“Only if we lost. I could train them.”
“And when the British discover the rani’s father in league with rebels?”
“These men aren’t rebels, Manu. They are citizens of the kingdom of Jhansi.”
“Who have signed contracts with the British to fight for them,” the rani reminded him.
“Their allegiance is to Jhansi, whatever contract they’ve signed. The British Empire reaches from Hong Kong to Ireland. If the sepoys make enough trouble for them, they might think twice about how much effort a tiny kingdom in the north of India is worth.”
The rani was silent. Neither raised the point that the child she was carrying might be a girl.
“I could be ready to train them at your word,” he said. “Talk it over with the raja.”
“Gangadhar is . . . you know what he will say.”
The rani’s father glanced at me. “Manu—”
“I know. Something has to be done. I will ask Shri Rama what he thinks.”
“Shri Rama is a guru, not a general.”
“Lord Krishna was not a general, but I believe he counseled Arjuna well.”
The rani was referring, of course, to the story of the Bhagavad Gita in which Lord Krishna came to Prince Arjuna to guide him during a very difficult time. Arjuna’s family was at war, and although Arjuna didn’t wish to enter the fray, Krishna’s advice was to fight; however peaceful you may wish to be, we all have the responsibility to rise up against evil.
Moropant nodded, then gestured toward me. “Be sure you take this one with you. Any Durgavasi willing to shoot the father of the rani is dedicated indeed.”
That evening at temple, after all of the food had been served to the poor, I met Shri Rama. Usually, Sundari was the only Durgavasi invited to sit with him alongside the rani, but this time, the rani said, “Sita, I want you to join us.”
I followed them through a series of painted halls, and was careful not to walk too close to the oil lamps, which were suspended by long chains from the ceiling. Kahini had told stories about women who, due to inattention or some unlucky wind, had caught their dupattas in the flames and ended up vanishing in great blazes of fire. But the lamps were beautiful, and their flickering lights cast deep orange hues over the golden statues that watched us quietly from various niches.
The three of us made our way to the very back, and when we reached the last room in the temple, the servant stopped before a curtained door and called loudly, “Her Highness, Rani Lakshmibai.” Then the servant parted the curtains and the three of us entered.
Inside, an old man was sitting cross-legged in the center of a room covered with jute mats. He was surrounded by all of the religious items you might expect—candles, incense, flowers, broken coconut shells. But these were all details I noticed later: as we entered all I saw was the extreme peacefulness in Shri Rama’s face. If you’ve ever met someone completely at peace with his life, this is exactly how Shri Rama appeared. He couldn’t have been younger than sixty, yet his skin was completely smooth, like a river stone that has had its roughest edges caressed by water. His eyes, too, were different. They gave the impression that whatever difficulties you placed in his lap, they would be quietly considered and calmly solved.
The rani approached him with a very reverent bow; from his position on the ground, Shri Rama did the same. Sundari and I made the same respectful gesture of bowing and placing our hands together, then we seated ourselves to the rani’s left.
“You brought someone new,” Shri Rama said, his voice as smooth and calm as his face.
“Sita Bhosale, my youngest Durgavasi.”
He gazed at me for several moments, then nodded. “Welcome, Sita.”
I wondered what sort of exotic ceremony a guru like Shri Rama would perform, but it turned out to be a puja like any other. It wasn’t until after he’d given each of us a red tilak mark on our foreheads that he rocked back on the jute mats and said casually, “Well?”
“The sepoys are growing angrier and more agitated with the British. Father believes we should arm them for rebellion.”
Shri Rama took in this information. “Have they perpetrated evil?”
“I believe they are guilty of thoughtlessness. I believe they may be inciting the unrest among the sepoys.”
“Would killing British soldiers be perpetrating evil?”
“Yes. I believe in diplomacy. Diplomacy until the very end. But what is the end?”
“I suspect it’s the destruction of Jhansi,” Shri Rama said.
I could not believe my ears. I looked to Sundari but her face revealed nothing.
“And is that acceptable?” the rani asked.
“All kingdoms and empires come to an end. The question is what replaces them, and who commits the first act of aggression.”
“So I wait?”
“That depends. What kind of ruler do you wish to be?”
The rani put her hand over her brow, and spent several moments in deep thought. “Father will not like this,” she warned.
Shri Rama nodded, but said nothing.