“In the field behind my house, the British have slaughtered two cows and are using their skins to make shoes.”
There were murmurs of horror. Certainly, we Hindus wear leather, but only from cows that have met natural deaths.
“Where is your house?” the rani asked from behind her latticed screen.
“To the north of Mahalakshmi Temple, near the shrine to Ganesh.”
“We will meet with British officials tomorrow,” the rani promised. “There will be no more slaughter in Jhansi.”
“Who else?” asked the raja, strutting like a peacock up and down the stage. “You.” He chose another young man from the front.
And for every petitioner the raja chose after that, it was the rani who answered and made the ruling. Interesting things happened during that first durbar—decisions about the digging of a new well, and whether the raja would buy his twenty-third elephant (the rani said no)—but the image of the bejeweled raja strutting before his silk and velvet throne is the memory that stands out to me the most. At the conclusion of the durbar, several advisers gathered around the rani to ask her advice about daily matters, but no one asked the raja for an opinion. Meanwhile, the raja chatted merrily with his young chauri bearer, making him laugh.
“Your first durbar,” Jhalkari said as we left the hall for our next destination: again feeding the poor at the Mahalakshmi Temple. Her tone suggested she expected me to pass judgment on it, but I had learned my lesson. All I said was, “Yes.”
“Not what you imagined, was it?” She filled the silence.
I looked at her and felt that she was being genuine. But I held my counsel.
“Last year, a British general mistook the raja for a woman,” she whispered. “And can you imagine the rani’s shock when she came here to marry him?”
I shook my head. I could not.
That evening, the queen’s room was brightly illuminated with hanging lamps. The other Durgavasi had taken up spots on cushions around the fountain. Paper and pens had been provided on small tables and they were all engaged in writing letters. Sundari led me to a fine silk cushion next to the rani, where I sat cross-legged and arranged my hands in my lap. As she had requested earlier in the bath, I was going to read for her in English.
“Your Highness,” said Sundari. “I will fetch the Master of the Letters.”
The man she escorted inside was as short and thin as a river reed, and with just as many knots in his body. His face revealed he could not have been older than forty, but the way his bones poked out, you would have thought he was a knobbly old man of sixty-five. He pressed his hands together in namaste, and then made the deepest bow before the rani I had seen so far.
“The day’s letters, Your Highness. Along with the two you requested from Major Ellis.”
“Thank you, Gopal.”
“And would Your Highness like me to read them?” he asked with a look of such eager expectation that telling him no would almost seem cruel.
“Today, my newest guardswoman, Sita, will be reading them.”
Gopal looked as if I had stolen the food from his bowl. “You can read and write in English?”
“Yes.”
He looked down at the rani. “Perhaps Her Highness wishes me to stay, in case anything should be misinterpreted.”
The rani smiled. “That’s a fine idea,” she said, although I felt certain she only said this to be kind. “Sundari, bring in another cushion.”
A seat was arranged to her left, and Gopal handed me the letters with the same enthusiasm he might have shown if handing over the keys to his house. I unfolded Major Ellis’s missive and read, “From Major Ellis.” When I translated this into Marathi, the rani shook her head.
“English only. I am learning.”
I continued reading in English. The letter was about Indian soldiers who were serving with the British army stationed in Jhansi. They had joined the British because the pay was regular and good. The British called them sepoys. The letter said that there was growing discontent among these men. British officers had ordered all sepoys to erase the red caste marks from their foreheads, shave their beards, and remove their gold earrings. The sepoys had accepted this, but now, even more British regulations were causing outrage.