You have heard, no doubt, of the famous Lao Tzu, who lived fifteen hundred years ago in our neighboring kingdom of China. He said: “Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habit. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.” Because most Hindus believe this is true, you can see why they also think that Dalits deserve their desperate situations. Their past actions have shaped their characters, which now shape their current destinies.
Of course, some people believe this is nonsense. The Rani of Jhansi was one of them. When I came to know her, I learned that she thought dividing society into differing castes was the same as dividing a tree into different parts and pretending that the leaf is better than the trunk. How can the leaf exist without the trunk, or the other way around? “Certainly, there is karma,” I once heard her say, “and Lao Tzu was right. But our punishments for bad acts in previous lives are created internally, not externally. We punish ourselves with bad choices.”
At the time I was sitting with Jhalkari, however, I had never heard of Lao Tzu, much less talked of spiritual matters with the rani. I was simply stunned that no one else in the queen’s room seemed appalled that Jhalkari and I were sharing the same cushion.
“I’m the first Dalit you’ve ever spoken to,” Jhalkari said.
“Yes,” I said truthfully. “But I did very little speaking to anyone, so that’s not so unusual.”
Nothing bad was happening. We were talking, just as you would talk to anyone else.
“Some of the women here,” she said loudly, “aren’t comfortable being close to me, even though I could be the rani’s sister, we look so similar. I bathe in the same water, I eat the same food, I sleep in a similar bed. But because I was born of Dalit parents, I must somehow be tainted.”
I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t know then whether or not this was true, so I kept my silence. Jhalkari could see how uncomfortable she was making me, so she changed the subject.
“While the rani is sleeping, we are free to relax,” she told me. “Listen to music.”
I could hear someone playing the veena outside, but I felt too tense to enjoy the sound.
Soon, Sundari reappeared with a woman dressed in a green Chanderi sari that fell in thick folds across her waist. Aside from a simple pearl necklace and a small diamond ring, she wore no other jewels. But I knew she was our queen because she bore such a striking resemblance to Jhalkari. Their features were nearly identical, from their perfectly oval faces to their bow-shaped lips, and long, straight noses. It was astonishing: a Dalit and a queen looked enough alike to be sisters.
I rose immediately, and the others did the same. When the rani approached us, I followed Jhalkari’s example by pressing my hands together in a respectful gesture of namaste.
“Sita Bhosale of Barwa Sagar,” she said. “Look at me. Never be afraid to look your rani in the face. I’m not a goddess.”
I did as I was instructed, then waited for her to say something.
“Sundari was right. She’s an excellent reader of faces, and she told me that yours was very guarded. You don’t give up your secrets easily, do you?”
Once again, she waited for me to say something. I kept my silence.
The rani chuckled. “Has anyone introduced you to the other women?”
“Your Highness. I have met Sundari, Kahini, and Jhalkari.”
The rani clapped her hands and the women I hadn’t named fell into a half circle around us. “This is Moti.”
The woman who had collected Kahini earlier nodded.
“This is Heera.” With the thick, beautiful braids.
“This is Priyala.” I tried to think of some detail to remember her by, but nothing came to mind. Perhaps that she was thin?
“Kashi.” She had a sweet and innocent smile.
“Mandar.” Who looked like a man.
“And Rajasi.” With the face of a horse.
I folded my hands once more in namaste. “It is an honor to be here.”
Rajasi gave Kahini a meaningful look, and I wondered if I had already made some mistake.
“We are going to the Mahalakshmi Temple now to feed the poor,” the rani said. “Find something more suitable to wear when we go tomorrow; I’m sure one of these women will let you borrow something if you have nothing in silk.”
Several women nodded. One of them was Jhalkari.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“I suppose you are tired from your journey today, Sita?”
“Only a little.”
“Then join us.”
I wasn’t asked to bring any of the weapons I saw the other women carrying beneath the belts of their angarkhas. But there was a dagger tucked into a thin sheath beneath my tunic. I would be able to do my duty if someone was foolish enough to attack our pregnant rani along the way.
Sundari and Kahini walked ahead of the queen, while Heera and Priyala walked on each side of her. I took a place at her back. Servants had appeared to shield us from the rain falling in thick gray sheets outside. But even with their umbrellas, the hems of my pants became mud-soaked the moment we filed out the door. As I looked to see what other women were doing, Moti fell into step beside me.
“Wait until we get to the temple,” she said. “The rani’s cooks prepare the best imerti for the poor. You’ll never have tasted anything like them.”