“Thank you,” the rani said.
Shri Rama turned to me. “Someone is making life difficult for you. Why are you allowing this?”
I was so shocked that I sat in stunned silence for several moments. “I . . . I don’t know.” But of course I knew. Kahini was the rani’s favorite and a cousin to the raja.
“Well, if you don’t know, I certainly can’t tell you!”
I glanced at Sundari, who didn’t look surprised, then at the rani herself, but she was lost in her own thoughts.
“Keep Durga close to you,” he said to me, and immediately, the ten-armed goddess of war appeared in my mind. Each of the gods had contributed something divine to her creation. Shiva sculpted her perfect face, Indra endowed her with breasts like the moon, Vishnu gave her many arms, the god of fire formed her glittering eyes, and Yama spun her hair like black silk. Other gods armed her with invisible weapons and the Divine Craftsman clothed her in invincible armor. When the gods saw how perfect she was, they set about presenting her with various gifts. Bejeweled ornaments soon glittered from every part of her body, and she wore garlands made from flowers whose fragrances never faded. Finally, she was given a lion to ride on her quest to rid the world of violence and evil. That Shri Rama should tell me to keep Durga close was a curious thing, because I never imagined her being very far away.
After we left the temple, the rani said, “Your father is a woodcutter. You told me once he gave you a carving of Durga.”
In that moment I realized that the rani’s memory was like the mythological Akshayapatra, an inexhaustible vessel that could never be filled. She could reach into her mind and retrieve any detail she wanted, no matter how trivial.
“Perhaps Shri Rama meant you should never part with this carving,” she said.
This had not even occurred to me.
“Let’s take a stroll through the gardens,” the rani suggested. But Sundari had to oversee the delivery of gunpowder to the magazine where it was to be stored in Star Fort, so the two of us carried on alone. When she was gone, the rani said, “Why don’t you tell me your favorite piece of literature, and I’ll tell you mine.” When the rani saw me hesitate, she added, “There’s no right answer, Sita. Just tell me what you like best.”
“Shakespeare,” I admitted.
I could see the rani was surprised.
“My father read his plays with me.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
“Hamlet.”
“That ends sadly, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but there are many profound moments. And yours, Your Highness?”
She grinned. “Anything at all in the Puranas. I love the old stories and the heroic deeds. But mostly, I like the sound of the words—the language.”
I knew what she meant. My father had read the Puranas with me as well; they are some of the oldest texts written about our gods, and they are lyrical as well as interesting.
“What would you say if I told you that sometimes I dream of the episodes written in them?”
I smiled. “I dream of literature all the time.”
“You do?”
“Yes, especially if it’s a well-written tale.”
The rani smiled. “I think you and I have more than it appears in common,” she said. And this is how we spent the afternoon. Walking and speaking together like friends.
When we came to a beautiful bower on the edge of Mahalakshmi Lake, the rani sat down and admitted, “I wonder sometimes what it would be like to be the stonemason who carved this.” She ran her fingers over the bench and indicated that the seat beside her was for me. “Tell me about your father. Does he carve all day? How many pieces? What is his workshop like?”
I answered her questions.
“Does he like it?”
I had to think about this. “Yes. But his dream was to be a soldier.” I told her about Burma, and his accident, and Shakespeare.
“These British . . .” she said, but didn’t finish her statement. “So you grew up with your father and sister. No brothers?”
“No. Just a grandmother,” I said.
“How lucky. Mine was already gone by the time I was born.”
I pressed my lips together, so I wouldn’t say anything that would reflect badly on me.
“What is village life like?”
“I . . . can’t say. Outside of Jhansi, all women are in purdah.”
I could see the rani flush. “Of course. Then your whole childhood?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I made a world out of my house. And reading.”
“Yes. Even prisoners can escape if they have books.” She smiled at me, and I felt deeply how wonderful it was to serve a rani who was so well educated. We had both been fortunate in our upbringings.
That evening, after we returned from the lake, the rani brought me into her chamber and asked me to choose from several saris. I picked a beautiful yellow silk that would go beautifully with Anu’s complexion and eyes. Then she gifted me an entire basket of cosmetics and thanked me for a very lovely day.