It’s such an elementary rule, I wonder why almost nobody follows it. If you want to find out how a department’s functioning or how the work’s progressing on a project, go unannounced. It has nothing to do with catching people with their pants down or with their hands in the till. It’s simply that that’s the only way you can see them as they are, normal people. Normally efficient or normally sloppy. Give them notice and they’ll get out the red carpet and put on a big show. But if all you want is to feel important, call them over. It is less trouble; your managers or ministers will be only too happy to take the day off and doctor the facts efficiently and you’ll never have to deal with unpleasant or intractable problems ever again. Sycophants are a king’s first line of defence. They protect him from the truth and build a fine mesh around him which filters all information. It’s not just that bad news stays out. Often good news and good people too are disallowed entry. Because what you hear and see is what they want you to hear and see. When the end comes and the chair is pulled from under you, take heart, your free fall will be swift and irreversible.
The problem, of course, is how to keep all your channels of information open without being overwhelmed by them. Is there any way to institutionalize sources of criticism? But even if there was, it wouldn’t help much because human beings are so adept at ignoring any point of view or opinion we don’t care for. Do I have any other ideas on the subject? None whatsoever, except one small, unhelpful hint. Nobody can help you keep your communication systems open. You’ve got to work at them yourself, reach out and most of all, listen.
I was at the Institute of Advanced Military Tactics and Strategy before the sun was up. One of Father’s oldest and most loyal followers is in charge of the place. Jai Simha Balech had known my father when he was in hiding and incognito, a long time before he became king. After ascending the throne, Father bestowed twenty villages on Jai Simha and gave him the title of Rawat.
‘Your Highness, what a surprise.’ The Rawat looked ill at ease. I had no reason to doubt Jai Simha’s integrity or loyalty. I was paying a routine visit and he had no cause for alarm or discomfiture.
‘I thought I would come and see how our future commanders and strategists are doing.’ I was not being entirely truthful. The Rawat’s approach to military tactics was far too conservative for my liking. Besides, I was keen to enlarge the scope of the Institute to encompass the latest technologies. I had heard vague rumours of advances made by the Arabs, Turks and Portuguese in war materials and I wished to enlist the Rawat’s support in the matter before broaching the subject with Father.
We watched the field exercises first and then sat in on a class by. Shafi Khan on classic attack formations. It was a lucid talk with ample diagrams and case-studies. When we were about to leave, I asked Shafi Khan if he conducted any courses on the techniques and mechanics of retreat. The class thought my query uproariously funny and guffawed while the teacher, I could see, had taken umbrage, thinking that my remark was a reflection on his teaching.
‘I did not pose that question as comic relief. In the business of war, you may be surprised to learn, one party wins and the other loses. If the art of retreat is studied scientifically, you’ll not only reduce loss of life dramatically, you may also live to fight another war.’
The teacher was mollified and the students were subdued. They may not have been enamoured by the prospect but a discussion on orderly and tactical retreat was a new idea as much to the instructor as to his pupils.
I could not fathom the cause of Jai Simha’s stubborn uncommunicativeness. Everything in the Institute was in order. I thought it wise to ignore his taciturnity and broach the issues which were on my mind as we went back to his office. But the dam cracked before that. It was a trickle, the man’s voice a mere whisper, but I knew that something was terribly wrong.
‘Your Highness, I was coming to see you later this morning.’
‘I trust you haven’t changed your mind and will allow me to reciprocate your hospitality. Will you join me for lunch?’
‘That is kind, very kind of you, but I cannot.’
His body trembled and when I put my hand on his back, he shook his head from side to side. I could feel the intensity of his distress but in Father’s absence, I am the court of final appeal. And I will not make a move, lend a solicitous ear or give a helping hand till the aggrieved party sees fit to ask me to intercede.
‘I will leave instructions in my office to let you in even if I am busy.’
It was Thursday again. Pyarelal, the dhobi, was first in line today. There were bags under his eyes but there was also triumph in them. His wife, Sunheria, was standing a little behind him. She would not look at me. Did she hate me? Would she find it in her heart to forgive me? And yet it was to this white-haired, toothless and turbaned ruin of a husband that my heart responded. He had had six wives and five had borne him sons and daughters who had innumerable grandchildren. Some of the wives had died, others had left him. He had taken on a seventh and was now eaten through with suspicion and the fear of defeat. Who should know a faithless wife better than I?
‘Master, Your Highness, I am a man.’ His voice was high-pitched and accompanied by a thin wheeze. It was obvious his bronchitis was never going to leave him. ‘I have done as you had bidden me and proved my manhood.’
‘Yes, it is true that you are a man, Pyarelal. Rasikabai vouches for that. What do you wish to do now?’
‘That proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that my wife is guilty, doesn’t it?’
‘Guilty of what?’
‘Of cheating on me, what else?’
‘Who is the co-respondent?’
‘How would I know? Ask her.’
‘Is it possible that she has a lover and is yet a virgin?’
‘What do you take me for, a fool? She is no virgin, that’s for sure.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Don’t make me laugh. I am her husband, aren’t I?’
‘Why don’t you drop the case, Pyarelal? Your wife’s faithful to you, which is why she’s a virgin.’
‘What are you trying to suggest, Highness? That I’m impotent? Did I not prove my manhood with Rasikabai?’
‘You did. You most certainly did. But it took a while, the whole night as a matter of fact and much coaxing, I believe. Rasikabai tried every trick in her book and you know she wrote the book, if all the reports are to be believed. I grant you there’s a flame, however feeble, burning in you but your wife’s too inexperienced to stoke it.’
Pyarelal was crestfallen but he was not about to give up.
‘I’m telling you she has a lover. The night I was with Rasikabai, she was gone the whole night.’
‘Wherever she was last Monday, Rasikabai examined her yesterday and declared her a virgin.’
‘She has a lover. I know it in my bones.’
‘Find him,’ I told him, ‘and we’ll prescribe the harshest punishment under the law for him.’
Pyarelal finally went home. Virgin or no virgin, he knew his wife was cheating on him.
I had kept the afternoon free for Sahasmal, the head of city-planning. I had heard they were using ceramic channels for aqueducts in the kingdom of Vijayanagar and wanted to ask him why we couldn’t adopt the same system. The second problem was the drains. The roads in Chittor were fine in summer and winter but come the monsoons, the only way to be happy was to become a buffalo. The place was full of puddles and ditches. Swarms of mosquitoes hung above one’s head like a sizzling black muslin turban. The roads, at least, were a seasonal problem. The drains, unfortunately, were a nuisance round the year. Nuisance is a particularly inadequate and imprecise word in this context. They were a disaster.
For some bizarre reason, all my ancestors, great and small, could not see or think straight when they discussed the population problem in our kingdom. They always ascribed it to the wars that we were forever fighting. War certainly decimates us (the dead are nothing compared to the maimed, crippled and disfigured in every warrior family, not to mention the hundreds begging for alms on every street, lane and by-lane), but it is endemic and epidemic disease which wipes out a quarter or half of our population every few years.
Maybe nobody dwells upon the subject of sewers because it is an untouchable matter. But if we don’t pay heed today and bring the weight of both technology and the royal imprimatur to bear upon the problem, we are all going to be awash in our excrement and sewage.
The town-planner, Sahasmal himself looked a little abashed and was making genteel squeamish noises and wondering why we didn’t discuss architectural plans for a new complex of marble temples of the order found in Ranakpur or a new Victory Tower that would be twice as tall as the one that the great Rana Kumbha had built. After all, Father’s victories are no less than my great grandfather’s. I told him that they were excellent ideas and I was sure that he could find the finances for these projects from the generous denizens of our city as well as from the wealthy and far-flung citizens of Mewar, but that as far as the exchequer was concerned, it would stick to more mundane matters like discharge and outlet systems.
I think he got the drift and said he would look for the maps of the city’s drainage network, when Jai Simha Balech was announced. I excused the town-planner and asked him if he would find six that evening convenient to examine the maps. His jaw dropped in dismay and he started mumbling about the problem of locating such old documents. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if any such maps existed.
‘Good, that’s settled then. Six o’clock sharp.’ I wished him good day.
Jai Simha Balech was in better control of his emotions. I had a little difficulty keeping an opaque face. While I paid close attention to what he had to impart — how would I not, I could hear the rumblings of a crisis brewing — I resolved to sit in front of the mirror every day and practise the composure of the dead while I went through a litany of the most vicious scandals, disasters, setbacks and humiliations I could invent or perhaps merely recount from my own rich and variegated experience in these matters.
‘Your Highness will recall that Prince Vikramaditya visited my family five weeks ago. We were greatly honoured and though I was unable to look after him personally because of my commitments at the Institute, my family felt privileged and went out of the way to make him feel welcome. He returned to Chittor about a week ago.’
Yes, I was aware of that. Since then he had not only had the pleasure of peering under my wife’s delirious petticoat, he had composed doggerel of such scatalogical merriment that the whole town was gyrating to it.
‘He came over personally to the school and thanked me in the warmest terms. He felt invigorated by the country air and by all the hunting and riding that he had done with my four sons. “You must come again. Soon,” I told him. “I intend to, Uncle, I intend to,” he said and left. Almost on his heels, I am sure they crossed each other, my two eldest sons rode over to Chittor.’
Balech stopped. I closed my eyes for the punch line. It did not come.
‘Highness, I do not know how to proceed.’
I kept my eyes closed. This is good training for a future king. I willed myself not to conjecture. Flow with the tide, hold your tongue, relax every muscle in every part of your body. Go dead, go dead. Never show surprise or any other emotion.
‘I beg your forgiveness if what I tell you now gives offence to your ears. But tell it I must. You are aware that we run a stud farm in our estates which the Rana, your father, bequeathed to me for my loyalty many years ago. By the grace of Shri Eklingji, the stud farm has done well. We supply horses to the army and to the gentry. Your own Befikir is from one of our most prized lines.
‘A year and a half ago, the Solankis of Godwar reserved a filly called Kali Bijlee. She had come of age and we were about to dispatch her to the Solankis when Prince Vikramaditya espied her. She’s a fine mare, one of the finest we’ve bred. The Prince wanted her. My sons offered him any horse on the farm but this one, since it had already been sold to someone else. The Prince graciously declined the offer.
‘After he left, my sons discovered that Kali Bijlee was missing and so were nine other horses.’
I had seen my brother with the new horse. A bit too flashy and high-strung for my liking but a beauty if I have ever seen one.
He was playing some game he had learnt recently, where you hit a puck with a wooden stick while riding horseback, when I first saw her.
‘Where did you get her?’
‘Picked her up at a horse fair in Ajmer from a Pathan. Like her?’
‘Must have cost you an arm and a leg. Make it two arms and two legs.’
‘It’s not the money which matters, it’s the pleasure of riding such a fine, highly pedigreed creature, brother. But what would you know of pleasure?’
He had a point there but I was not sure how he had raised the monies to buy her. He was overextended as it was and in debt to almost everybody in the family, including, believe it or not, to me. Well, there was always his mother, Queen Karmavati. She had her sources, not to mention her own private cache, hidden, god knows where.
‘That is not all. The night before he left, he bribed my horse-breaker who’s reputed to be the finest in the country; even better than the one in the service of the Emperor in Delhi. I cannot trace him but suspect that he and his family are under the Prince’s protection.’
I didn’t have to will myself to be dead. I was numb and cold. Father, and I, and I think almost anybody who’s had anything to do with Vikramaditya know that he is not a man who’s waiting for trouble to happen. He makes it happen. We all know what to expect and yet none of us can keep pace with my brother’s inventive ways.
‘I want the mare back. As to the horse-breaker and his wife, I’m sure you’ll do the just thing.’
Just thing, just thing. Just the thing I need. Do I know what is the just thing? Leave alone for anybody else, for myself? And even if I did, how do I go about getting the just thing done.
‘Jai Simhaji, why did it take you close to a week to report the matter to me?’
He hesitated. ‘If I had had my way I wouldn’t be here today either. I went to Adinathji, then took the matter to the Pradhan Mantri. They commiserated with me but hinted that I would be better off if I forgot the whole business.’
I wondered if Jai Simha Balech would have taken up the matter with Father if he had been around instead of me.
I went to see Vikramaditya. There was no point summoning him. He might refuse to come. I could at least spare myself that humiliation.
‘I urge you to return Kali Bijlee to Jai Simha Balech immediately,’ I saw no reason to beat about the bush, ‘and he’ll not file criminal charges against you for theft.’
‘Who’s Kali Bijlee?’
‘The horse that you stole from Jai Simha Balech’s stud farm.’
‘My horse is called Kajal and I bought it from a Pathan near Ajmer.’
‘You have papers to prove the purchase of the animal?’
‘Sure. But I threw them away.’
‘Any witnesses?’
‘It’s not a wife I bought, just a horse.’
‘Will you give the mare back to Rawat Balech?’
‘No, I will not.’
‘Do you realize the consequences of this? The Rawat is a friend of Father’s and one of his trusted lieutenants. Do you want to alienate him and his clan for a mere horse? The mare was sold to Godwar’s Solanki who’s fighting on our side against the Sultan of Gujarat. Do you have the faintest inkling of the political repercussions of your actions?’
My tongue tasted like dry ash. What an ass I was to try to reason with my brother.
‘The horse is mine. And even if it wasn’t, no Rao, Rawat or Raja for that matter could take it from me. Pusillanimity is your second name, brother, but I am the King’s son. I will take what I want.’ He smiled. No, he’s incapable of that; he leered. ‘Including the throne.’
I went back to my office and got hold of Mangal.
‘Can you find out where Prince Vikramaditya’s new mare is? If you can locate her, tell me how many men are guarding her. I know you don’t have to be told this but can you do it without raising suspicion?’
I knew it was pointless but I recalled that ancient master statesman, Kautilya’s advice. ‘Never dismiss the obvious because it is obvious. Make a checklist and go over it point by point meticulously.’
I sat down quietly and wrote down three alternate scenarios: 1. We do not find Kali Bijlee. 2. We find her and confiscate her. And 3. We find her but cannot take possession of her. Under each of the three alternatives, I made a list of possible actions to be undertaken. It took me the best part of an hour to make corrections and additions and shuffle some of the points around. At the end of the list, I wrote in a bold hand: Time is of the essence. I will think things through. Act swiftly. But within the framework of the law.
Writing something down doesn’t make it happen, but at least you know what you expect of yourself.
‘She’s not there and the syce, stable-keeper and anybody connected with the mare won’t talk.’
‘Post two of your people to watch Prince Vikramaditya’s movements. I want to know who visits him and for how long. If he goes out of the house I want to be told on the instant. Inform the Prime Minister, the Chancellor and the Home Minister that there will be a Security Council meeting at nine tonight at my office. Ask the captain of the guard to report here at the same time and await my instructions. Tell Rawat Jai Simha Balech that we will require his presence at ten past nine. Go. A crisis is not the time to feel self-important. You’ll only end up giving the game away.’
I pored over the drainage network with the town planner. My interest in sewage must have been contagious. Instead of plumbing and excrement and dirty water, he began to see it as a problem. He was going to be all right now. He was already looking for the other part of the problem: the solution.
I was interrupted twice, both times by Mangal who took me aside into the antechamber. My brother Vikramaditya was conferring with his three closest cronies, Fateh Simha, Sajjad Hussein and Mahesh Gaur. The second message was that Sajjad Hussein had left Vikramaditya’s residence in a hurry.
‘If Sajjad Hussein leaves the fort, he is to be intercepted after he has crossed the Gambhiree, not before. I repeat, not before. Let your men make sure that this is done when no marriage party or nautanki troupe is in the vicinity. Sajjad may have an escort. Ensure that our men are not outnumbered. Strip Sajjad and dispossess him of all missives and monies. Incarcerate him and his men in Kumbhalgarh fort. You are not to leave Chittor, Mangal, or lead your men on any forays. You’ll only co-ordinate my instructions, and see that they are carried out to the letter.’
The town planner was in a state of elation. I asked him to submit his plans for rehauling, extending or totally replacing the old sewage system in a phased manner and to write a report on costs and raising funds for the project either in terms of a new water tax or whatever optimal scheme he could devise. I had a quick bath, changed and composed my mind.
Adinathji was the first to arrive. If he had an inkling of what the emergency session was for, he had no intention of sharing it with me or probing me. All in good time. It was odd how much I learnt from this man whom I had no reason to dislike and yet wasn’t overly fond of. His virtue was not that he held his tongue but that he listened. It was not a passive listening. I suspected that our Prime Minister Pooranmalji did that. He too heard people out, but with a closed mind. Adinathji, on the other hand, notwithstanding his cold fish expression, would take his time weighing the pros and cons, but if he found reason in what he heard, would not think it a matter of honour to stick to his opinion merely because it happened to be his or because it was the received wisdom on a subject.
‘What, what is all this ado about? Whatever it is, couldn’t it be put off till the morning?’ My uncle Lakshman Simhaji couldn’t wait for the door to close before putting me on the mat. As an after-thought, Lakshman Simhaji added, ‘Your Highness.’
The Home Minister was a large man gone to fat. I remember him from the days when I was a child. He was trim and tall and in a perpetual rush. He was one of our best commanders and had been deeply offended when Father placed him in charge of the Home portfolio,
‘Shall I ask our womenfolk to lead the troops if, God forbid, Chittor is besieged when we are out fighting elsewhere?’ Father had asked him. ‘Besides, even when I’m at home, I still need someone I trust to take care of internal security.’
Lakshman Simhaji had grunted and his nostrils had flared. He had huffed and puffed as he was doing now but for very different reasons. He had become so bulky after he was forced to abandon the rigours of a soldier’s life that he needed someone to ease him down on a seat and to lift him up. He spoke fast and that, combined with his breathlessness, made it difficult to follow him.
‘Do you expect me to rest my butt on a seat higher than yours?’ I had got Mangal to pile four mattresses on top of each other to make things easy for him. ‘I may be old and fat and fart ceaselessly but my brains have not been addled to the point where I’ll insult the Maharaj Kumar.’
I was being merely selfish, nothing more. The last time Mangal and I had to raise him, the two of us had almost keeled over.
‘You are like my father, Uncle. It makes no difference if I sit at your feet.’
‘Like, yes. But not an iota beyond that. Hold on to your seat and your dignity, Maharaj Kumar. Only then can the stars and the sun keep their places in the heavens.’
‘I see that the Home Minister is already waxing eloquent,’ Prime Minister Pooranmalji had slipped in without any one of us realizing it. Now here was an enigma. Not sinister but stealthy. Urbane, suave and utterly bereft of emotion. A very advanced instinct for survival. Not just for himself but for Mewar. I think he deliberately promotes the impression that he cannot be trusted. That way he is able to keep his distance and his options open.
‘May you live long, Your Highness and may my life be added to yours.’ I bent my head slightly to accept the Pradhan Mantri’s benediction. We have two prime ministers among us Suryavanshis, the descendants of the Sun-god. Father is a Diwan or prime minister to Eklingji, the five-headed Shiva who is our family-deity and whose kin and representative he is on earth. Pooranmalji who had just entered is PM to the Rana, my father.
‘I will dispense with small talk and come straight to the point. I may have acted in haste in calling this meeting of the Security Council. If it proves to be so, I apologise to you in advance. But I wanted time and secrecy on our side. In the first part of our session, we sit as the court of final resort in Mewar. I myself will take minutes of the proceedings.’
‘Who, who is the plaintiff?’ Lakshman Simhaji interjected. ‘And what, what is the offence?’
‘Call Jai Simha Balech.’
Neither Adinathji nor the Prime Minister betrayed the slightest trace of foreknowledge of the Balech affair. How would they react now that matters were about to come into the open, I wondered. Mangal showed Jai Simha Balech in. The Rawat looked cowed down. He had obviously not expected such a high-powered reception.
‘Rawat Jai Simha Balech,’ for once Uncle Lakshman Simha spoke without stumbling, ‘you stand before the highest court of the land. Speak now or hold your tongue for evermore. If you decide to speak, then speak the truth. For if you fail to do so, you could not only lose your life but the state will also dispossess both you and your children of all estates, land, property and titles.’
The Rawat had the look of a trapped animal. He had not courted trouble. Trouble had been visited upon him. Whatever the outcome, he knew he would be the loser. If he spoke up now, we would resent him for forcing our hand. The Rana who had once been his companion would grow distant. If he held his tongue, he would earn the enmity of the Solanki of Godwar. Worse, he would dishonour his clan and never be able to face his children. When you deal with naked power from an inferior position, perspectives get distorted. He was the aggrieved party and yet he felt guilty and would continue to do so all his life.
He spoke quietly. He did not leave anything out. When he had finished, he looked at no one in particular and said, ‘I want justice done regardless of the rank and position of the accused.’
I knew we had arrived at the trickiest part of the session. I had been waiting for this moment. If I did not wrest the initiative now, Adinathji and Pradhan Pooranmal would leave me holding the bag. Lakshman Simhaji was a decent man but naive in matters of intangible nuances and subtle statecraft and he would, willy-nilly, follow their lead.
‘Thank you, Jai Simhaji. Will you wait in the antechamber while we confer?’ When he left, I briefed the court about my conversation with Vikramaditya.
‘Are you sure that the mare you saw was Kali Bijlee?’ The Pradhan Mantri’s strategy, as I had expected, was to pick holes in the evidence till it became too shaky to prosecute the prince.
‘No, I am not. At the same time he admitted that he had not bought the horse he called Kajal at Chittor. Besides, the horse he claimed to have bought would have cost a king’s ransom.’
‘I’m sure the Rana’s son can afford that, wouldn’t you say so?’ Pooranmalji turned towards the Finance Minister. Adinathji smiled faintly but declined to comment on that rhetorical remark.
‘Adinathji, is it true that my brother has been heavily in debt to your house for some months now?’ It was my turn to pin him down to some concrete information.
‘I wouldn’t say heavily. A little, yes.’
‘Has he applied to you for a loan recently?’
‘No.’
‘Had he done so, would you have lent him the money?’
‘I cannot give an opinion on a conjecture.’
‘Is it not true that when his IOUs came due, you not only refused to extend them but also told him that you would not give him any leeway in the matter of interest payments?’
Adinathji shifted just a little and considered his answer for almost a minute. ‘Yes, that is true.’
‘What, what has all this got to do with the case in hand?’ Lakshman Simha asked impatiently.
‘Almost nothing. I’m just trying to plug all the alleys and byways down which we can spend the rest of the night giving ourselves a way out of not confronting the issue at hand.’ I was treading dangerous ground. Both the Pradhan Mantri and Adinathji were watching me carefully to see when I would overstep myself and move beyond the vigorous prosecution of the case into personal hostilities. ‘And is it true that Prince Vikramaditya has not been able to raise the funds to pay even your interest?’
‘He has not paid it yet. Whether he was unable to find the money, I do not know.’
‘I do not know whether His Majesty, Rana Sanga, will take another month, two months or a year to return. You, as well as I, have been put in charge in his absence with the express purpose of not allowing affairs of the state to come to a standstill. I do not need to stress the seriousness of the charges the Rawat has brought. I would, however, like to point out that if there are other ramifications to this case beyond that of a simple but egregious theft, then the gravity of the offence as well as the responsibility placed upon us may be more substantial than we are, at first glance, willing to grant.’
I had gone to orotund lengths to avoid being precise while hinting at complexities about which I was, like them, clueless. But even if the arrow had been shot at nowhere in particular, it had certainly found its mark.
‘Pooranmalji, what course of action do you and the other elders suggest?’ Lakshman Simhaji burst in where the two foremost advocates of caution in Chittor feared to venture. ‘Is there any option apart from summoning Prince Vikramaditya?’
There was a pause before Pooranmalji spoke. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of sleeping over the problem tonight and then meeting again tomorrow.’
‘That would successfully subvert the purpose of holding this court at night so that we avoid undue publicity. And thereby also lose the great advantage of having time on our side.’ I was putting up a good fight but I knew I was no match for Pooranmalji.
‘And what if,’ Pooranmalji smiled urbanely, ‘what if there is a simple explanation to everything that sounds so full of sinister portent?’
The Home Minister rose to the bait but his hard commonsense did not get caught in the hook. ‘Why sir, that is an outcome and a mercy that all of us are even now praying for.’
‘I think we are all agreed then that the Captain of the Imperial Guard along with a select band of lieutenants should fetch Prince Vikramaditya,’ that was the redoubtable Adinathji at his best. Think. And then think again. If you decide to act, no halfway measures. Act with the full force at your command.
I had hoped that Mangal would interrupt us with some news of Sajjad Hussein. I looked at his face when he entered now and realized that I had either gone on a wild goose chase or Vikramaditya was playing a more devious game than I imagined.
‘Show the Captain of the Guard in.’
‘Doesn’t he have to be sent for?’ Lakshman Simhaji asked a little puzzled.
‘His Highness, the Maharaj Kumar took the precaution of having him on hand in case of just such an exigency.’ Pooranmalji was loath to let me go that easily.
‘Go silently and inconspicuously. Take enough guards to overcome resistance, if any, from His Highness, Prince Vikramaditya or his personal guard. You are to produce him before us. Do not use force unless necessary. Give him this warrant and bring him back.’ The Captain of the Guard didn’t bat an eyelid when I mentioned Vikramaditya. I wondered what kind of a moral dilemma he was trying to resolve in his own mind while keeping a straight, expressionless face. He was the head of the elite guard trained for one purpose and one purpose alone: to safeguard His Majesty and his family. What if Queen Karmavati told him that he would be court-martialled for endangering, instead of protecting, His Majesty’s son who may very likely be the next Rana? ‘Take the Prince,’ I could hear her saying with formidable imperiousness, ‘yes, take him. But be warned, only on pain of death.’
The old men were yawning away by now. Had to keep them going till they got their second wind. Mangal had arranged for refreshments and light drinks. The operative word was light. I didn’t want the food to sit like dead weight in their bellies and put them to sleep. I had not realized how tense I was until the food arrived. I couldn’t bear to look at it. ‘The mind must have the final say and sway over the body and not the other way round,’ I could hear my yoga teacher telling me softly. ‘Let there be no doubt in anyone’s mind about who’s the master and who the servant.’ I forced myself to eat. I envied my uncle, Lakshman Simhaji, not because he ate heartily and picked up either his left or right buttock to allow for a smooth passage when he broke wind, but because he alone out of the four of us, was not exercised by the implications of what we were doing. Of course there would be consequences, maybe there would be hell to pay but that is the nature of action and authority and responsibility, and nothing more. Cast a stone in the pond, there were bound to be ripples.
Vikramaditya strode in. My heart missed a beat when I saw the manacles around his wrists.
‘We had no alternative, Your Highness. His Highness Prince Vikramaditya resisted all our pleas to bring him here.’
Before the captain had finished Vikramaditya had come to the point.
‘You old flatulent dogs, how dare you bring me here under duress? I promise you, you’ll pay, each one of you will pay a price so heavy you’ll rue the day you were born. And as for you, Prince aspiring, with your obsession for the letter of the law, for spirit you have none, I will reserve a special place in my heart for you. Every minute of my waking hours, I will invent a new and more deadly torture for you. Consider your life and career over. The rack will be sheer pleasure compared to what I’ll concoct for you.’
‘If you assure us that you will conduct yourself with decorum and uphold the dignity of this court, I’ll ask the Captain to remove your handcuffs.’ I had no intention of responding to his elaborate threat. ‘If you so much as swear once more or misbehave in any other fashion, we’ll be forced to chain and handcuff you again. What will it be?’
‘What court are you talking about? This sad circus with three superannuated clowns and a spineless prince whose wife is a common nautanki girl? Look after your own affairs, heir-aspirant, instead of pretending to look after the business of the state. I have a suggestion for you. That wife of yours, the whole city knows, dances for free. Why not become her pimp? That way you’ll have something more worthwhile to do with your time and you’ll even earn some money.’
I thought I had scraped the bottom of the barrel when I was in the bath trying to figure out the full spectrum of my brother’s repertory of insults, taunts and jibes. I had, of course, missed the obvious. He could twist an innocent remark, an awkward or embarrassing moment in childhood into a lifelong source of scorn and jeer. He was a master of puns, innuendoes and double meaning and would zero in on friend or foe alike when his guard was down and he least expected it. It didn’t matter that his humour was always of the lowest order or that it mimicked and satirized physical tics, frailties and handicaps. If you were his victim, he drew blood and had you in tears and rubbed salt and chillies into your wounds by pointing out that you had no sense of humour and fun.
I looked at him. What a handsome head my brother had. He had piercing eyes and straight hair that sat in place until he was mad at something or laughing and threw his head back. Then it rose like a fisherman’s black net and fell all over his face till he ran his hand over it and put it back in place. He is tall, a good two inches taller than I am — and I’m not exactly short at six feet and one inch — and even the most dishevelled and disreputable clothes only enhance his casual and offhand charm. When we were children, he was my favourite brother and even today I feel the loss of our friendship.
He had fixed his eyes on Pooranmalji and paused for effect. I’m familiar with my brother’s mannerisms and bag of tricks. He was about to sow consternation and doubt in the mind of the court.
‘Take heed all ye who sit in judgement here,’ he had selected a low, velvet smooth and dark timbre from his wide range of voices, ‘take heed that I do not recognize this court for there is no court in this kingdom nor anywhere upon earth which is fit to try me. I am a Prince, the Rana’s son. Remove my handcuffs and let me go in peace. Because if you do not, you’ll be responsible for the chaos and anarchy that will visit our land.’
There was an unholy silence for a minute and more. Then the Pradhan spoke. ‘Remove his handcuffs.’ Vikramaditya looked triumphant and made ready to go as Mangal unlocked the cuffs. ‘Sit down, Prince. Not a word from you now till you are spoken to. Fetch Rawat Jai Simha Balech.’
Laxman Simhaji read out the charges.
‘How plead you, Prince Vikramaditya?’
‘I refuse to answer that question except to say that one cannot steal from one’s own house. All the Raos and Rawats and Rajas in our kingdom are so by our decree and our pleasure. There is only one authority above us. That is Shri Eklingji whose vice-regents we are on earth. To him alone are we accountable.’
I was in the direct line of descent and would one day, God willing, be absolute monarch because my father was the Diwan of the god Eklingji. But this is the crux and paradox of Eklingji’s legacy. We are his representatives on earth. Were he to appear in person tomorrow and demand the kingdom, we would have to hand it to him because we hold it in trust for him. Whereas the lands that we give to the nobles and loyal citizens are gifts. The only way we can take them back is if they misbehave or are disloyal or rebel against Mewar. Then alone does the law allow us to annex their lands by force. At least that is my reading of the law
‘Did you steal the horses, Your Highness?’ Pooranmalji asked.
‘I have committed no theft.’
‘Are the ten horses which are missing from Jai Simha Balech’s studfarm in your safekeeping?’
How subtly and beautifully the Prime Minister had phrased that question. If I was ever in trouble, I would want Pooranmalji as my defence lawyer. You could see Vikram squirming in the narrow confines of his mind, for it is a very limited mind that can accommodate at best three or four ideas in a lifetime and those, too, not simultaneously. It seemed like such a friendly, well-meaning, innocuous question. Should he answer, should he not? Was there a catch? There must be if it came from Pooranmalji, where the waters ran deep and the undercurrents were always invisible.
‘I will refrain from answering that question.’
‘Could you, through your good offices, arrange to return them either to this court or directly to the Rawat?’
‘It’s too late for that.’ Vikramaditya had slipped up but I knew that nothing would come of it. It was uncanny, how without any prior understanding, we had let the ablest and most experienced lawyer among us take charge of the proceedings.
‘Would you have been able to do it if the court had sat yesterday instead of today?’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘The horses, Your Highness, about whom it would appear, it is too late to do anything now. Have you lost them? Sold them? Or gifted them to anybody?’
‘Don’t try your tricks with me, Pradhanji, I am not about to fall for them. How can I lose, sell or gift what I never had?’
‘How about the horse-breaker, Pathak? Can he be returned to his lawful employer?’
‘No, he may not.'
‘Where is he?’
‘I am not at liberty to say.’
‘Is he in your employ?’
‘He is not.’
‘Have you given him to somebody else?’
‘He is a free man. He can take up a job where he wants.’
There was a soft knock on the door. It was Mangal.
‘Maharaj Kumar,’ Pooranmalji turned to me ‘this investigation is not getting anywhere. Shall we recess and decide on our next step?’
‘That seems like a good idea.’
‘Take the accused to the antechamber. If he gets boisterous, handcuff him. Guard, make the Rawat comfortable in one of the adjoining offices.’
I went out and joined Mangal. He handed me a letter with Vikramaditya’s seal on it.
‘Sajjad Hussein and seven of his men are in custody in the imperial guard rooms.’
‘What took you so long? If he left the fort, and he must have for you to have intercepted him, it must have been at least four hours ago.’
‘My instructions to my men were to apprehend him only after he had left Bagoli.’
‘Why is that?’ I was willing to strangle Mangal for having countermanded my orders. Getting too big for his boots, he was. I must cut him down to size, the bloody ass, keeping me on tenterhooks while Vikramaditya played cat and mouse with us. ‘I could have you in lock-up too for insubordination.’
‘Sajjad Hussein has a farm at Bagoli.’
‘So what’s it to me? Do you want me to go and sow maize … oh my God, how blind, how unforgivably stupid of me. Did you find Kali Bijlee?’
‘And the other nine horses and the horse-breaker.’
‘You should be in the crime branch, Mangal. You have an instinctive feel for how criminals think and work. I am going to recommend you to the Rana for this year’s honours list.’
Mangal was not listening. If he was, he was not elated. His mind was somewhere else. ‘Don’t you want to find out what’s in the letter?’
I took the royal letter back to the courtroom.
‘How do you suggest we deal with Prince Vikramaditya now? All the circumstantial evidence points to his masterminding the theft but we have no proof.’
I interrupted the Pradhan. ‘We have, Pooranmalji. We have recovered the horses, all ten of them, the horse-breaker and a letter from the Prince to Prince Bahadur Khan of Gujarat. With your permission, I am going to open it.’ I thought the better of it and passed the letter around so they could all see the seal.
“To His Highness, Prince Bahadur Khan,” ’ I read from the letter, ‘ “I trust this missive finds you in good health and in fighting spirits. You are right, we are not first-born and so will have to seize the initiative and then the throne. I think this is the opportune moment for it. Both our fathers are busy fighting each other over Idar. My brother, the putative Maharaj Kumar, is in charge at Chittor. He is weak and unassertive; his wife is a national scandal and while she leads him a song and dance, he broods and vacillates and is, even after so many years of marriage, without issue. That is neither here nor there. I believe that if you ride posthaste to Chittor with a force of two thousand men, my men will throw the gates open to you and I think we can restrict casualties to double figures and no more. The populace of Chittor is solidly behind me. They are tired of the one-eyed, one-armed and one-legged King and will any day opt for a dashing, debonair and daring prince who can laugh heartily and has a hearty appetite for fun, games and pleasure.
‘ “When I am consecrated upon the throne, we’ll proceed forthwith to Idar. Your father’s holed up in Champaner while mine’s fighting against your father’s general Malik Ayaz. Can you imagine the surprise and confusion in both armies when they see us together? We’ll speedily rout them and take my father prisoner. Thence we’ll force-march to Champaner, imprison your father and crown you King of Gujarat.
‘ “I have already set the wheels of disaffection and rebellion in motion here. I urge you to leave as soon as you receive this communication. My trusted lieutenant, Sajjad Hussein, will guide you here safely. As an earnest of our eternal friendship, I am sending you ten of the finest horses of Mewar, the crown and glory of the lot being a mare called Kali Bijlee. She is, I assure you, the finest horse bred in the land. I would not part with her for the world. It is indeed a measure of my regard and affection for you that I gift this black lightning to you.
‘ “The horses are accompanied by the man who bred and broke them. He is by far the finest horse-breaker in the country. He too is yours.
‘ “God speed. I look forward to greeting the King of Gujarat in the coming weeks.
‘ “I am, as always, your true friend,
‘ “Vikramaditya Sisodia.” ’
The court returned the horses and the horse-breaker to Rawat Jai Simha and then confronted Prince Vikramaditya with the evidence of his treason. By rights he should have been put to death. But he was a prince and my brother and while Father lived and was sovereign, it was only right that we should leave it to him to do what he would with his son. Perhaps it was a grievous error not to have made an example of him. Perhaps we should have treated him exactly like other commoners and noblemen who had committed treason and paid for it with their lives. Perhaps the course of history would have been different if the court had acted in concert and forcefully. Perhaps. Instead, all four of us signed the order for his internment and sent him under heavy escort to Kumbhalgarh fort where he was to be imprisoned till Father’s return.
When anybody asked where Vikramaditya was, we told them the truth. Half the truth. He was at Kumbhalgarh. Recovering from a nasty wound inflicted upon him in the course of his favourite sport: hunting.
I had no wish to go back home. I was exhausted. I tried to count up to ten but couldn’t remember the number that followed three. I did not want to see her face or be subjected to her solicitous care. I didn’t need her to take my shoes off and then my turban and the angarkha. There were servants to help me disrobe. And who wanted to disrobe anyway? All I wanted to do was to get into bed and stay there for the next two hundred years.
I went to Chandra Mahal. My head must truly be badly damaged. I was hallucinating. That dhobi’s wife, I can’t recall her name, was standing by the bed in my room. I ignored her.
Mangal spoke to her. ‘Not today. Some other time. He’s exhausted.’
‘Who are you talking to?’ I asked Mangal irritably.
‘I’ll look after him,’ she said.
‘I asked you who you are talking to? Can’t you answer?’
‘Sunheria, Maharaj Kumar.’
‘What the —,’ I swallowed the obscenity, ‘what is she doing here?’
‘She comes here every night.’
I was half-awake now. ‘What for?’
‘She said you asked her to.’
I couldn’t handle this. The phantoms in the Gambhiree were beckoning me. ‘Go away. Both of you.’ I dropped on the mattress and passed out.
I woke up at five. The Gurukul and its military training had ruined my sleep forever. Whatever time I went to bed, I was up at five. Sunheria was sitting in the corner.
‘Do you always fold dirty clothes too?’
‘Did I make a mistake?’
‘What do you do with your dirty clothes?’
‘I have just two pairs of clothes. I wear one and wash the other.’
‘So whose chunni were you wearing that first day in court?’
She blushed. ‘Her Highness, your wife’s.’
‘You must have more clothes than any other woman in the fort, more than even Queen Karmavati since the entire household seems to send its clothes to you.’
‘I thought I was going to court, so I should dress well. That’s the only time I have borrowed anyone’s clothes.’
‘A likely story.’
She smiled. ‘Well, sometimes I borrow clothes for a while. But I always return them.’
The curtain moved almost imperceptibly. I put a finger on my lips and looked at Sunheria. I got up softly and in three strides was in the next room.
I barely got a glimpse of her back. She was running fast and her long thick plait slapped hard against her bare back. Kausalya.
I came back.
‘Do you realize that you are putting me at grave risk?’
She looked puzzled. ‘How?’
‘If your husband were to name me as co-respondent?’
‘Oh, those are the laws for common people like him and me. You are above all that.’
Vikramaditya would certainly have agreed with her.
‘Weren’t you angry with me the other night? At the palace?’
‘Why would I be upset?’
‘Because Mangal forced you to come.’
‘Nobody forced me. I came because I wanted to.’
‘Then you must have been all the more angry when I turned my back on you.’
‘How could I be when your wife was so kind to me?’
‘Are you going to stay in that corner all night long?’
She got up shyly and came forward. I untied the strings of her blouse at the back and tried to pull it off but the nine or ten bangles stopped me dead.
‘Are you trying to tell me that every time you take your blouse off, you have to first remove all these ivory bangles?’
She laughed. I got hold of the bangle closest to her wrist and tugged at it. It was the narrowest and effectively held up the others which grew progressively larger. It was no use, I would just end up breaking her wrist and a couple of her fingers. She pressed the index finger and thumb of her left hand around the knuckles of her right and slipped the first ivory band out. The second one took the same kind of coaxing. The rest fell out rapidly, all she had to do was hold the forearm and hand down. When she had repeated the process on her left arm, I gently pulled the choli off. I thought of Pushkar again and the hills of sand that the previous night’s winds leave behind. I passed my hand lightly over them, almost as if I was afraid to change the contours of the dunes. But that slight breeze generated by the lambent hand was enough. The sands shifted, ripples ran through them and the purple pinks which had lain slack and slumbering rose slowly till they came to fine tremulous heads.
I undid the knot of the ghagra and let it fall to her feet. I picked her up in my arms and laid her on the mattress. Her eyes were wide open. There was no trepidation in them. They were watchful, they wanted to know what my next move was going to be. I flicked my tongue between her breasts. She shivered. I took off my clothes and lowered myself down on her, the weight of my body on my elbows. Her body smelled of freshly pressed clothes. My head dipped and the tongue slipped over her right nipple. Another tremor.
I raised my body up all the way to the ankles before plummeting down. And froze.
‘Are you a virgin?’
