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  ‘But how am I to do it? He comes, stays for a while, and leaves. Strung-up, weary, ill-at-ease, he’s always lost in thought, struggling with heaven-knows-what problems,’ said the queen. ‘Day and night, he is haunted by conflicts and nightmares. Sometimes, I think he can’t see things clearly. It seems as if he is fighting continuously; with his enemies, with himself. At times, I feel that he has lost confidence in himself, in his own potential.’ Trying to blink back tears, Padmini continued, ‘Two months have passed since a camp was set up between Gambhiri and Berach. How long will this spate of killings, this senseless violence continue? When will this mindless bloodshed stop?’

  ‘Don’t trouble yourself needlessly. Believe me, these alien invaders will never be able to intrude into this sacred fort,’ said Sugna, trying to console her queen. But before she could add anything, Padmini said, ‘A peace treaty has been sent today. A meeting of the council of ministers is also scheduled. Let’s see what decision they take. My heart is beating very fast. I don’t know why, but it feels like something disastrous is in the offing. There’s no knowing what that devil is up to . . .’

  ‘Please don’t lose heart. Outside your chamber, a group of songsters is waiting to entertain you. They want to sing patmanjari classical music. If you want some other form of melody, they can sing Gunkali, which is set on the notes of raga Malkauns. The soothing notes will calm you down.’

  ‘No, not now. I want to be by myself, absolutely undisturbed. Close the doors. The attendants outside are engaged in conversation and that disturbs me.’

  * * *

  After Sugna left, a strange dullness clogged her mind. Padmini stared out of the oriel as though she had lost her bearings. Atop a hillock in Chitravali, she could see the white tent of the sultan. The evening sky looked deserted. A dark, frightening lull before the storm seemed to be spreading all around.

  If the king looked out of his window, what would he see? Would he also see the white tips of the sultan’s tents? And if he did, what would his thoughts be? Padmini sometimes saw herself standing next to him and looking outside with him. And sometimes, she tried to slip into his mind. It tortured her to worry about him, to think for him and to watch him without being able to do anything.

  A strange incapacity seemed to have taken over the king. He looked agitated and exhausted all the time. Had he decided to leave everything to destiny? If one tried to ask him anything, he did not respond. Instead, he would let out a deep sigh and look out of the window, fixing his gaze at some distant object. If he did open his mouth to speak, more often than not, he would stop mid-sentence and complete the unsaid part with facial expressions and gestures. It was pointless asking him to complete what he had intended to say.

  Since the fort had come under siege, he had lost his appetite and sleep. His tense visage, a deep furrow appearing every now and then between his brows and his bloodshot eyes were all signs of his fast deteriorating condition. Self-condemnation and remorse had taken their toll. His face had lost much of its glow. The queen helplessly watched her husband, the king, growing more and more despondent, demoralized and weary.

  In the few years that they had been together, he had become so attached to her that the very idea of surrendering and being separated from her was driving him mad. Or was it?

  Sometimes Rani Padmini wondered if she, too, would go mad. Quite often, a devilish figure appeared in her dreams and chased her. Sometimes, she imagined that a monster-like animal had pounced on her. She would struggle frantically to free herself from its vice-like grip, kicking and punching, scratching its face, pulling its hair, and digging her fingernails and teeth into its arm. Yet its grip would not slacken, its muscular arms were extraordinarily strong. At times, she visualized an ugly ghost standing before her, staring at her, and then finding her terrified, letting out a roar of laughter.

  She was not left undisturbed even if she did fall asleep exhausted. She dreamt of venomous snakes winding themselves around her body, and various species of horrible-looking wild animals with sharp claws advancing towards her. She would wake up with a jolt. Even after realizing it was a dream, she would be unable to stop shivering for a long time.

  Her heart often sank without reason. She caught her reflection sometimes to see her eyes looking petrified. When she spoke, she had to reign in the quiver in her voice. She feared her body would fall lifeless if she didn’t hold herself up.

  Should she go to Prabhavati, the principal consort of the king, and talk to her? It was impossible to live with this burden on her mind, she told herself. She wanted to share with the older queen the ominous uncertainties clogging her mind. Perhaps, if she went and spoke to Prabhavati, the unburdening would deliver some peace of mind. Somewhere within her, she believed that even if vastly apart, they could help each other and salve their individual consciences to some extent.

  But why has she chosen to keep me at an arm’s length even now, when so much has happened? She should have forgotten the grudge she has been nursing against me. Why has she not reached out and shown me the courtesy of asking how I feel during this critical hour?

  If this is her attitude, should I even go to her? Would she show any affinity? Who knows, I may find her all the more cold and distant. There is no knowing what prickly comment she may come up with, which may further embitter whatever has been left between us in the name of a relationship. She is the master of hurtful comments. Why should I expect any sympathetic response? One cannot expect any love and affection from her. It is impossible for her to say any kind words to me.

  Padmini couldn’t forget that it was because of her Prabhavati had been deprived of all that was due to her. She suddenly felt contrite. This was the reason why she was so ill-disposed towards her, wasn’t it? What did she want, Padmini thought. All along, she had been trying to offer selfless love and trust and expected the same. But the patrani would not give her an opportunity to say anything . . .

  Padmini wanted to sit and cry. She wanted to be held and rocked.

  Memories of Mother are ever so sweet. The neem tree at my mother’s place must be in full bloom now . . . the warm breeze filled with its pleasant smell would be blowing gently . . . the tiny, short-lived flowers on the ground would be peeping up. Somewhere on the endless expanse of sand, under the sparse shade of the khejri, some mother will be telling her daughter the story of the two sisters: Taru and Maru. I, too, liked to listen to stories. It is through stories that I learned mathematics, art, logic, literature, scriptures and music.

  Once, an eminent astrologer had visited Tamragarh. He was an erudite and righteous Brahmin known for his scholarship. Mother had invited the acharya to her chambers. On his arrival, she had asked him to carefully study the stars of the daughter of the Pratihar Pawar king and foretell her future.

  At her mother’s insistence, little Padma had come forward, taken a seat close to the acharya, and extended her palms before him. The acharya had narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze on the lines criss-crossing her hand. After quite some time, he raised his head and said, ‘The lines on her hands clearly predict that she will earn a lot of fame, honour and glory. I can see that a great religious ritual will be performed by her. She will be the wife of a great king and accompany him at a mahayajna, a great sacrificial ritual like vajpeya, rajsuya or ashwamedha.’

  Flushed with pride, little Padma had watched her mother beam as though her heart had turned into a heaven-kissing tower of joy and a vast ocean of love at the same time . . .

  That heaven-kissing tower, alas, has collapsed like a house of cards and my breathtaking beauty has become a curse. The fame and glory of the exquisiteness of your daughter’s beauty and grace has spread like a creeper of venom. O Mother! Everything is finished except this unending heart-wrenching pain. Your Padma has been put at stake.

  O Eklinga! You are the protector of Mewar and know everything, omniscient as you are. Why don’t you listen to the cries of my heart?

  Smoke arose from somewhere. On its way to an unknown destin
ation, it further darkened the already grey sky. A depressing gloom was perched on the turrets and battlements of the fort.

  Is it the same Mewar? How different it looks from what it was. There is nothing to suggest that I ever lived here. Everything appears so hazy beyond that dense fog.

  She continued to gaze into space . . . just looking, not seeing. But in that ‘not seeing’, reeling in her mind was her first sight of this land. It seemed like decades, yet it was only a few years ago. She was transported to the time when she first came here: the exhilarating breeze, the mild rosy fragrance in the air, and the thrill of a young bride looking at the opulence and prosperity that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.

  An elaborately decorated chariot was rushing towards Chittor. It was followed by a dozen others, all running synchronously. Seated inside the royal chariot were Maharawal Ratan Singh of Mewar and his new bride, Rani Padmini. The accompanying chariots carried the bride’s trousseau boxes containing precious jewellery, sets of dresses and bridal ensemble, gold and silverware, and several other gifts. A cavalcade of the soldiers of Mewar provided security cover.

  A cool breeze stirred the trees. A sweet fragrance wafted along. The king gently pushed aside the silk curtains of the royal chariot. The golden and silver veil of the bride fluttered in the breeze. His imagination began to take wing.

  Outside, a vast and unknown landscape swung into view. Clusters of sprawling bushes, shrubs, creepers, twined vines and plants raced past, leaving behind innumerable mounds and hills, step-wells, roundabouts and forest land.

  They had almost reached Mewar.

  As if sensing this, the horses ran faster, pulling the chariots with great speed. The curtains flew upward, tearing into the blue screen of the sky. Padmini, the bride, looked out of the partly covered window and watched the distant view with wonder, her eyes widening in astonishment at every new thing she encountered.

  This is quite a new world; so different from the city governed by my father. There, a little drizzle here and there during the rainy season, and after that the land was dry all over. It was a vast expanse of desert and nothing else.

  After crossing a distance of stony soil, they moved towards a beautiful verdant land, dark green shrubbery, thick forests and an ever-expanding blue sky. It was exquisite. The silence of the river that glittered in the sun was broken by the giggling water around the rocks. The mountain range, with its hilltops and peaks standing erect as if raising their proud heads, delighted her. The wind was unabated like the stream. Padmini looked in wonder at a flock of birds in the sky. What was it in the core of this land that pulled everything, every single particle, towards it? The tranquillity of the environment seemed to touch her instantly, creating a feeling of fondness, as if she had been connected to the place from another lifetime.

  The chariot continued to race towards Chittor.

  The lush surroundings looked so beautiful. Women, dressed in traditional red and yellow lehngas, worked in the fields. And over there, sitting in the shade of a tree, Padmini saw a young woman nursing an infant while gazing at it lovingly.

  Quite an eyeful, the alluring sights of this exquisite dreamland set her heart soaring.

  The chariot jolted along the bumpy track. With every jerk, some part of her body would brush against the maharawal’s well-built, sculpted physique. He seemed to be giving off an aura of aristocratic and majestic elegance. It sent a wave of thrill down her spine. The flush of excitement and her natural shyness made her withdraw. A tender, warm feeling of elation overtook her. Ripples of sweetness spread through her.

  The world is so beautiful! She felt sure of this for the first time.

  Padmini would have given everything to steal a glance at the king. But her innate modesty did not allow her to meet his gaze. Every now and then, she looked at his pagri, his headgear lying next to her. The kilangi, the crest of the pagri, had been encrusted with precious gems. Mother got it designed with all her fondness. Close to the pagri were golden suparis, betel leaves and coconut.

  The city of Chittor swept into view, pulling her eyes towards it once again. At the edge of the hilly region stood the vast plains where, atop a large mount, stood the fort in all its glory.

  The closer they reached, the faster the chariot seemed to go. On the way, the king hadn’t said much. Along with the racing chariot, all kinds of thoughts galloped through Padmini’s mind.

  Is he taciturn by nature or are some matters of the state engaging his mind? What kind of person will the king turn out to be? Is he calm, serious, arrogant or emotional? How will he behave with me? From his deep, mild voice he seems sweet-natured. Is his tone nice only because he is talking to a bride? Will he change after a few days of living together? His hands will be full with the affairs of the state, his responsibilities relating to the protection of the interests of the state, meetings with artists and art connoisseurs. Will he have time for poor Padma?

  Also, the queen consort will be there. Will she welcome me? What will be my response to her questions?

  With the destination approaching, Padmini’s heart raced.

  The speed of the chariot dropped.

  After covering some distance, it came on to Raj Marg, a boulevard leading to the palace. Thus, the chariot completed the long and tedious journey, arriving at the place it had set out for.

  The arched gateways of the city were decked with flowers. Each and every door, window and screened balcony had been intricately decorated, as if every citizen of Mewar was clamouring for a glimpse of the queen of beauty: Rani Padmini. Akshat, coloured grains of rice, kumkum, saffron, flowers and garlands were showered on the chariot. The city resounded with drum rolls and the sound of rapturous music coming from traditional instruments. The joy and euphoria of the people had reached a fever pitch.

  * * *

  Rani Padmini stepped into the magnificent palace decorated with festoons of flowers and golden urns filled with water.

  Attendants stood at the entrance with their hands folded down to their elbows. They bent low to greet her.

  The ceremonial worship of the family deity was performed.

  The sun began to dip behind a screen of dark green foliage.

  That night, a grand celebration was organized to welcome the newly-wed Padmini. Every house was decorated with rows of lights. Every elegant building shone and glittered as if the city had decided to compete with the starlit skies.

  There were joyous celebrations. The palace was bustling with chirpy and smiling attendants and female artistes including singers, musicians, drummers and bondmaids. It was a royal mela. The atmosphere was ecstatic with a riot of colours. Women dressed in multi-coloured sequined ghaghra-odhanis sashayed in and out, their jewellery tinkling and their voices lilted. They broke into giggles and raucous laughter. The merriment was infectious and even old crones caught the fervour, adding to the atmosphere with the irrepressible childlike curiosity of catching a glimpse of the bride, their new rani.

  The moment Padmini raised her ghunghat, it seemed as if the moon had appeared in the queen’s chamber. Her beauty would, in fact, put the moon of purnima to shame. There were already murmurs about her beauty, of the poetry that spun out of the lips of those who had seen her. So, there were those eager to see her and those who waited to scoff at the beauty they had only heard about. Yet, when the ghunghat was gently raised, it rendered everyone speechless.

  The new queen looked as fragile and fragrant as a newly-bloomed ketaki flower. Everyone who caught a glimpse knew that every word they had heard about her, every single word, was true.

  She was breathtaking. Was it the last lights of the setting sun or was she really aglow? Her skin had the golden lustre of the champa flower. With a round face, big luminescent eyes, delicate ruddy cheeks, thin, leaf-shaped lips, she seemed like the moon, no, the full moon light that streamed down during sharad ritu, the autumn. Her radiance dispelled the dark clouds of despondency. With lush black hair bedecked with flowers, arms like the stalks of lotus an
d feet painted red with henna, the lovely Padmini seemed ethereal. Her beauty was comparable only to that of an imagined devakanya, a celestial maiden. In fact, they were certain that celestial damsels like Rambha, Revati and Menaka would pale in comparison. She looked as pure as the Ganga and seemed as charming as the brahma kamal.

  When they could finally say something, when the spell she cast with her loveliness was broken, it was to utter just one word: ‘Wah!’

  Never in the court of Mewar or outside had anyone experienced the spell of an out-of-the-world beauty. The buzz grew. In the main courtyard of Padmini Mahal, the aroma from incense sticks rendered the mandap pleasantly fragrant. Young women flitted about with their anklets jingling, carrying fans made with peacock feathers, chanwar—a whisk made with the tails of yak—and other ornamentations. These young women and their attendants had all been engaged in the service of Padmini, who was now seated in the middle of the pavilion. Standing in one corner was a group of professional dancers in glittering dresses and ornaments.

  The new queen was overwhelmed with the love and affection showered on her. From beneath her veil she looked shyly at the festivities.

  It looked as though the night, intoxicated with beauty and glamour, would last for eternity. Noticing the spellbound dancers, their old lady-caretaker addressed them derogatorily, ‘O dancing girls, will you present your performance or keep looking at Ranisa with your eyes wide open?’

  ‘Why not, kaki? I will dance all night. Do you think any of us will be able to sleep a wink?’ asked one lotus-eyed dancer excitedly, fluttering her eyelashes in a suggestive manner.

  The attendants chortled in delight.

  ‘Then go ahead.’

  ‘Kaki, let Dhara Deviji sing the welcome song first,’ said an attendant endearingly.

  Dhara Devi, the renowned singer of Mewar, rose from her seat and came forward. She bowed to the gathering reverentially.