine of them, sometimes all hundred of them. I forgot once again never to take anything for granted, least of all the power and permanence of the great. My wife is the second most powerful person in Chittor, or Mewar for that matter, and I am even willing to wager that she can have her way in any matter, be it religious or secular. Fifteen days ago, she went to the Brindabani Temple for the evening arati and found the gates closed. Queen Karmavati and the priests who have always hated her, especially after she gained sainthood and the loyalty of the populace, had joined hands and declared that the shikhara of the temple was about to collapse and was a hazard to the devotees of the Blue One, especially the Little Saint. As our greatest spiritual treasure, it was their duty to safeguard the Little Saint’s life and hence until further notice,
entrance to the temple was barred to one and all.

  How I wish Queen Karmavati was my ally and not my enemy. She would make sure that I overcame any hurdle and sooner or later got my hands on the crown. It’s not even a year since the Brindabani Temple underwent extensive repairs and its wings and grounds were enlarged sevenfold. And now suddenly they discover that the steeple is unsafe. Bravo, second mother. Incidentally, guess which civil engineer signed the order regarding the structural problem and closure of the temple? My friend, the town planner Sahasmal seems to have joined the other camp. Perhaps Queen Karmavati will commission him to build a victory tower higher than Rana Kumbha’s celebrating her triumphs.

  My wife, in the meantime, has taken off for Mathura, the hometown of her beloved.

  Chapter

  49

  That afternoon a party of seven came over from Mewar to meet His Majesty. Father was delighted with the company and the attention. Baswa is a godforsaken place though its ruler, Rao Himmat Simha, has been gracious and hospitable and has even moved out to a smaller palace ten miles from here so that Father doesn’t feel that he is in the Rao’s way. The Rao rides by every day to make sure that Father is comfortable and doesn’t lack anything. Unfortunately the only thing lacking, neither Rao Himmat nor I can offer the Rana. Father wants his friends and companions, lively conversation and bustle, the intimacy of women, anything that will take his mind off the catastrophic tragedy at Khanua. Frankly, I still haven’t grasped the magnitude and depth of either the slaughter or the defeat.

  I must confess that I am a little surprised by this unexpected invasion from Mewar. Where were they all these weeks? Why this sudden concern and solicitude? That’s not being quite fair to our guests. They had explained the purpose of their visit almost as soon as they came. They want His Majesty to go back with them to Chittor.

  Rao Bhoopat Simha, Rawat Manik Bhan and the five others are not my favourite people at court. They are trustworthy in one sense. You always know which way the wind is blowing by the company they abandon or keep. His Majesty, I observed wryly to myself, must be back in favour at Chittor.

  ‘We are not going to take a no from you, Your Majesty,’ Bhoopat Simha told father. ‘We are taking you back with us tomorrow.’

  It did Father good to know that he was awaited impatiently in Chittor.

  ‘Not tomorrow, I have to say thank you and goodbye to my host who’ll be visiting tomorrow evening. But day after tomorrow’s fine. I must be fated to return to Chittor. It’s only an hour ago that I told the Maharaj Kumar that we’ll be heading for home in a couple of days.’

  ‘Let’s drink to that, Majesty. Rawat Manik Bhan shot a deer on the way here especially for you, since you are fond of venison.’

  Father was beaming now and placed his hand on Bhoopat Simha’s shoulder. ‘That is grand. I am touched that you remembered.’

  ‘Then we are going to touch you again,’ Bhoopat Simha seemed pleased with his play on words. ‘We’ve also brought your favourite liquor.’

  The servants got glasses and Rawat Manik Bhan poured drinks for all of us.

  ‘Your Highness, Maharaj Kumar, I need hardly mention that you are our second guest of honour at dinner tonight.’

  I would have thought of excusing myself anyway since our age-groups are different, no, that’s not the reason, I don’t fancy the company of sycophants and this band of seven was laying it on a bit too thick for my liking. Fortunately I had a valid reason. ‘I would have loved to but I’ve promised the villagers that I would go to a bhavai with them this evening and then eat with them later.’ They looked genuinely disappointed. ‘We’ll leave some venison for you. You could have a bit of it when you get back, just a taste. Fortunately, the weather’s still cold and the venison will keep for a couple of days at least.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s kind of you.’

  ‘Rawat Ram Simha, I hope you have no prior engagement?’

  ‘My only appointment is to be at the side of my liege,’ the chief of the elite guard said a little sententiously but there was no doubting the sincerity of his words.

  ‘Noble words, Rawat. Did you know, Your Majesty, that the Security Chief and I were in the same batch at the military academy?’

  ‘Yes, I remember. Distinctly. I was two years your junior,’ Father’s face crinkled mischievously, ‘and I recall the thrashing I got because you went and told my father, the Rana, that I was warming myself inside a whore’s skirts in Tamarind Lane when I should have been at the academy.’

  Bhoopat Simha went red in the face.

  ‘That’s because,’ the Chief of Security chipped in, ‘he wanted to be nesting where you were.’

  ‘Shame on you, Rawat Ram Simha, for revealing my secrets,’ Bhoopat Simha had more than recovered his equanimity. ‘We are going to have such a feast tonight, you’ll remember it for a lifetime.’ He went to the window and shouted to the guards. ‘You there, dig a fire-pit. I’m going to roast the finest venison in Mewar. All of you are invited for drinks and dinner. We will celebrate His Majesty’s imminent return to Chittor.’

  I could see that it was going to be a very boisterous party that evening.

  ‘That reminds me, how are the Prime Minister, Pooranmalji and Mangal Simha?’ I asked as I was about to return to my room.

  ‘Very well, very well indeed and looking forward to seeing His Majesty and you.’

  * * *

  The bhavai was rambunctious. I hadn’t laughed so much for years. The gods came in for some hilarious spoofing as they always do in our folk theatre and there was some sharp political satire which incidentally included His Majesty and me. We were out of jobs and looking desperately for employment. We were found unfit as cooks, washermen, syces, construction workers, jewellers and carpenters because we had no skills whatsoever and always had our hands in the till. Finally it was discovered that we had more wives and women than we needed or could handle and the people of our kingdom set us up in business as pimps.

  I was having dinner with the village elders at the mukhiya’s place when one of the servants announced that I had a visitor.

  ‘Ask him to wait. I’ll be out in a few minutes.’

  The man was back in a moment. ‘He says it’s urgent.’

  My hosts accompanied me out. It was dark and I couldn’t see the man’s face. He prostrated himself and touched my feet.

  ‘Ghanikhama, Durbar. Forgive me for disturbing your dinner.’

  The accent was clearly bureaucratic Chittor. A minion serving the seven who were visiting His Majesty? I was short with him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘My name is Ishwar Simha. I’ve come from Chittor.’

  ‘Then why did you not wait for me at the Baswa Palace?’

  ‘I asked one of the villagers for directions and he said you were here. Sire, may I have a word with you alone?’

  I could see him a little better now. His clothes were dirty, the dust and sweat had dried on his face leaving it a dark, earthy brown. His turban was wrapped around his arm. He was shaky on his feet and I had to steady him. The cloth of the turban was wet and sticky. There was something a little too theatrical about his bandage and his appearance.

  What message could this man possibly have for me? Was he really alone? Was I being set up? Where was his horse? How come after all these weeks, there was such an influx of people from Chittor? I dug deep into his arm. The wound was real. The blood welled up and he passed out. The villagers carried him into the house.

  ‘Bring me some hot water, please. Then leave us alone.’

  There was a deep gash in his arm, clearly a wound from a sword. I undid his turban, tore open his sleeve and washed his wound and face.

  ‘Who sent you?’ I asked him when he opened his eyes. If he was a messenger, then the earlier I learnt his mission, the better.

  ‘Shiraz Ali, Highness. I was to warn His Majesty and you that Rao Bhoopat Simha, Rao Manik Bhan and five others were on their way to Baswa.’

  ‘Does Shiraz
Ali apprehend danger to His Majesty?’

  ‘He said that you were to be vigilant and not to let His Majesty out of your sight.’

  ‘A little late for that. His Majesty has been with them for hours.’

  ‘I’ve been remiss in my duty to His Majesty and you. I deserve to forfeit my life.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that. Just answer my questions. What took you so long?’

  ‘I was followed by Prince Vikramaditya’s men. They wounded my horse at Chandor and I had to abandon him.’

  ‘Is that when you got the wound on your arm?’

  ‘No, Sire. That was later when I tried to take every byway I could to reach Baswa.’

  ‘Where’s Mangal Simha?’

  ‘His body was found four days ago in the Gambhiree, seven miles downstream from Chittor. It was badly mutilated and unrecognizable. His wife was able to identify him by his ring.’

  ‘Thank you, my friend. Wait here for me. Don’t leave till I get back.’

  ‘There’s one other thing, Sire. The day before Mangal Simha died, he gave a letter addressed to you to Shiraz Ali for safekeeping. He said if something should happen to him, Shiraz Ali was to hand it over to you.’

  I pocketed the letter and I asked my hosts to feed the messenger.

  Somewhere in my heart, I thought that I knew the ways of the world, that I had taken the measure of good and evil and nothing could surprise me. It was clear now that I knew little or nothing about human nature. How else could I have been so blind? And yet, even as I asked myself this futile question, I found it difficult, if not impossible to believe that Queen Karmavati’s and Vikramaditya’s ambition would dare to touch the person of His Majesty.

  Was my father still alive? There was only one way to find out.

  The visitors would be waiting for me to ride back to the palace. I left Befikir at the village. I took long detours and got to the back of the palace. It was quiet as death but so it was every night in this loneliest of places. Were Shiraz Ali’s and my fears unfounded? A little bit of patience, however, revealed one of Father’s visitors standing guard in the shadows of the servants’ entrance. I’ve never missed my bow and arrow as much as I did that night.