Rebel Queen

by Michelle Moran

  I hadn’t been given any of these things yet, and I watched with envy as each of the women strapped first their pistols, and then their daggers, to the belts of their angarkhas. The swords, quivers, and bows they carried in the brown packs over their shoulders. No one said anything to me; each Durgavasi prepared for the day in contemplative silence.

  After a breakfast of melons and tea, I followed the women outside and then down the hill to the maidan. When we reached the field where Kahini had taken me on a tour the previous day, Sundari instructed me to follow her into a long, thin building nearby. It smelled of dried summer grass and earth. Sundari didn’t say a word until we reached a stall at the very end. Then she pointed to a handsome stallion so black he might have been dipped entirely in ink. Only a bright white diamond between his eyes made him distinguishable from the early morning darkness around him. I was told that his name was Sher, which means lion in Hindi.

  “And why did they name you that?” I whispered to him, because there was nothing about him that looked like a lion. “It can’t be your coat. And it certainly isn’t your mane.” I reached over the low door to stroke his muzzle. I thought he might shy away from me, but he didn’t move. “Maybe it’s your brave personality. Is that why?”

  I turned and saw that Sundari was there, arms crossed, waiting for me to finish. “You’ll be expected to ride six days a week. Sunday is a day of rest,” she said. She started to walk. I withdrew my hand and followed her out of the stables. “This is a Christian tradition,” she continued, her voice brittle, like dried leaves passing over stones. “The British soldiers insist that no work be done on Sundays.”

  “There are British soldiers living here?” I asked, glancing at the nearby barracks.

  “Not inside the fortress; the British officers live in a cantonment two miles from here. But their decisions are definitely spreading to the Panch Mahal.”

  I thought of the two foreign women I’d seen on our way to Mahalakshmi Temple and concluded that they’d been officers’ wives.

  “We train all other mornings,” Sundari said, changing the subject. “Shooting, malkhamba, and archery on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Swordsmanship and lathi on the remaining days. Today, you will join us for archery. Take a seat next to the rani and watch until then.”

  On the maidan, the dew felt cool against my toes. Tomorrow, I would remember to wear closed slippers. A short distance away, an open yellow tent had been erected with four large cushions underneath. One cushion was occupied by the rani; two were taken by old men whose eyes were set so deep in their wrinkled faces it was impossible to tell if they were awake or asleep. Sundari led me to the empty cushion, and all three looked up as I approached, but I wasn’t introduced. I took my seat quietly, then Sundari left for the field.

  “Remember what Prince Arjun was taught by Lord Krishna,” one of the old men was saying. His white hair fell in thick waves around his ears. I imagined he’d been very handsome when he was young. “There’s a reason for war now if it saves lives in the future.”

  “I understand all of this, Shri Bakshi. But I’m not convinced that war is inevitable,” the rani said.

  “Look at their behaviors in other kingdoms,” the second man suggested. He was younger than Shri Bakshi, but with less hair and finer teeth. “In which kingdom have they landed where they didn’t eventually seek to gain control?”

  “Shri Lakshman, I understand all of this,” the rani repeated. “But war—”

  “Is sometimes the prudent move,” Shri Lakshman finished for her.

  The rani sighed. She turned her attention to the women on the maidan, and over the next hour, I studied the other Durgavasi’s skills. They were adept at archery, but none of them hit the center of the target every time. The bows the women were using were made from yew, which I knew to be extraordinary. One of the wealthiest men in our village once purchased this wood from an Englishman in the British-controlled city of Bombay and chose Father to make a bow with it. My father asked me to test the finished weapon. I was fourteen, and knew that I was using something truly superior. I watched as Rajasi missed her target entirely, and I glanced to my left to see the rani’s reaction. She simply raised her eyebrows.

  The early morning mist began to roll back to reveal the farthest corners of the maidan. Temple bells sounded from the city below, then the raja’s soldiers started pouring out of their barracks like bees from a flooded hive, dressed in the crisp red and gold uniforms that Kahini had said were given to them by the British, who oversaw the raja’s army. Some stopped to watch the women practicing. I thought the rani would order them away, but she allowed them to remain. Some of the men stood for fifteen or twenty minutes, taking long, slow drags on cigarettes. Then Sundari ordered more archery targets to be set, and I felt a familiar ache in my hands.

  “Sita, come and join us,” Sundari said.

  The rani and her advisers both turned to me, and I knew what was expected. I immediately rose and pressed my hands together in namaste. “I am deeply honored by your request,” I said. “However, I see now that I am not worthy of being in the presence of such skilled women.”

  Sundari glanced at the rani. “Sita, I am asking you to show the rani your skills,” Sundari said. “In fact, I am asking you to show us all. If you would please follow me, I will give you my bow.”

  But I was determined to do as Kahini said. The other women had moved to the edge of the maidan, and to be sure they all heard, I said loudly, “I was brazen to believe that I could be part of such an elite group. But with your permission, I will endeavor to watch and learn, and when the captain feels I am ready, I will be honored to take a place on the field.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then the rani spoke.

  “The captain feels you are ready now.”

  “It is a great honor, Your Highness, but I am not ready.”

  I had done exactly as Kahini had instructed, but like a changing wind, I could sense a shift in the mood on the maidan. Soon the rani was standing.

  “Fetch the Dewan who brought this girl here.”

  Sundari’s face reflected deep disappointment, and I could see Jhalkari, standing beside her, shaking her head. It was only then that I realized what Kahini had done.

  I willed myself not to cry. But I can tell you that those moments, waiting there under the tent for the Dewan to appear, were the longest of my life. I searched for Kahini on the field, and this time, I saw malice in her perfect face. Yet when our eyes met, she showed no recognition of her role in this.

  The Dewan arrived, looking as if someone had woken him from his sleep. When he realized that I was the cause of his early morning disturbance, his brows furrowed. He bowed at the waist before the rani and made the gesture of namaste. Then she took him aside and they conversed for several minutes in quiet tones. During that time, I tried to keep my eyes on the ground, but every so often I would sneak a glance at Sundari, who was now watching me with a curious expression.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the rani and the Dewan approached.

  “The Dewan swears that this girl is everything he promised,” the rani said to Sundari. But it was clear from her tone that she no longer believed him. “He also maintains that she is the best archer he has ever seen. Better than Kahini.”

  At this, Sundari looked in my direction. “Without excuse.”

  I bowed as low I could. “Of course. I will take the field at once.”

  Sundari lent me her bow and quiver. As we walked together toward the maidan, she said in a voice that only I could hear, “The rani says you have three shots. I say you have one. Because nothing will replace this first impression now.”

  She brought me to the red line in the grass where the other women had been standing. Then she stepped back and I was the only one on the field. Soldiers were gathering to watch, and I became conscious of the fact that I was once again the morning’s entertai
nment.

  The yew bow was extremely powerful. Like the others, it was strung with horsehair. A strong arm was necessary to draw it, and I tested it several times before reaching back into the leather quiver and knocking the first arrow. Then something extraordinary happened. Instead of thinking about the target, or the growing number of onlookers, or even the rani, I heard a line from Richard II as if Father was reading it to me: The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows. Of double-fatal yew against thy state. I have been doing this since I was a child, I thought. There was nothing to fear.

  I released the arrow.

  It pierced the air and struck the red center of the target with a heavy thud. The second arrow splintered the first, and the third arrow shattered that one. I lowered the bow and turned to see the rani’s reaction. She was pleased. Next to her, the Dewan looked relieved. But Kahini turned to make a comment to the horse-faced girl called Rajasi who I knew had repeatedly missed the target entirely during practice.

  Sundari approached me. I returned her bow and quiver. “Sundari-ji, I would like to explain—”

  “Don’t. You are obviously capable,” she said, shouldering the bow.

  “But Kahini-ji—” I wanted to defend myself.

  “You are part of the palace now,” she said, stopping me. “I’m sure Kahini said many things on your short tour yesterday. But if you are incapable of telling an enemy from a friend, then it’s best to be alone.”

  I felt like the most ignorant person in Jhansi. What was the matter with me? Living with my grandmother should have taught me that it was important to be wary of everyone.

  Sundari strode ahead, and I was left to walk across the maidan behind her. When I reached the other Durgavasi, it was Kahini who spoke.

  “Well done,” she said, although I could tell she really meant, Such a shame you didn’t fail. “The rani was about to send you back to your village. I don’t suppose you would have had such an audience there.” She was looking over my shoulder as she said this, at the throng of soldiers who had watched my three shots.

  “And I hear that in these villages,” Rajasi added, “the women are all in purdah.”

  “Yes. And purdah makes relationships with other women extremely important,” I said. “There is no room for snakes when all you have is grass to live in.”

  Rajasi knew she had been insulted. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re clever enough to figure it out,” Jhalkari said, joining us as we began the walk back to the palace. She fell into step beside me. “Kahini told you to do it, didn’t she?”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell an enemy from a friend.

  “Everyone was surprised when she volunteered yesterday,” Jhalkari said. “She must feel threatened by you.”

  I felt a pang of worry. All of my dreams for Anuja’s future depended on my being in the Durga Dal.

  “Sundari almost denied her permission when she asked,” Jhalkari said, smiling. “You must have seen her hesitate?”

  I had, and I should have been quick enough to understand why.

  “Please don’t judge the rest of us by Kahini,” she said. “Kahini and Rajasi are the only snakes in the grass here.”

  “Then why doesn’t Sundari-ji dismiss them?”

  Jhalkari’s smile thinned as we reached the courtyard. “They’re popular with the raja.”

  “I thought we belonged to the queen.”

  “And everything that belongs to the queen belongs to him.” After a moment she added, “And what belongs to him belongs to the British.”

  In Barwa Sagar, we took our baths from a bucket. Here, an entire room was dedicated to washing. Thick beams of sunlight pushed their way through billowing curtains, illuminating a smooth marble chamber with long cedar benches and a single, sunken tub of truly enormous proportions.

  This was where we went after our practice, so that we could prepare for the afternoon’s Durbar Hall. I found it impossible not to look around in amazement.

  Following the other women, I swiftly undressed and took a long cotton robe from a polished bronze hook on the wall. I tied it around my waist. Then I sat on a wooden bench next to Jhalkari and did as she did, beginning by neatly folding my clothes and tucking them into a hollow space in the wall. I glanced at the servants waiting with thick bathing towels and sandalwood platters of richly scented soaps.

  “How nice,” Kahini said with exaggerated politeness. “Two village girls helping each other. It was only two years ago that you had your first bath, wasn’t it, Jhalkari?”

  As Kahini said this, the rani passed behind her.

  “I hope you’re not being insulting, Kahini.”

  “Not at all. I’m just remembering the day Jhalkari joined us.”

  The rani walked toward the marble tub, and one by one, we all slipped out of our robes and joined her in the scented water. I had never felt such luxury. “Tonight,” the rani said to me, “I would like you to read something to us in English.”

  I bowed my head. “It would be my pleasure, Your Highness.”

  If you can imagine a fish taken from a tiny bowl and released into a giant pond, then you know how I felt that first time, bathing with the women of the Durga Dal.

  I watched as a servant tenderly washed the rani’s hair while another scrubbed her skin. It was almost impossible to tell that the rani was with child. Her body was still slender; only her full breasts gave any indication that she might soon give the kingdom of Jhansi a boy, its long-awaited heir. The raja’s first wife had failed to give him a child. When she died, he took years before he chose our rani. And since then, nine years had passed. Which obviously meant that the problem was with him. I looked nervously at the other girls in the tub, hoping none of them could read my disloyal thoughts.

  But they were all occupied with talking or bathing. Only Sundari was silent, quietly looking across the chamber at the three servants who were carefully arranging silver boxes, spacing them out on a long marble table. As they opened each box, I could see the expensive contents inside: English lace, ruby hairpins, gold anklets with emerald charms.

  It seemed impossible that only a day ago I was squatting in my courtyard with an old bucket and a rag. But what seemed even more impossible was that I had never questioned that bathing could be any other way. What else would I discover in Jhansi that would make life in Barwa Sagar seem small?

  As soon as the other women began to climb out of the water, I stepped out of the bath, too, and let a servant help me back into my robe as the others did. We left the queen and returned in a group to the Durgavas; the sound of our bare feet slapping against the marble made me think of small whips being cracked. Someone was going to have the job of cleaning up all the water we left behind.

  When we reached our room, Jhalkari went straight to her wooden chest to pull something out. “I don’t have the right coloring for this shade of green,” she said, handing me an angarkha made of rich, jade silk and stitched in gold. She waited while I tried it on.

  “It’s lovelier than anything I’ve ever owned,” I admitted. The feel of the silk against my skin was as wonderful as the hot bathwater we’d just been in.

  “Keep it,” Jhalkari said. “Pay me when you can.”

  “But I might never—”

  “Whenever you can,” she repeated. “I don’t wear it.”

  A growing sense of uneasiness settled over me. I had fallen for Kahini’s trick, and she had almost cost me my place in the Durga Dal.

  Jhalkari read my thoughts. “Don’t worry. I’m not Kahini. You don’t know that now, but you will. Although you’d also be smart to take Sundari-ji’s advice about friends and enemies.”

  “How did you hear—”

  “I didn’t. She gave the same advice to me. She had other things to say as well.” She hesitated, debating whether or not to tell me. “She also said that everyon
e is surprised the first time they see the raja, so prepare to conceal your emotions when you enter the Durbar Hall.”

  We walked up to the fourth floor of the palace and passed through a pair of heavy gold curtains into a sandalwood-and-camphor scented chamber. A giant throne rose from a platform in the middle of the room like a bejeweled mountain of gold. Before it, red silk cushions were arranged like a fan, above it was a canopy of rich velvet cloth.

  “The throne once belonged to Sheo Rao Bhao,” Jhalkari whispered to me. “The raja’s father.”

  Rugs as thick as a sheep’s fleece were spread across the floor, dyed red and gold and woven into stunning patterns. In a windowless niche, a pair of female musicians played the sitar and the veena. There was so much to see, and hear, and smell. But I couldn’t take my eyes from the man on the throne himself. Raja Gangadhar had long hair that flowed past his shoulders and curled around heavy gold chains that he wore on his chest. Jewels shimmered from his thin hands, his slender wrists, his ears, his turban—even his waist. And he was dressed in the most elaborate kurta I had ever seen.

  Jhalkari nudged me forward; I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped walking.

  A handsome young chauri bearer stood at the Gangadhar’s side, holding the ceremonial silver-handled whisk that represents a raja’s right to rule. The chauri bearer’s dress was slightly less ostentatious, and the pair looked like colorful birds on a perch. A heavily latticed ivory partition was set up next to the raja. Behind this sat a small throne and a dozen silk cushions.

  I asked Jhalkari, “Why must the rani be in purdah here?”

  “For show. The raja thinks it makes the durbar seem more mysterious.” She emphasized the word mysterious—as if the screen was some flight of fancy.