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  She closed her beautiful black eyes meditatively. Then her voice rose huskily. It was her own composition and she rendered it, note for sweet note, in her seductive voice, taking pleasure in the various tenors and the emotion of the ragini. Her singing was accompanied by the soft notes of the sarangi. The delicate waves created by the sound from the veena held her mellifluous voice. Gradually, she moved on from the palpable to impalpable, from material to spiritual. As if in a trance, the audience swayed in unmitigated bliss.

  The night was unprecedented in all its glory. It was difficult to say whether darkness was encroaching on the light or the other way round. After Dhara Devi’s virtuoso performance, dancers wearing nupur on their ankles took over the stage. The tiny bells attached to their anklets began to jingle with the swift footwork of the dancers, in tandem with the varying rhythms of the mridangam and other percussion instruments. All the dancers were adept in the nuances of deft eye movements, lifts of the eyebrows, suggestive side glances and quick footwork, which made them spiral into a blur. In the backdrop, singers crooned: ‘I wish my chunar was dyed in the colour of your turban, dear husband. Let our bodies meet the way our hearts have met.’

  The dancers, overwhelmed by the love and ecstasy that the music evoked, conveyed the emotions through different parts of their bodies: postures, hand formations, and footwork. Their jewelled bracelets sparkled and rang with every movement. Dancing to the swift rhythmic patterns, they looked like colourful bouquets swaying in the air. The agility, the litheness of the dancers and the wonderful recital left Padmini astonished.

  The performance and badinage continued late into the night. The performers were rewarded lavishly in consideration of their status.

  Then, unexpectedly, a special message was received. The chief queen, Maharani Prabhavati from Prabha Mahal, had sent word that she wanted to see Padmini before the second phase of the night was over. Her word was an order in the women’s apartment of the palace. As per palace protocol, the position of the maharani was high. In view of this, it was obligatory for Padmini to go and meet her immediately. Meeting the maharani was integral in Padmini’s mind too, and she would have asked for a meeting herself had she been allowed to speak. Well versed in palace decorum, Padmini had been eager to see Maharani Prabhavati right from the start.

  Without further ado, she rose. A group led her to the older queen’s palace. Padmini walked down the corridor at a leisurely pace, examining every crevice with irrepressible curiosity. Following her were Sugna, Magan, Chhagan, Chand and some other attendants. The moon of the shukla paksha was high in the sky. The moonlight bathed everything in a soft luminescence.

  And then, they were there.

  As Padmini entered the residential wing of Prabha Mahal, her entourage from her parental home was awestruck by the magnificence of the structure, while those from Rani Prabhavati’s palace were amazed by the new queen.

  As soon as Padmini arrived at the doorway of the maharani’s room, the bondmaids raised the heavy blue curtains on both sides. It was awash with soft, soothing light and filled with the aroma of burning incense, the magical spell of the aristocratic ambience, and layers and layers of mystery. With Padmini walking in, a ray of light seemed to have entered a space that was as quiet as an autumn cloud.

  And then she saw her. And how did she not see her before this? Something flowing inside Padmini stopped all of a sudden.

  Backed by self-confidence and experience, Rani Prabhavati was sitting on a raised, ornately carved chair in a domineering manner, as though she had tamed all the hubris of the potentates of the world. Her jewellery, studded with rubies, sapphires, diamonds and other gems, along with her brocade attire, was a dazzling, brazen display of ostentation and hauteur. Padmini was awestruck. She is the maharani, she told herself; she was in the presence of Raj Rani Prabhavati, the queen consort and mother of the future king of the Guhil dynasty.

  Padmini took time to look at the woman examining her. That she was used to a life of luxury was apparent from every gesture. Her countenance reflected intellect and character. Proud of her beauty, she rested her elbow nonchalantly on a soft silken bolster, as though Padmini was not too much of a presence to take cognizance of. It was as if she was the sole empress of this empire. She was flanked by two attendants gently waving huge fans made of peacock feathers. Neither looked at or acknowledged anybody but the queen they were bound to. Padmini bowed her forehead in reverence and greeted her by joining her delicate hands. The maharani seemed to look through her without as much as a faint smile. With a slight movement of her eyebrows, she signalled to her attendants for Padmini to sit. Padmini sat on a comparatively smaller chair with trepidation. With a frown of pride on her brow, she gave Padmini a reproachful glance. That she was displeased was only too obvious from her expression.

  Tension hung in the air like the stretched string of a bow. Padmini found her heart racing. She raised her eyes once again, but her timid glance was not met with a kind expression. They were looking at some point above or beside her and her entourage. Padmini suddenly felt as if strong vines bound her head to toe. She felt herself shrink in such an unfriendly presence. If only Padmini knew the effect she had on the maharani and her ladies-in-waiting. It took a huge amount of effort from the maharani’s court to not succumb to her beauty and charming personality. The maharani, who was struck by Padmini’s beauty, tried to find a flaw. Nothing. She felt a stab of pain, and her face froze in dismay. Only the maharani’s overweening consciousness of her position kept her emotions reined in. She behaved as though there was nothing extraordinary in Padmini’s appearance. Fighting the warmth radiating from the young queen, the maharani stared at her, as though trying to read something written on her face.

  Feeling inferior, Padmini realized that the maharani reigned supreme in the women’s apartment and that she was adept in the art of making the other person feel small without saying a word. Her face fell. The maharani noted this with pleasure.

  An overbearing Maharani Prabhavati said, ‘Our lives will, henceforth, run parallel. So you would do well to know, and be within, your limits.’ Her tone was cold and distant.

  Her words cut Padmini to the quick. A spark of anger flickered, but she hastily quelled it. Her ears turned red. How was she to react to this order? She chose to keep quiet even as an eloquent silence hung in the room.

  The maharani turned her heavily bejewelled neck slightly and said, ‘Do you understand?’

  Padmini, subdued as she was, simply nodded. It wouldn’t do to show how hurt she was. She lowered her head and blinked back tears.

  The air became heavy. Padmini felt very uncomfortable. Suddenly every second seemed imperceptibly long. The more she tried to stay normal, the more uncomfortable she felt.

  If that was not enough, Prabhavati looked at Padmini with fierceness in her eyes and added, ‘I know the nature of the raja. Do not ever try to cast your spell on him.’ Her words had a distinct ring of arrogance.

  With this, she turned her head away. The precious gem on her nose stud emitted a piercing sparkle as if cautioning Padmini.

  Padmini held herself stiffly, her eyes still on the carpet, deeply hurt.

  ‘Sona!’ commanded the maharani.

  An attendant came forward with her head bowed and hands folded.

  ‘Has Manimala come?’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness!’

  ‘Send her in immediately. I want her to sing Tank Magha Raga to me in complete solitude.’

  The words rang out loud, a clear indication that Padmini had been dismissed.

  Such harshness. Such lack of grace. What did you expect, Padmini chided herself. The joy she felt at being a bride was shattered. One unbending person had cast a shadow so dark that all the sparkle in the world would be unable to pierce it. She was in a place where carrying out the maharani’s order was the sole diktat. She stood rooted for a few awkward moments and then quietly turned around and left.

  She felt free. In one stroke, the maharani had freed her f
rom working on the bonds of love and a relationship.

  Behind her, the silk curtain came down rustling.

  Just as she was exiting, her eyes fell on a young boy of about fifteen or sixteen years of age. His face had the glow of a flame. Chand, one of the attendants, introduced him to her, ‘He is Patvi Kanwar Veerbhan, the son of the maharani.’

  Veerbhan, the crown prince and future king of Mewar.

  Padmini returned to her room. It was only when she reached the confines of her room that she realized that she had been holding her breath all this while. She exhaled shakily and drew in a deep breath. The air was fragrant here and seemed lighter. The air there felt as if it were made of lead. She shut her eyes and opened them, blinking rapidly. The eyes of Maharani Prabhavati, it seemed, were still chasing her. How penetrating they were, capable of seeing through others’ secret thoughts and, at the same time, vigilant enough to not allow anyone to read hers! And the tone of her voice? How clipped and cutting it was, capable of striking at the most vulnerable emotions of the other person. It was still ringing in her ears. At the very outset, she had made it abundantly clear that she was displeased with this new relationship.

  Padmini felt as if a splinter had lodged itself in her flesh and was piercing deeper and deeper. It left her with a heavy heart.

  When Sugna was the only attendant left in the room, Padmini exclaimed, ‘Sugna, how rude and unceremonious she was!’

  ‘Yes, as if someone with injured pride was hissing furiously. But why blame her? She, too, is a woman, and for a woman it is the greatest pain to see her husband married again,’ said Sugna, trying to soothe her mistress’s ruffled emotions.

  ‘How triumphant was her demeanour!’

  ‘But didn’t you notice her eyes? Deep down, there were signs of unmitigated agony. That’s why she wanted to listen to the Tank Magha Raga. Only one whose heart is torn with the pangs of separation would want this raga sung at midnight.’

  ‘I was completely mystified. All I could understand was that she was trying to cover something that was going on inside her.’

  ‘The ego is quite insuppressible, Ranisa! It does not allow you to admit defeat even when you are totally routed.’

  ‘How painful it must have been for her to know that her husband had married another woman, leaving her out in the cold.’

  ‘It is this disarming plain-heartedness that further stirred her envy . . . she was not left out in the cold as you say, Ranisa. When the song and dance programme was on, Magan, who was sitting behind me, told me that the maharawal had made certain commitments to her. He has promised her that he will accept all her terms and that she will continue to enjoy the highest position in the palace protocol. The sedan chair, in which she will be seated, will lead others in any procession. On all festivals, he will spend the night with the maharani. Also, as a gesture of honour, title-deeds of a number of villages have been designated in her name. The expenses incurred on various services and amenities provided to her, from the maintenance of storehouses to her midwives, are commensurate with her status and privilege. Even in seemingly small matters, like the provision of the paired paans, her share of betel leaves is larger than that of anybody else.’

  Sugna was secretly jubilant at having collected so much information in such a short time. Just as she was gloating over her scouting prowess, she noticed that her mistress was unresponsive. Deflated, she realized that in her self-congratulatory mood, she had missed the fact that she was unwittingly causing more hurt to her mistress. She hastily added, ‘But the fact remains that your arrival is her defeat in every way. This kind of behaviour on her part is telling of her discomfiture.’

  ‘She knows well how to bear the pain of defeat. But, Sugna, I can’t understand why the maharawal decided to remarry when he already had such a beautiful wife.’

  Sugna smiled at her innocence and said, ‘Do you remember what Gujar Dhai, that midwife, had said? “A man’s mind is not so disciplined that he would never be attracted to another woman either before or after his marriage. A man has his own way of loving a woman. A man’s love has a force of passion, but it lacks constancy and depth. This is why a woman has to use physical charm and winsome ways to keep her husband under control. These mysterious ways of a woman are both her ornament and her armament. The formation of this creation, the srishti, is rooted in the woman and her wiles.”’

  Padmini intoned, ‘A woman is not made only to allure, delight or inspire a man. She has her own place in life which is, in effect, a yajna, a sacrificial rite.’

  Sugna tried to divert her thoughts and said, ‘This is no time to waste our breath on such things. You’ve got to dress up afresh. I’ll help you with your make-up. This is your first night in the palace.’

  Padmini shook herself from her stupor. One cold reception had made her forget that. She gave Sugna a mischievous smile and said, ‘You too go to your room and adorn yourself with cosmetics, jewellery and fine dresses for your first night. Maldeva must be waiting for you restlessly.’

  After Sugna left, Padmini reverted to her stream of thoughts. She was transported back to the queen’s room, once again getting a dressing down . . . She smarted from the sense of inferiority that had gripped her when she had faced the maharani. Something gnawed at her insides.

  It is not easy for the maharani to put up with what has happened. It is quite natural for her to hold a grudge against me and to lash out. But then, how am I to blame? What is my fault? I have handed my whole life over to her without any malice. She should accept the situation. We should make efforts to maintain trust and understanding.

  Unable to delve into Prabhavati’s mind, she felt a whirlpool swirling inside her.

  But the amorous silence that prevailed in the royal bedchamber drew her out. Aromatic oil lamps reminded her of the night to come. Hanging from the high ceilings and engraved with delicate patterns, chandeliers with gem-studded lamps swung gently in the breeze. Strings of sapphires and pearls that hung on the doors and windows swayed too, their tiny holders emitting soothing sounds. On either side of the room, close to the oriel, the nuptial bed was studded with rubies.

  Padmini was bathed, scented and adorned with solah shringar, the sixteen steps of beautification. From head to toe, she was bedecked opulently in dazzling pieces of jewellery: bracelets, armlets, necklace, dangling earrings, nose ring and maang tika. She was dressed in a silver brocade ghaghra with intricate crimson floral motifs and a sequined blouse. A sheer yellow lace odhani covered her head. She was made to sit in the centre of the nuptial bed that was draped with a velvet sheet strewn with ochre and yellow petals of the patal flower.

  That is when Padmini realized that the music had stopped. It almost seemed as if the palace, like the bride, waited in hushed anticipation. A light fragrance wafted into the room.

  The attendants had left, all of them turning to take a last look at the goddess who sat waiting demurely. Padmini trembled slightly as she bowed her head and waited, holding her breath. The slightest movements made her jewellery tinkle.

  Then she heard him. He had walked in. From within her ghunghat that partially veiled her face, and through lowered eyelashes, Padmini surreptitiously tried to catch a glimpse of Ratan Singh. She noted his large forehead, his long sharp nose, his slightly upturned chin, his determined lips, his broad shoulders and height. Her breath was caught in her throat. He was very handsome indeed.

  Ratan Singh walked towards her. And then he was in front of her, lifting her ghunghat slowly. Suddenly, he stopped as if struck. What he saw left him spellbound. Glowing in divine beauty, his new queen sat still, holding her breath, her eyes closed. The king was unable to move or to look elsewhere as he gazed unwaveringly at the exquisite beauty before him. It was as if he was facing Rati, a celestial beauty and the wife of Kamdeva, the god of love, in his dream.

  Slowly, as if in a trance, he placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head. No longer able to keep her eyes closed, Padmini tremulously lifted her gaze. She saw love sp
ringing from the king’s eyes, unnamable bliss on his face. Her husband was infatuated. Padmini, too, was almost unable to control her emotions. An internal strength of restraint just about kept her tethered. Her eyes shone with elation. Overwhelmed with emotions, she lowered her eyes again.

  Speechless, enchanted and overwhelmed, Ratan Singh found himself bound by an ineffable attraction. Choked with emotion, he said dreamily, ‘How do I take my eyes off your beautiful face! They have turned into parched pits with unquenchable thirst.’

  She was surprised by the tone of his voice, which was soft, calm and musical. There was no trace of the dignified seriousness he had used to address others en route to Chittor.

  He reached out for a goblet of wine, sipping the drink and taking in the intoxicating beauty of his new wife. Floating in an ocean of grace and charm, unable to come ashore, he tucked aside a ringlet of her hair. He then kissed her long thick eyelashes. She blushed. The colour that rose on her cheeks made her all the more attractive.

  There was untrammelled joy in the air.

  He took her into his arms lovingly and held her close against his broad chest, as though he wanted to inhale her musky fragrance in one breath. Pleasure rustled like silk. His scent permeated her body. He made love to her tenderly. How could anyone sleep on a magical night like this?

  Thrilled by the touch of a hitherto unknown pleasure, Padmini woke up to the enchanting light of the first rays of dawn. Still in bed, she could see the blurry sunrise through a colourful glass window.

  For an instant, she wondered where she was. Then the events of the momentous evening gone by came back to her. The palace! She was married! Innocent curiosity made her walk towards the window. Last night, she had seen the palace lit with diyas. Now she wanted to see it bathed in sunlight. She pushed the window open, inhaled the dewy morning air and watched dawn break. First, one part of the distant hills was kissed by its light, then the next, then another.