That afternoon, the raja organized a procession to celebrate Damodar Rao’s arrival.
The Durgavasi weren’t part of the parade, but we were allowed to watch as Raja Gangadhar mounted his favorite elephant, a towering animal he’d named Siddhabaksh, and we followed the procession as it wound its way through Jhansi’s festooned streets. It was extraordinary to see Raja Gangadhar towering above us in his silver and velvet howdah as if he were a god. Mounted servants rode alongside him, holding up the three emblems of royalty: the umbrella, the chauri, and the silver rods. All three gleamed in the low winter sun. A retinue of soldiers on white horses followed, dressed in ceremonial uniforms. And behind them rolled a long procession of carriages carrying gifts for the prince of Jhansi: silks, tapestries, marble vases, wooden toys, and elaborate brass statues from Lalitpur.
The people prostrated themselves as the procession went past. Even the British officers, whose flaxen-haired wives were protecting themselves from the weak midday sun by brocade umbrellas, stopped to stare.
“There’s going to be a play tonight,” Sundari announced. “Something from the Ramayana.”
The Ramayana is one of our holiest texts, and for the next three nights, parts of it were to be performed in celebration of Damodar’s birth.
“Another Ramayana play. Oh joy,” Kahini said.
But the truth of it was, she was probably glad to get out of the Panch Mahal. Since Damodar’s birth, none of us had been to the maidan, and our daily routine of practicing, bathing, and going to the temple had stopped entirely.
We all dressed in our best angarkhas, wrapping ourselves in two layers of pashmina—gifts from the rani upon Damodar’s birth. But in the courtyard, a thin layer of frost covered the ground, and Sundari decided that we should all go back inside and change shoes. The silk of our slippers would never survive the short walk to the raja’s baradari.
As the other women made their way back inside, Arjun appeared from the shadows. He was dressed in a double-breasted coat and held a white bag. “Something to entertain you,” he said.
The other Durgavasi raised their brows at what this might be, but inside, I knew there would be a book. When everyone was gone, I unwrapped his gift and held it up to the light of the flickering lanterns. It was a collection of poems by Hafiz.
“I haven’t read him,” I said truthfully.
“He was a fourteenth-century poet from Persia. People still make pilgrimages to his tomb.”
“If you wait here, I have something for you,” I said, and hurried inside with the other Durgavasi.
I changed shoes quickly. Then I took out a book I’d been keeping in a chest beneath my bed and wrapped it in an old dupatta. Jhalkari was watching me.
“He must have been waiting for you in the courtyard,” she said. “It’s a cold night to be waiting for someone.”
“Yes. We exchange books sometimes.”
“What do you think he wants?”
“I told you, we exchange books.” I didn’t wait for her reply. I hurried outside with my copy of William Wordsworth and gave it to him. “English,” I said coyly, “as requested.”
He studied the plain blue cover and the simple black lettering. “And which one is your favorite?”
“ ‘The Tables Turned.’ ” It was simply the first poem that came to mind. But Arjun nodded, as if my answer held greater meaning than it did.
Chapter Fifteen
1852
Damodar’s arrival changed life in the Panch Mahal. We were no longer permitted to speak any louder than a whisper outside the rani’s chamber, and the gardeners who tended to the courtyards were instructed to do their work only when the little rajkumar wasn’t sleeping. Even the cooks were forced to change their routine, since the rani didn’t want the rajkumar breathing in the scent of the fire first thing in the morning. Instead, she placed rose petals by his head, and long strings of jasmine. Our training resumed again, but without the rani to oversee it, no one exerted herself.
The raja visited his wife every morning and twice in the afternoons. He was so in love with Damodar it was a wonder he didn’t strap him on his back and take him each evening to the baradari. When the rani’s confinement was finished, we thought she would want to resume all of the things she had been forbidden from for so long. But it was another several weeks before she came to see us in the queen’s room. Even then, it was only a brief visit, and Damodar wasn’t with her. I bowed very low when she arrived, but she paid no more attention to me than to any of the other Durgavasi. The only women being invited to her chamber now were Kahini and Kashi; Kashi, because she had raised seven younger siblings.
Then, on the last day of January, the Durgavasi were summoned to the rani’s chamber to meet the rajkumar.
“I’ll bet he has his father’s nose,” Moti said.