Rebel Queen (11 page)

“Mahalakshmi is the royal family’s deity,” Jhalkari said as we entered. “No other goddess is as revered by the rani. Not even Durga.”

Inside, the temple walls glowed like burning embers. They were made from amber and teak, and every time an oil lamp was lit the entire room gleamed. I tried not to stare at the other patrons, but most of them were so poor they couldn’t afford proper kurtas or dhoti. And their smell in the hot, sticky rain was overwhelming.

We spent nearly an hour standing behind a long wooden table, helping to oversee the distribution of food. I was astonished to see how familiar the rani was with the people of Jhansi: you would have thought she had known them all of her life, although she had become their queen only nine years before. They bowed to her and made respectful gestures of namaste, but they also looked into her eyes and made jokes. One of them had the audacity to say that in another few months, the rani would be as round as the imerti she was serving. I held my breath when the old man said this. Who knew what happened to people who dared to be overly familiar with a queen—prison? Execution? A fine?

But the rani tossed back her head and laughed. She thought it was funny.

“You shouldn’t encourage them,” Kahini said after the man had passed.

“Why not?” the rani said. “It’s true.” At this, she looked down at her stomach and patted it fondly. “I’ve waited nine long years for this. Looking like an imerti will be a blessing.”

I turned for an explanation to Sundari, who was standing next to me with a giant ladle and helping to serve
daal
, but her expression didn’t change.

“Is Gangadhar-ji also so intimate with his subjects?” I asked.

Sundari glanced at the rani, then lowered her serving ladle. “Who told you to use the raja’s name?”

“No one.” My heart beat baster. “I heard Kahini—”

“She is the raja’s cousin. What she is allowed to call him is her business. For everyone else, he is His Highness. The raja.”

I looked over at the rani, but she was talking to someone new and hadn’t heard me. “Of course.” I was so humiliated that I forgot what it was I had been asking. “I’m sorry.”

“Be careful. The rani does not abide anyone who is overconfident.”

So it was exactly as Kahini said.

“Let me explain something to you,” she added. “Every day, the rani wakes at six to start her morning prayers and then watches us while we are on the maidan. Before her pregnancy, she would practice with us as well. After we return, she bathes, and then we all attend puja. Afterward, we read, she has a nap, then we accompany her to the Durbar Hall and she eventually makes her way here. When we return to the Panch Mahal, we have the evening meal and some entertainment. Then we sleep and the next day begins again at six. The rani is a firm believer in routine. It’s never altered.” Then she said, “The rani is very predictable. The raja, however, is not. Only Kahini is allowed to call him by his name, and that is because they grew up in the same house.”

I lowered my head, and I couldn’t have felt worse if I had just offended the rani herself. I spent the rest of our time in the temple in silence.

When we were finished, we retrieved our juti on the marble steps. The evening rain had gone, and as we walked, the puddles were bathed in the glow of oil lamps hanging from the eaves of every building. The walk to the temple had been downhill; we now had to walk uphill, but without the rain, it was a much more pleasant task. I suppose everyone was lost in her own thoughts, because no one spoke.

When we reached the Panch Mahal, I stood in the courtyard for a moment and looked out beyond the gates and over the city. In the light of the setting sun, the houses were bathed in pools of gold and purple shadow. Somewhere below I knew there was a sign that read,
BOOKS: HINDI, MARATHI, ENGLISH
. Books never led to trouble the way interacting with people did, and you couldn’t be overly familiar with them. I wished I could afford something from that shop.

“Are you coming inside?” Jhalkari asked.

I followed the other women back into the queen’s room. Bowls of soup had been laid out at a low wooden table. I took a place on an empty cushion next to Jhalkari while servants brought in trays
of steaming rice, curries made with green chilies and coriander, and vegetables cooked in heavy sauces. I wanted to savor it all, especially the fruit, which came last. But the meal was cut short since the rani wasn’t hungry. Afterward—because of what Sundari had said—I anticipated that the rani would ask one of us to read aloud, or perhaps call for court musicians. Instead, she announced that she had a meeting to attend.

“At this hour?” Kahini said.

“Nana Saheb has come with Tatya Tope and Azimullah Khan. They’re only staying for the night. We have news to discuss.”

Kahini made a dismissive noise in her throat, which seemed tremendously disrespectful to me. “Important news? Did Saheb’s favorite tailor die?”

The rani gave Kahini a very sharp look. “I’ll remind you Saheb is the son of the Peshwa.”

“Who lost his crown to the British before he could teach his son anything of use.”

“That’s enough.” But the rani didn’t really seem angry.

“I’ll bet he is wearing more gold than you are,” Kahini predicted.

“Are we to accompany you?” Sundari asked.

“No. I’ll make my own way to the Durbar Hall,” the rani said.

Kahini’s face remained neutral until the rani left. Then she rose from her cushion and exclaimed, “What kind of news would suddenly demand a private meeting?”

“The rani is free to do as she wishes,” Sundari said.

“And we are her Durgavasi! We’re here to protect her.”

“From what?” Mandar arranged her masculine features into a scowl. “Her closest childhood friends?”

But Kahini would not leave it alone. “If I was the rani, I would not remain friends with men as ignorant as Azimullah Khan and Tatya Tope.”

“Why would you say that?” Sundari demanded.

“I grew up at court. I recognize dangerous men when I see them.”

But two hours later, the rani returned looking completely at peace. Nothing dangerous had happened. She was simply tired and ready for bed, so we followed her down the hall, past the Durgavas where my own bed awaited me, to an enormous chamber. The richly paneled walls were painted in blues and whites, but it was the furniture you noticed first. In the flickering light of the hang
ing lamps, I could see that everything—from the four-poster bed to the elegant dresser and its matching nightstands—had been made from silver. A breeze passed through the room from the gardens outside, and suddenly the room smelled like vetiver. I would discover later that servants took the long kusha grass blinds and soaked them in water so that whenever the wind blew, an aromatic breeze flowed through the chamber.

We stood in a half circle around the rani’s bed, and my feet sank nearly ankle-deep into the soft white carpets spread across the room. Sundari drew the silver curtains closed around the bed while the rani changed into her sleeping garment. Then the curtains were opened again and the queen bid us good night. I followed the other women out the door; only Sundari stayed behind. As captain, her job was to sleep on a bed at the entrance of the rani’s chamber, while three male guards stayed posted beyond the door.

Inside the Durgavas, I went to the bed that Kahini had shown me earlier in the day and where the chest that my father had given to me was waiting.

“You’re my new neighbor,” Jhalkari said.

She had the bed next to mine, and while the other women undressed, changing into long, simple kurtas for the night, she sat cross-legged and watched me take out Father’s murti: he had packed two mango-wood images for me, wrapping each one tenderly in several layers of cloth. Seeing them made my heart ache for home. It was the first night I had ever spent away from him—from all of them. I looked down at Father’s carvings. One was of the warrior goddess Durga riding her tiger. The other was Ganesh, the Remover of Obstacles. I placed the murti on a low wooden table next to my bed, and put Father’s chest on the ground below it.

“Tomorrow, after practice,” Jhalkari said, “you can borrow one of my silk angarkhas.”

“That’s very generous of you.” I sat on my bed and faced her. “Thank you.”

Jhalkari shrugged, and I was struck once again by how similar she looked to the rani. “Someone lent one to me when I came.”

“One of the women here?”

“No. She’s gone.” Jhalkari leaned forward, and her voice grew very low. “She was with one of the soldiers, and the rani doesn’t tolerate immorality.”

I glanced over her shoulder to see who might be listening, and realized that one of the beds was empty. “Someone is missing.”

“Kahini. Didn’t you notice?” Jhalkari uncrossed her legs and began to undress. “She left after we ate. She goes to the raja’s theater.” Jhalkari finished, then lay down on her bed and turned toward me. “She leaves every night.”

“And what does the rani think of that?”

“Are you asking if he’s taken her as a concubine?”

My cheeks warmed at Jhalkari’s bluntness. But I guess that’s what I was saying. “Yes.”

Jhalkari glanced at Moti, who had risen from her bed to blow out the oil lamps. Jhalkari waited until Moti was across the room before she whispered, “The rani depends on Kahini to keep the raja happy. She is very close to Kahini, because Kahini helps her keep the raja entertained. And entertainment is everything in Jhansi. You’ll see.”

I wondered what she meant by entertained. I put on one of my kurtas from home and lay down on the mattress. It appeared to have been stuffed with feathers, and nothing had ever felt softer. I watched the remaining lamp make shifting patterns on the ceiling, and thought of how much life was like that light, illuminating one thing at one moment, then casting it into darkness and illuminating something else. A few days ago my greatest concern had been
passing the trial and providing for Anuja. Now, I was in a new bed listening to new voices and building new concerns. What if I failed to impress the rani with my skills? Or if the raja took a disliking to me? What if new angarkhas were so expensive that it was impossible to save a dowry fortune for Anuja? I couldn’t waste any time: she was growing up fast and no man is interested in taking an old bride.

I should have been exhausted, but my mind was like a spinning top, going around and around in the same circle. So I took out my diary and recorded my impressions of the day. When I was finished, I closed my eyes. I could hear the rhythmic breathing of the other women, but even when I tried to concentrate on that sound, I couldn’t find sleep. At some point the door of the Durgavas creaked open and the slim, elegant shadow of Kahini appeared. I listened to the soft tinkling of her silver anklets as she made her way through the darkness to the bed across from mine on the other side of the room. Obviously, the rani had great trust in Kahini if she was allowed to come in so late after entertaining the raja each night.

She slipped her juti under her bed and blew out the last lamp. Then the room was silent, and I was the only one left awake.

Chapter Seven

T
he next day as I dressed, I watched as the other women retrieved heavy brown packs from beneath their beds. Next to me, Jhalkari made a silent inspection of hers. All of the women possessed identical weapons—leather quivers filled with arrows, polished yew-wood bows, bejeweled swords, silver-handled pistols, and expensive two-handed daggers we call kattari.

I hadn’t been given any of these things yet, and I watched with envy as each of the women strapped first their pistols, and then their daggers, to the belts of their angarkhas. The swords, quivers, and bows they carried in the brown packs over their shoulders. No one said anything to me; each Durgavasi prepared for the day in contemplative silence.

After a breakfast of melons and tea, I followed the women outside and then down the hill to the maidan. When we reached the field where Kahini had taken me on a tour the previous day, Sundari instructed me to follow her into a long, thin building nearby. It smelled of dried summer grass and earth. Sundari didn’t say a word until we reached a stall at the very end. Then
she pointed to a handsome stallion so black he might have been dipped entirely in ink. Only a bright white diamond between his eyes made him distinguishable from the early morning darkness around him. I was told that his name was Sher, which means lion in Hindi.

“And why did they name you that?” I whispered to him, because there was nothing about him that looked like a lion. “It can’t be your coat. And it certainly isn’t your mane.” I reached over the low door to stroke his muzzle. I thought he might shy away from me, but he didn’t move. “Maybe it’s your brave personality. Is that why?”

I turned and saw that Sundari was there, arms crossed, waiting for me to finish. “You’ll be expected to ride six days a week. Sunday is a day of rest,” she said. She started to walk. I withdrew my hand and followed her out of the stables. “This is a Christian tradition,” she continued, her voice brittle, like dried leaves passing over stones. “The British soldiers insist that no work be done on Sundays.”

“There are British soldiers living here?” I asked, glancing at the nearby barracks.

“Not inside the fortress; the British officers live in a cantonment two miles from here. But their decisions are definitely spreading to the Panch Mahal.”

I thought of the two foreign women I’d seen on our way to Mahalakshmi Temple and concluded that they’d been officers’ wives.

“We train all other mornings,” Sundari said, changing the subject. “Shooting, malkhamba, and archery on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Swordsmanship and lathi on the remaining days. Today, you will join us for archery. Take a seat next to the rani and watch until then.”

On the maidan, the dew felt cool against my toes. Tomorrow, I would remember to wear closed slippers. A short distance away, an
open yellow tent had been erected with four large cushions underneath. One cushion was occupied by the rani; two were taken by old men whose eyes were set so deep in their wrinkled faces it was impossible to tell if they were awake or asleep. Sundari led me to the empty cushion, and all three looked up as I approached, but I wasn’t introduced. I took my seat quietly, then Sundari left for the field.

“Remember what Prince Arjun was taught by Lord Krishna,” one of the old men was saying. His white hair fell in thick waves around his ears. I imagined he’d been very handsome when he was young. “There’s a reason for war now if it saves lives in the future.”

“I understand all of this, Shri Bakshi. But I’m not convinced that war is inevitable,” the rani said.

“Look at their behaviors in other kingdoms,” the second man suggested. He was younger than Shri Bakshi, but with less hair and finer teeth. “In which kingdom have they landed where they didn’t eventually seek to gain control?”

“Shri Lakshman, I understand all of this,” the rani repeated. “But war—”

“Is sometimes the prudent move,” Shri Lakshman finished for her.

The rani sighed. She turned her attention to the women on the maidan, and over the next hour, I studied the other Durgavasi’s skills. They were adept at archery, but none of them hit the center of the target every time. The bows the women were using were made from yew, which I knew to be extraordinary. One of the wealthiest men in our village once purchased this wood from an Englishman in the British-controlled city of Bombay and chose Father to make a bow with it. My father asked me to test the finished weapon. I was fourteen, and knew that I was using something truly superior. I watched as Rajasi missed her target entirely,
and I glanced to my left to see the rani’s reaction. She simply raised her eyebrows.

The early morning mist began to roll back to reveal the farthest corners of the maidan. Temple bells sounded from the city below, then the raja’s soldiers started pouring out of their barracks like bees from a flooded hive, dressed in the crisp red and gold uniforms that Kahini had said were given to them by the British, who oversaw the raja’s army. Some stopped to watch the women practicing. I thought the rani would order them away, but she allowed them to remain. Some of the men stood for fifteen or twenty minutes, taking long, slow drags on cigarettes. Then Sundari ordered more archery targets to be set, and I felt a familiar ache in my hands.

“Sita, come and join us,” Sundari said.

The rani and her advisers both turned to me, and I knew what was expected. I immediately rose and pressed my hands together in namaste. “I am deeply honored by your request,” I said. “However, I see now that I am not worthy of being in the presence of such skilled women.”

Sundari glanced at the rani. “Sita, I am asking you to show the rani your skills,” Sundari said. “In fact, I am asking you to show us all. If you would please follow me, I will give you my bow.”

But I was determined to do as Kahini said. The other women had moved to the edge of the maidan, and to be sure they all heard, I said loudly, “I was brazen to believe that I could be part of such an elite group. But with your permission, I will endeavor to watch and learn, and when the captain feels I am ready, I will be honored to take a place on the field.”

There was a moment of silence. Then the rani spoke.

“The captain feels you are ready now.”

“It is a great honor, Your Highness, but I am not ready.”

I had done exactly as Kahini had instructed, but like a changing
wind, I could sense a shift in the mood on the maidan. Soon the rani was standing.

“Fetch the Dewan who brought this girl here.”

Sundari’s face reflected deep disappointment, and I could see Jhalkari, standing beside her, shaking her head. It was only then that I realized what Kahini had done.

I willed myself not to cry. But I can tell you that those moments, waiting there under the tent for the Dewan to appear, were the longest of my life. I searched for Kahini on the field, and this time, I saw malice in her perfect face. Yet when our eyes met, she showed no recognition of her role in this.

The Dewan arrived, looking as if someone had woken him from his sleep. When he realized that I was the cause of his early morning disturbance, his brows furrowed. He bowed at the waist before the rani and made the gesture of namaste. Then she took him aside and they conversed for several minutes in quiet tones. During that time, I tried to keep my eyes on the ground, but every so often I would sneak a glance at Sundari, who was now watching me with a curious expression.

After what seemed like an eternity, the rani and the Dewan approached.

“The Dewan swears that this girl is everything he promised,” the rani said to Sundari. But it was clear from her tone that she no longer believed him. “He also maintains that she is the best archer he has ever seen. Better than Kahini.”

At this, Sundari looked in my direction. “Without excuse
.
”

I bowed as low I could. “Of course. I will take the field at once.”

Sundari lent me her bow and quiver. As we walked together toward the maidan, she said in a voice that only I could hear, “The rani says you have three shots. I say you have one. Because nothing will replace this first impression now.”

She brought me to the red line in the grass where the other women had been standing. Then she stepped back and I was the only one on the field. Soldiers were gathering to watch, and I became conscious of the fact that I was once again the morning’s entertainment.

The yew bow was extremely powerful. Like the others, it was strung with horsehair. A strong arm was necessary to draw it, and I tested it several times before reaching back into the leather quiver and knocking the first arrow. Then something extraordinary happened. Instead of thinking about the target, or the growing number of onlookers, or even the rani, I heard a line from
Richard II
as if Father was reading it to me
: The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows. Of double-fatal yew against thy state.
I have been doing this since I was a child, I thought. There was nothing to fear.

I released the arrow.

It pierced the air and struck the red center of the target with a heavy thud. The second arrow splintered the first, and the third arrow shattered that one. I lowered the bow and turned to see the rani’s reaction. She was pleased. Next to her, the Dewan looked relieved. But Kahini turned to make a comment to the horse-faced girl called Rajasi who I knew had repeatedly missed the target entirely during practice.

Sundari approached me. I returned her bow and quiver. “Sundari-ji, I would like to explain—”

“Don’t. You are obviously capable,” she said, shouldering the bow.

“But Kahini-ji—” I wanted to defend myself.

“You are part of the palace now,” she said, stopping me. “I’m sure Kahini said many things on your short tour yesterday. But if you are incapable of telling an enemy from a friend, then it’s best to be alone.”

I felt like the most ignorant person in Jhansi. What was the matter with me? Living with my grandmother should have taught me that it was important to be wary of everyone.

Sundari strode ahead, and I was left to walk across the maidan behind her. When I reached the other Durgavasi, it was Kahini who spoke.

“Well done,” she said, although I could tell she really meant,
Such a shame you didn’t fail
. “The rani was about to send you back to your village. I don’t suppose you would have had such an audience there.” She was looking over my shoulder as she said this, at the throng of soldiers who had watched my three shots.

“And I hear that in these villages,” Rajasi added, “the women are all in purdah.”

“Yes. And purdah makes relationships with other women extremely important,” I said. “There is no room for snakes when all you have is grass to live in.”

Rajasi knew she had been insulted. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re clever enough to figure it out,” Jhalkari said, joining us as we began the walk back to the palace. She fell into step beside me. “Kahini told you to do it, didn’t she?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell an enemy from a friend.

“Everyone was surprised when she volunteered yesterday,” Jhalkari said. “She must feel threatened by you.”

I felt a pang of worry. All of my dreams for Anuja’s future depended on my being in the Durga Dal.

“Sundari almost denied her permission when she asked,” Jhalkari said, smiling. “You must have seen her hesitate?”

I had, and I should have been quick enough to understand why.

“Please don’t judge the rest of us by Kahini,” she said. “Kahini and Rajasi are the only snakes in the grass here.”

“Then why doesn’t Sundari-ji dismiss them?”

Jhalkari’s smile thinned as we reached the courtyard. “They’re popular with the raja.”

“I thought we belonged to the queen.”

“And everything that belongs to the queen belongs to him.” After a moment she added, “And what belongs to him belongs to the British.”

I
n Barwa Sagar, we took our baths from a bucket. Here, an entire room was dedicated to washing. Thick beams of sunlight pushed their way through billowing curtains, illuminating a smooth marble chamber with long cedar benches and a single, sunken tub of truly enormous proportions.

This was where we went after our practice, so that we could prepare for the afternoon’s Durbar Hall. I found it impossible not to look around in amazement.

Following the other women, I swiftly undressed and took a long cotton robe from a polished bronze hook on the wall. I tied it around my waist. Then I sat on a wooden bench next to Jhalkari and did as she did, beginning by neatly folding my clothes and tucking them into a hollow space in the wall. I glanced at the servants waiting with thick bathing towels and sandalwood platters of richly scented soaps.

“How nice,” Kahini said with exaggerated politeness. “Two village girls helping each other. It was only two years ago that you had your first bath, wasn’t it, Jhalkari?”

As Kahini said this, the rani passed behind her.

“I hope you’re not being insulting, Kahini.”

“Not at all. I’m just remembering the day Jhalkari joined us.”

The rani walked toward the marble tub, and one by one, we all
slipped out of our robes and joined her in the scented water. I had never felt such luxury. “Tonight,” the rani said to me, “I would like you to read something to us in English.”