I imagined exactly how the rani had laid it out: as soon as they arrived, the soldiers could persuade the maharaja to house them for just a few days. Then, once they were safely inside, they could give him the chance to join the rebels in the fight against the British or flee. I could hear the rani’s voice in my head, pronouncing Maharaja Scindia a traitor.
“So have they gone to Gwalior?” Arjun asked with a note of hope in his voice. “With Gwalior as a base, victory is possible.”
Balaji actually smiled. “Last night. And now I am making my way to Delhi to start over. I have family here in Barwa Sagar. As soon as we pack their belongings, we are leaving.”
The rani was a full day’s journey north of us, preparing to storm the Fortress of Gwalior. I had sworn an oath of loyalty to her and Arjun had done the same. “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted. “I can’t think clearly anymore.” I sat on the grass and drew my knees up to my chest. The guards were watching us from the porch. I’m sure they knew what we were talking about: a decision had to be made. We either needed to ride for Gwalior or commit to remaining in Barwa Sagar for the rest of the war. It would be so simple to just stay put. I tried to listen to the voice inside of me, but there were so many other voices drowning it out. I closed my eyes. “The rani has three Durgavasi and your men, who else can she trust?”
Arjun didn’t say anything. He just listened.
“But if I leave, what do I do with Anu? We could come back for her. . . .” I rose. “We’re going to Gwalior.” It was what my father would have wanted me to do. And what Shivaji had trained me for. “If we don’t go, we’ll spend the rest of our lives on our knees. I’d rather die on my feet.”
He gripped my hand.
The guards began packing as soon as we told them. Anu didn’t say anything. “I’ll leave you enough money so that you’ll always be provided for,” I assured her.
“My life is finished.”
“You’re carrying life,” I said. I looked down at her stomach, its gentle curve the same as the vessel we used to bring water from the well. “Nothing is finished unless you want it to be.”
I didn’t wait for her response. I went to my room and began to pack. But by the next time Balaji appeared, a week had passed, and none of us expected the news he brought this time.
Instead of joining or fleeing, the Maharaja of Gwalior had chosen to make war against the rebels. He planned to capture the rani and make a gift of her to the British, so they would shower him with gifts and his crown would be secure. Yet when his eight thousand soldiers heard the rani’s troops shouting, “Har Har Mahadev!” they responded by raising their arms and echoing their cry. They marched peacefully to join the rani. They all sat down to have a meal together on the banks of the Morar River.
We were all incredulous.
Gwalior belonged to the rani. She had taken it peacefully, and it was the heart of India.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When I said farewell to my sister, I was bidding a stranger good-bye. I understood what I hadn’t before: love can be like the seasons, turning a green leaf into something frail and yellow. Anu didn’t come out to see us leave, and by dawn, Barwa Sagar was behind us. I’d only return there once more in my life, to collect my sister and bring her to a place where no one knew her story. I had become a Durgavasi not only to save myself from prostitution, but to save Anu from that fate. And although life had nevertheless delivered her into the hands of the British to be used as a common veshya, I felt I could still save her. Nothing mattered to me more than this. But first the people who had done this to her had to be driven from India.
We met no resistance on the way to Gwalior. Around noon, we stopped outside a village to roast chapatis over a small brushwood fire. Then we dusted off our clothes and took to the roads again. When the fortress finally reared into view, all twelve of us reined in our horses and stopped. The sun was setting, casting the turreted fortifications in a rich amber light, and nothing had ever looked more magnificent to me, not even the Fortress of Jhansi.
Built on a plateau at least a hundred meters high, the fortress was so beautiful that it was hard to believe we weren’t staring at a painting. The tile work was blazing in the setting sun with such magnificence the entire fortress was blue and gold. We rode our horses up to the gates. The guards stumbled outside to inspect us, and it was obvious that all four had been drinking.
“What do we have here?” one of the guards asked.
Arjun introduced us but he was forced to repeat himself several times before they understood that we were there to rejoin the rani.
“The Rebel Queen!” one said at last, and all of them laughed, as if this was funny. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Disgraceful,” Arjun muttered under his breath.
They opened the gates, and the guard who appeared the drunkest led us across the gardens toward the entrance. I could hear music and laughter inside, and I exchanged a look with Arjun. “Are they celebrating?”
The man turned, shocked by my voice. “Are you a man or a woman?”