“Why don’t we just give her to the British?” one of the men suggested.
For the first time, Kahini’s face registered fear. “I’ll kill myself first!” She struggled violently, but there were four of them around her. We could hear her screaming all the way down the hill. Soldiers carried away Sundari’s body and we returned to the rani’s chamber. From the redness in the rani’s eyes, I assumed she had heard everything that had happened.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, glancing at Kashi, who was holding Anand. “They’ve taken Kahini to the British to do with her . . . as they will.”
The rani was confused. “I don’t understand.”
I glanced at Arjun. “I thought Your Highness was upset because you’d heard about Sundari.”
“That I’d heard what about Sundari?”
I whispered, “Kahini shot and killed her.”
The rani buried her head in her hands and Kashi sobbed aloud. Then the rani looked up and gestured to a pile of opened letters. “Some of them are for you,” she said. “Gopal was hiding them.”
I started digging madly through the pile. One, two, three letters from Ishan, my sister’s husband. One from Shivaji. Three from my father. All of them dated within the past four months. I unfolded a letter from my father first.
You are needed in Barwa Sagar, Sita. Please come at once, and bring soldiers with you from the rani’s court. The British are arresting the most beautiful women in the village and they have taken your sister. . . .
I could barely breathe.
Shivaji:
Sita, they’ve taken Anu to a house of prostitution and are refusing to let her go. The gods only know what they’re doing to her and we’re hoping force or money will persuade them. Sita, please . . .
I pressed my hand to my forehead to make the words stop moving. Arjun read them as I put them down. Note after note imploring me to come. To bring money or men or both.
My son says he will still accept her as his wife, but what will he be accepting back if we don’t rescue her now? Imagine what they are doing? I can’t think you are getting these letters or you would have been here by now.
I pushed the rest of the letters away. Whatever fate lay ahead of Kahini, I felt strongly that it would not be terrible enough.
“As soon as we can, I’ll send money and men,” the rani swore.
But who knew when that would be? If I died in Jhansi, my sister would remain enslaved in a British brothel. The thought was enough to make me understand what had driven Azimullah Khan. I could understand the rage. Now, I really could.
“What about Gopal?” Arjun asked.
“He admitted that what Sita suspected was true.” The rani’s voice was empty. “She promised to make him her lover if he would help put her and Sadashiv on the throne.”
Arjun swore, “Sita, when this is over, we’ll ride straight to Barwa Sagar.” Then he turned to the rani. “Our men are still fighting.”
The rani stood. “Let’s drive the British from Jhansi,” she vowed, “and from this entire continent.”
She summoned Mandar, Priyala, and Jhalkari. Then the five of us made for the ramparts. As we reached the walls, General Raghunath Singh descended the stairs to give us a report.
“The fort’s water supply has been sabotaged,” he said. “It will only last two more days.”
The gunfire was ceaseless, and we had to shout over the noise.
“Tatya Tope?” the rani asked. “Is he fighting effectively?”
“There is news he has fled to Charkhari, Your Highness. The rebel forces are without a leader. The British have moved a twenty-four pound Howitzer into place. When it fires, the walls of Jhansi will crumble.”
The six of us stood in a circle. A soft breeze brushed against my neck. It was April. Somewhere in India, a woman was braiding her long hair with jasmine blossoms.
“The rebels are regrouping in Kalpi,” General Singh continued. “My advice is to find a way to escape Jhansi. Take your son and head to Kalpi so that you may save yourself and fight again.”
We made our way back to the Panch Mahal, listening to the shrieks of women in the streets who were pleading with the rani to save them. Inside the palace, the chaos was even greater. People were running through the halls, screaming. As soon as we reached the rani’s bedchamber, Jhalkari asked to speak with the rani alone. So we waited in the hall. Every few moments, a woman with a child came up, begging us to help her escape. “I know the rani will leave with the rajkumar, and you will go with her. Take my son,” one woman pleaded hysterically. “Please.”
“Shrimati-ji, we can’t,” Priyala said gently. “We don’t have any way of leaving the city.”
“Then what hope is there for me? Or him?” She held up her son. He looked to be six months old, with big eyes and dimpled cheeks. “He won’t be any trouble. He’s a happy child.”
“Shrimati-ji,” Priyala whispered, “I’m sorry. We’ll pray for you.”