Chapter 1 - Palanquins
They ran into the woods, happy and playful, with not a care in the world. Down the well-trodden paths they skipped, until they arrived at their private little space away from their parents. Sitting in the shade, taking turns on the swings on the enormous tree, they carried on with gay abandon.
Adolescent laughter echoed through the woods. Giggling amongst themselves, they talked about that which most girls of their youthful years are wont to discuss: boys. Teasing one another, they feigned offence, elbowing the offender, and then confirming the other’s suspicions with a mischievous smile. They whiled away the afternoon unconcerned with anything.
‘I wonder when your favourite will make an appearance, Meena,’ said Saloni, with a twinkle in her eye.
‘I do not have a favourite. I would just prefer that if I am to be guarded by someone that it be him.’
‘That’s quite understandable,’ said one. ‘Talking of which, shouldn’t he, or anyone for that matter, be here with us now?’
‘I suppose so, but he wasn’t available. It’s just that sometimes, Saloni, I only want to be with my friends, and I count him amongst them, amongst all of you.’
‘You know how your father will react once he finds out,’ said Heeri.
‘I do, but I also grow tired of constantly being watched over, waited upon hand and foot. You can’t imagine how nice it is to be out here without anyone fussing over me. The guard are ever present, at every corner. I feel constantly under scrutiny. Today, I even had to spend some time with the falconer before I came here with you. I used to find it interesting, once upon a time. But mostly, I feel like running out here without telling a soul. Just to see what happens.’
‘Actually we can imagine what it might be like,’ said Zora. ‘I wouldn’t mind that sort of existence at all. I would refuse to walk anywhere. I would have four of the most handsome guards carry me around in my own palanquin.’
She made extravagant gestures with her hands, mimicking the apparent idiosyncrasies of the wealthy and the powerful. The others laughed, copying her behaviour, each imagining that they had exchanged places with Meena, the princess. They sauntered around pretending to command something here, turning their noses up at something there, nonchalantly flicking away with their fingers at that which they deemed unacceptable.
Meena laughed at the charade, swinging back and forth in amusement. She wasn’t upset in the slightest; they were her friends. The girls continued to delight in their role-playing, taking it in turns to be the princess, or one of her ladies-in-waiting or unfortunate servants. Meena just smiled.
Up in the Grand Hall, a father had been sitting for quite a long while, pensive, almost motionless. In one of his hands he held a document handed to him by one of his counsel. Crumpled in his fist soon after having read it, not meant for keeping; its purpose had been served and the message delivered.
The content of the letter hadn’t triggered any emotions within him, ostensibly. He hadn’t seemed excited, but on the other hand he didn’t seem vexed either. Nevertheless, it had caused him to think, and not just momentarily. It was the provenance of the letter rather than its content that was occupying his thoughts.
He glanced outside then sprang to his feet and walked onto the terrace, gazing out over the land that stretched into the distance, eventually meeting the horizon. A welcome breeze made its way over the balcony and into the grand, vast room. The sun was at its zenith and all was at peace.
‘What a beautiful day,’ he thought.
Yet as much as he yearned for preoccupation elsewhere, to pretend his mind was elsewhere, he could not alas lie to himself. He had indeed been irked by the letter. He remembered how his free hand had grasped the armrest of his throne in a vice-like grip as he read through it.
With each passing moment he craved distraction all the more.
He wondered what she was doing right then, where she might be. Not wishing to pay further regard to the matters of state, he left to go and find her.
Walking back inside, he passed one of the tremendous stone pillars that supported the ceiling. In front of it and every other identical pillar were various items of battle paraphernalia on plinths. Suits of armour, swords, axes, spears, maces, shields. Statues of warriors from days past, and of their trusted steeds or elephants, stood as a testament to the rich history of their culture, the people and their clan.
At the end of the hall were two enormous doors decorated with intricate engravings, depictions of battles of times long gone. Multitudinous victories but also heart-breaking defeats, which, though fewer in number, could not be ignored. They were as much a part of the fabric of the people as their many successes. It was difficult to know where one was going, if one was not aware from where they had come. It was necessary to remember the defeats, just as it was to remember those brave souls who had perished in the many battles and wars it took to achieve glory, the glory of the great kingdom of Bhagava.
Either side of the doors were two sentinels, standing to attention. Each had a long sword in its scabbard around his waist and a long spear in his right hand. Their left hands rested behind their backs. The door opened, and in stepped a small man.
He had a diminutive frame and an unusual gait due to the modest length of his legs. He appeared to mimic the walk of girls from further east. The little man bowed. ‘Good day, Your Majesty.’
‘Ah, Puneet Lal, how are you?’ King Jeevan replied. His prime minister was formally attired and weighed down with documents of state, ready to go through the pressing business of monarchy.
‘Very well, Your Majesty. I have some papers that require your attention.’
‘I don’t feel like perusing them at this moment. I was off to find my daughter. Later, perhaps.’
‘As you wish, Your Majesty. Shall I send one of the guards to find her for you?’
‘No, no. I will go, thank you. I may be the king, but there are some things that I should occasionally do for myself. That being said, there is one thing you can do for me. Please dispose of this letter.’
The prime minister took the document and bowed in reverence. The king left him and made his way along the long corridors of his palace. He turned left, sometimes right, passing many more pillars and statues, and sentinels who saluted as he walked past. He arrived at his daughter’s private chambers, but the guards informed him she was not there, so he headed to his and the queen’s rooms.
His wife was standing on the terrace in the afternoon sun, looking out over the paddocks and across the fields. She was an image of resplendence. A beautiful woman, as understanding and kind of heart as she was fair, she was dressed in an elegant, flowing white-and-yellow sari of the most exquisite satins and silks.
‘My lady, the king is here,’ her lady-in-waiting announced.
The queen smiled, then turned and walked inside to where her husband was waiting.
‘Naina.’ The king had often remarked that he was very lucky, not necessarily because he was the king, but because he was fortunate enough to have her. He took her hands in his. ‘My love, what a vision you are, though I had actually come to see the other most important woman in my life.’
‘Isn’t she in the palace, dear?’
‘Apparently no one seems to know where she is. Out riding her horses again, perhaps. I thought she would have grown out of that by now. It just goes to show how little I know our daughter.’
‘You’re right, it does.’ She moved around the splendid chamber, as opulent as Meena’s friend had imagined and more. She picked up one of the pieces of lavish material that had been brought to her room and examined it, trying to decide if she would have it made into an ensemble.
‘Well, where is she then?’ he asked.
‘I really don’t know. Why don’t you send some of the men out to find her?’
The king’s cheerful gaze diminished, becoming decidedly pessimistic. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she was with him again.’
The queen turned to her husband, responding to the change in his tone. Though disappointed with what she had heard, she was not prepared to quarrel. She simply smiled with a hint of dismissal, which only served to exasperate him.
‘My love, have I not made my feelings on this subject clear? Why is it that she spends so much of her time with him?’
‘You don’t know that she does.’ She peered closely at a piece of blue silk.
‘And you can’t say for certain that she doesn’t, unless you are keeping something from me.’
The queen tried to reassure him that it was of no concern and that he shouldn’t dwell on it too much, well aware that in his eyes it was improper and needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. He regarded his wife’s patience as leniency at best, and acquiescence at worst.
‘Come walk with me, my love. Let us go out to the gardens.’
‘I would like to go and find her, if it’s all the same?’
‘Very well, my dear. I’ll meet you there afterwards.’
The king, determined to seek out his daughter, stomped off without another word. As he had not the slightest clue as to her whereabouts, it was going to necessitate quite a walk. He hadn’t exercised his legs for a few days. Well, now was as good a time as any, he thought. He strode through the palace with purpose. The odd leaves that had settled on the ground shuffled out of his path, giving him a wide berth, as if aware of his frustration. Saluting sentinels received even less in the form of acknowledgement than they were accustomed to.
Back in their room, Naina’s mind was mulling over what could only be described as her husband’s petulance. Meena’s feelings for the young man in question were substantial, and her husband wasn’t going to ignore it. Whether she was prepared to admit it or not, something would inevitably have to give.