Major Ellis flushed. “I’m sorry. That’s all I know.”
The rani’s other advisers rushed to their feet, but it was General Singh who shouted the loudest. “What about the Panch Mahal? What happens to the palace?”
“British officers will be arriving next week to take up residence.”
“In the palace my ancestors built?” someone cried.
“This is an outrage!” the Dewan said.
Someone else shouted threateningly, “This is the precursor to war!”
The rani stood. “We will conduct ourselves peacefully and with dignity. The move will begin tomorrow,” she said.
And then it was over and our kingdom belonged to the British.
Many people have asked me what it was like to move from the glittering Panch Mahal into the Rani Mahal. They imagine terrible scenes, but as anyone knows who has experienced an unpleasant change in their life, so long as it happens gradually, there is rarely drama. I suspect this was why the British gave the rani three months to change actual residences.
At first, the British didn’t want the rani to take any belongings with her. The carpets, the furniture, even the elaborate peacock throne—these were all things the British had hopes of keeping. But the rani wrote appeal after appeal, and finally, the governor-general himself weighed in with the following announcement: “It is beyond the power of the Government to dispose of the property of the late raja, which by law will belong to the boy he adopted. The adoption was good for the conveyance of private rights, but not for the transfer of the principality.”
“Do they understand the irony?” asked the rani, almost amused, instead of growing angry as her father did while he read the announcement aloud. “The adoption is legal when it comes to property rights, but is not legal when it comes to inheriting a throne.”
“They’re making up laws as they go along!” her father shouted.
But we were all so in shock that no one had any time for rage.
Thousands of people lined the roads to watch our procession to our new home, and they were utterly silent. For the British who were watching, it must have seemed eerie. The only sounds in the streets were the birds in the trees and our horses’ hooves.
The Rani Mahal was one of the raja’s old palaces. It was a two-storied building, nestled like an exotic yellow bird in the midst of a bazaar. When we arrived, the heavy iron gates were thrown open. Then we entered, single file. The flat-roofed building was sixty years old, with a quadrangular courtyard in the center and two small fountains trickling in the sun. Everyone dismounted, and four stable boys took our horses to a building outside the Rani Mahal, since there was no stable.
Inside, there were six corridors leading to six grand halls and a few smaller rooms. Nearly all of the rooms were painted red, and someone with a passion for flowers had decorated the walls with them. The arches were adorned with images of peacocks and rosettes, and stone sculptures from the Gupta period stared down at us from brightly painted niches. Both the queen’s chamber and the Durbar Hall were on the second floor. Both had wood-paneled ceilings and windows overlooking the streets below.
“There isn’t room up here for a Durgavas,” Sundari remarked.
“Take one of the rooms downstairs and turn it into a Durgavas,” the rani said. “Arjun, the same goes for my guard—put them next door.”
I glanced at Arjun. Only a wall would be separating us at night, and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. If anyone noticed they didn’t say anything.
It took all afternoon to organize the palace. We sat on cushions in the Durbar Hall and took turns entertaining Anand while servants attempted to bring order to the chaos. Some time before the sun set, Gopal arrived to deliver our mail.
“That’s it? One letter?” Kahini complained.
“I’m sorry.” Gopal looked flustered. After all, he’d lost his privileged place in the Panch Mahal as well. “That’s all there was for you.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
Gopal delivered two letters to me, and immediately, I realized his mistake. A better person would have spoken up immediately, but I took the letter that was addressed to Kahini and slipped it into my angarkha. For the next two hours I wondered if I had the nerve to read it. But as soon as the time was right, I went downstairs and sat on a small marble bench in the courtyard. There were so many people entering and leaving the palace that no one paid any attention to me. I unfolded the letter as quickly as I could, before I could change my mind about it. I’m not sure what I expected to find, but it certainly wasn’t this:
My love, I’m sorry to hear that life has been so difficult for you. There is talk that the sepoys are growing angrier. Is there any sign of revolt? Should I come? Are you in any danger?
—S