Rebel Queen (13 page)

“Yes. And it’s up to the British to right what they have done. The sepoys aren’t my soldiers.”

“But they’re stationed in Jhansi,” Sundari said. “If they mutiny, the blame will belong to you. Not only because they’re here, but because they’re Indian.”

Even I could see the sense in Sundari’s words.

“And remember, seven Englishmen were recently killed when Indian men poisoned some of their slaughtered cow meat. Be careful, Your Highness. We do not want to see the loss of more lives.”

The rani nodded. “Gopal, add two more lines.”

We all waited to hear what she would say next.

“ ‘But if you truly wish to avoid mutiny,’ ” she dictated, “ ‘then listen to the sepoys—those men you count as fellow soldiers. Their traditions are older than yours by many thousands of years and deserve your respect.’ ”

I
n the Durgavas that evening, Jhalkari turned to me and whis
pered, “The rani is going to value you very highly for your English, but the other women will grow resentful. Always remember this is a job, not a family. That’s what my father told me before I left, and he was right.”

“Did he train you?”

“Yes. Before he died.” She didn’t say anything more. Then, long after I thought she had fallen asleep, she added, “My husband says the same thing.”

I sat upright in my bed. “You’re married?”

“To one of the sepoys being forced to wear leather and taste cow.”

I was stunned. “But how can you be in the Durga Dal? My father said—”

“There’s no law against being married while part of the rani’s guards if there are no children. My husband was wounded many years ago and cannot have children. No other family would take him for a son-in-law. I’m better than nothing, so he married me.”

I couldn’t tell whether or not she was joking. But I thought about Jhalkari’s husband for quite some time before I fell asleep.

Chapter Eight

T
here was only one mirror in the Durgavas. I waited until the other women left for the maidan before I hurried over to see what I looked like, and I couldn’t stop staring at the weapons on my belt. Although Sundari had presented them to me, it was as if they belonged to someone else. I was lost in this vision when I heard a familiar voice over my shoulder.

“Well, there’s our little
ganwaar
!” Kahini and her ugly friend Rajasi appeared at the door, and every muscle inside of me tensed.
Ganwaar
, if you don’t know, is an insulting term for someone who comes from a village. It is worse than calling someone foolish or naive. “Just look at her, Rajasi. Staring like an owl at all her fancy weapons.”

I have learned since then that in Western culture, the owl is considered a symbol of wisdom. But if you have ever seen an owl, you will understand why this is so hard to believe. It has giant eyes and wears the most shocked expression of any bird, as if it’s constantly surprised by everything it sees. I very much doubt that I looked like an owl, but this was Kahini’s attempt at insulting me.

“Do you plan to stand here all morning,” Kahini said, “or will you be joining us outside with the rani?”

I hurried past them as quickly as I could, but when I reached the doorway where Rajasi was standing, she stuck out her foot a little and I tripped. I would have been able to catch myself if I hadn’t been carrying Sundari’s bag. But as it happened, I made my entrance into the courtyard by falling almost flat on my face and, in the process, tearing the pants Father had ordered for me before I left Barwa Sagar.

Tears filled my eyes, and a rage burned inside of me with an intensity of feeling I didn’t know I was capable of. Moti, who was standing nearby, picked up my bag and offered me her hand. I took it and brushed off the dirt from my angarkha. Then Moti turned to Rajasi and said, “You’re lucky the rani wasn’t watching you.” Although now, of course, everyone was staring.

“As if the rani cares what happens to some little
ganwaar
. Isn’t that right, Kahini?”

Kahini ignored her. “If Sita doesn’t want to be the center of attention,” she said to Moti, “then perhaps she shouldn’t call it to herself.”

Moti took my arm and led me toward the group. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“I don’t know why they’re treating you this way. But two years ago, on the maidan, Kahini injured one of the new recruits so badly that the girl had to be returned to her father.”

“That isn’t going to happen to me.”

Moti glanced up at the determination in my words. “Be careful.”

When we reached the maidan, I saw a crowd of men had already gathered there. Moti explained that the ones with white murethas tied around their foreheads were part of the queen’s guard.

“But
we’
re
the queen’s guard,” I said, and then I realized how foolish I sounded. I had seen men lining the halls outside the Durgavas. And the same uniformed men stood guard in the courtyard while we joined the rani in the bath.

But there was no contempt in Moti’s voice when she replied. “As soon as His Highness heard that the rani was carrying his heir, he ordered his best men to guard her chambers. That one is the captain.” She pointed to a man who wore the same open white vest and loose churidars that the other guards did, but I thought he looked too young to be a captain.

“Arjun was one of the most skilled men in His Highness’s army,” Moti said. “That’s why the raja has him guarding the rani.”

The other women had now gathered on the field, cutting the air repeatedly with their swords. A low platform had been set up, and Moti explained that for practice, two Durgavasi would be chosen to do battle until one of them made contact with the other’s body five times. The loser would be replaced; the victor would keep fighting until she lost.

“The rani insists that we use wooden swords when we practice,” Moti said. “So there isn’t much chance that Kahi—that anyone can do injury to you here.”

We walked toward the stage.

“Good news,” Kahini said as we approached, and in such a way that I knew it wouldn’t be good news for me at all. “Sundari-ji would like you to take the stage first.”

I looked to Sundari to confirm this, and she handed me a wooden sword. Immediately, I knew what she was doing: she was arranging it so that I could lose quickly and not face Kahini on the stage.

“Good luck,” Kahini whispered as I passed.

“Heera,” Sundari said loudly, “please follow Sita onto the platform.”

When I reached the top, I could see the entire maidan laid out before me. More soldiers had now gathered to watch, and I noticed the rani was under her tent, speaking with the man Moti had called Arjun. As Heera ascended the steps, the rani and Arjun both turned to watch us.

I had no idea how Heera liked to fight, but I can tell you a secret about sword fighting. Whatever you think you know about it, you are probably wrong. All sorts of foolish myths exist, most of them learned by reading books and watching plays. For example: the goddess Chandika attacks Karalasur with a simple sword; she thrusts once and the demon is slain. Or Edgar battles Oswald in
King Lear
armed with a wooden staff, and the audience believes that he kills Oswald, who is fighting with a rapier. But in reality, sword combat is about being in constant motion, grappling and using your weight as leverage.

Within the hour, I had defeated seven of the Durgavasi, including Rajasi and Jhalkari. Then Mandar ascended the platform. She was the largest woman in the Durga Dal.

“There’s quite a crowd watching,” Mandar said.

She was trying to distract me, so I didn’t turn to look.

Suddenly she lunged. I blocked her thrust. It was impossible to leverage my weight against her, for she was heavier and built like a well, round on all sides and completely solid. But I was lighter and quicker, and that counted far more. I wore Mandar out in the end.

Finally, Kahini ascended the stage—my last competitor. I was tired. My hair was dripping with sweat. In my ripped churidars, I’m sure I was a sight to behold.

As soon as Kahini reached the top of the platform I made my first lunge. She immediately crumpled to the floor and grabbed her ankle. “It’s twisted!” she shrieked. “I’ve twisted it!” And the look on her face was one of pure agony.

Now, you can believe what you like, but I seriously question whether Kahini was in any pain at all. Still, she remained prone until Sundari arrived to help her to her feet. Then she hobbled down the stairs, moaning dramatically as she went. At the last step, Rajasi hurried to her side, and Kahini shifted from Sundari’s shoulder to Rajasi’s.

Sundari looked at the pair of them. “What a shame your accident happened just as you were about to fight Sita, Kahini.”

Kahini scowled as they led her away.

In any case, I was glad not to have to face Kahini that day, who was quickly positioning herself as my competitor.

A
fter my performance on the maidan, the Durgavasi seemed to split in two: those who felt threatened by the skills that my father and Shivaji had taught me, and those who were impressed. It didn’t surprise me that Kahini and Rajasi wanted nothing to do with me. But when we went to the baths and I reached for my towel, I was surprised when Mandar stood in my way.

“Excuse me,” I said.

Mandar didn’t move.

“Will you please—”

The rani sighed. “Step aside, Mandar.”

I reached for my towel and began to feel as though everything I had worked toward was becoming both a blessing and a curse. What had been the point of all those years of hard work if they only brought loneliness and resentment?

I left the baths early, and while the other women took their time changing into their clothes, I sat in the courtyard opposite a fountain, watching the peacocks flit from tree to tree. The rani paid the Durgavasi weekly, and in two days, I would be able to buy
a new angarkha with my wages. I would find whatever silk was cheapest and make something from that. Whatever was left over, I would send to Anu.

I was thinking about my sister, mentally writing the letter that I wanted to pen her that evening, when I caught a slight movement at the edge of the courtyard. Someone was sitting on a bench on the other side of the fountain, turning the pages of a small red book. Just as I noticed him, he looked up.

“Ah, the new recruit everyone’s talking about,” he said. I recognized him as the young captain of the guards. He closed his book and made his way over.

I looked down, since I was sure I was blushing. “And why is that?”

“Are you searching for compliments?”

“I was searching for something to say,” I said, and I’m sure I sounded defensive. “You didn’t introduce yourself.”

He gave a bow. “I’m Arjun, and the men are talking because you’re beautiful.”

“I’m Sita, and I would much rather they talk about me because I’m skilled.”

He grinned. “May I sit?” He indicated a respectable distance away, so I nodded. “I saw what happened,” he said, “and I’m willing to bet the only injury Kahini received today was to her pride.”

“So she has a reputation.”

“I wouldn’t say it too loudly, but yes.” Arjun looked over my shoulder to the entrance of the queen’s rooms, and when it was clear that we were alone, he said, “Be careful with her. She has the ear of the raja. You don’t know me, but I’m giving you honest advice.”

“My father has already given me advice: the only words free of suspicious motives will be the ones I find in books.”

Arjun realized that I was including him among my father’s suspects, but he continued, “Your father was the one who taught you to read?”

“Yes,” I said quietly. I was afraid if I answered too loudly, he might hear the heartache in my voice. “He loved to read with me in English. Mostly we read Shakespeare.”

“There’s a great deal to read in our languages. Hindi, Urdu, Marathi,” he said. “Have you read Rumi?”

“The Persian poet?” Of course, I’d heard of him. But Father had been more interested in teaching me the Western classics, so I wasn’t familiar with him. “No.”

“Well, he’s the Shakespeare of the East.”

“Arjun-ji!” Kahini emerged from the queen’s room. You would have thought she was trying to sing his name, as if seeing us together was the very best thing that could happen for her. “I had no idea you were interested in talking to
ganwaars
. If I’d known that,” she said as she approached, “I’d have asked Gangadhar’s servant to pay you a visit.”

At that, I rose from the bench and bowed formally to Arjun. “It was kind of you to introduce yourself, but I have duties inside.” Then I smiled at Kahini. “I’m glad to see your ankle has healed so swiftly.”

T
hat evening, the rani was too sick to join us in reading or writing. I was a little disappointed, and entirely for selfish reasons. I had been hoping that she might ask me to read for her again.

Instead, I seated myself next to Jhalkari and wrote two letters, one to Father, the other to Anu. I wrote the letter to Father first, since that was far easier. For Anu, I wanted to be careful not to seem too pleased with myself.

Certainly, it’s beautiful here. But I have trouble enjoying the sights and sounds without you. When I passed by the elephants’ stables for the first time, and saw the hardworking mahouts tending to these giant, gentle beasts, I immediately thought of you; how much you would enjoy watching them interact with one another, the sound of their trumpeting clear for miles around. I miss you so much, Anu. But every week I am earning money, and soon—very soon—there will be a dowry fortune for you. Then our dreams of seeing you as a wife and a mother will come to pass.

I reread what I had written, then sealed the two letters with the rani’s wax. Anu would be so excited to receive a letter from the Palace of Jhansi. But then I noticed that Jhalkari had kept hers unsealed and asked why.

She glanced at Gopal, who had entered and seated himself next to Kahini. “I pay a private courtier to deliver my letters. Consider doing that yourself. The Master of the Letters is in charge of correspondence, and any letter entering or leaving the palace is read by him.”