Rebel Queen

by Michelle Moran

  “These British soldiers have no allegiance to anything but money,” Moropant swore.

  “The governor-general, Lord Caning, has condemned their behavior,” the rani said, looking into the burning coals. “The British papers are saying that Queen Victoria is critical as well.”

  “Are you hoping for a change of heart? Because this fire began when the Company first came to India. It’s just taken two hundred and fifty years for the flames to start spreading.”

  But I didn’t want to hear any more talk of flames. I rose from my cushion and went outside. Frost covered the ground, gleaming under the cold moonlight. I shivered, and behind me Arjun asked, “Do you ever wonder how many more nights we have to look up at the moon like this?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wanted to marry you, Sita.”

  I turned to stare at him in the moonlight. Although it was pointless to cry, tears blurred my vision. “A woman lives and dies a Durgavasi.”

  “You don’t think the rani might have made an exception for you and me?”

  That was exactly what the rani might have done. And now it was too late. The reality was so unbearable that I couldn’t look it in the face or I’d be crushed under its weight. I allowed Arjun to wrap his arms around me, and inhaled his scent of charcoal and cedar. He whispered, “If we live through this, I want you to marry me.”

  “But—”

  He put a finger to my lips. “You are going to survive. When the British come, we are both going to live to see the end.”

  In February, dismal news came from neighboring kingdoms—stories of looting, destruction, and rape. And in the midst of all of this, there were the kingdoms of Scindia and Orchha, both providing soldiers to help the British.

  When Holi came, the streets of Jhansi should have been filled with children throwing colors in celebration, but the skies were overcast and the city was silent. We were all sitting in the queen’s room eating roasted nuts. Anand held one up and said, “My real mommy used to make these for me.”

  The look on the rani’s face would have pierced your heart. These nine words were crushing to her, and my first thought, of course, was that Kahini had done this. If not for her, the rajkumar might have lived and the kingdom of Jhansi might never have been annexed. There would have been no march to Delhi, no massacre at Kanpur, no retaliation by the British. I looked across the room and our eyes met. She didn’t flinch. She wasn’t even the first one to look away. And I thought again about telling the rani everything I knew. But who would she believe? Me, or her favorite cousin, the woman who had helped her keep the raja happy when he was alive?

  General Hugh Rose and his army appeared outside of Jhansi on the twenty-first of March. The weather was crisp and every alarm in Jhansi was sounding. A messenger arrived from the general with an offer of peace. Moropant took one look and rejected the offer. “Their peace includes the surrender and death of every male over the age of thirteen.”

  Two days later, on the evening of the twenty-third, the British invaded the city of Jhansi and discovered that the wells were either poisoned or dry, and not a single crop remained to feed their army. Still, they made their way through the shuttered neighborhoods toward our fortress, toward the palace and temples and barracks inside. Seen from afar, the Fortress of Jhansi is simply a granite building on a low-lying hill. But in reality—with the sole exception of the southern face—it is impregnable. A sheer mountain wall rises to the west, and to the south, and the walls are protected by towers, one of which is capable of housing five cannons. No one remembers when the ramparts were built, but they extend from all eight gates around the city. Yet the British opened fire.

  Although it may sound strange, we grew used to the sound of gunfire.

  In the morning during yoga, at the temple when we prayed, even on the maidan, it became so common that you simply stopped hearing it. It was frightening, and children huddled closer to their parents or asked to be carried when they walked through the streets. But otherwise, nothing in the city changed: the bookseller was open, the vegetable carts still lined the streets, even the man who made roadside puris was there, hot oil popping from his metal pan and greasing his shirt.

  On the fourth day of the assault, Sundari woke us an hour earlier than usual. When we arrived on the maidan, the rani was already there. A blue muretha was tied around her head. It matched her white and blue angarkha and blue churidars. As soon as we were all assembled on the grass, she rose from her cushion. Her speech was very brief.

  “Many of you have been with me for almost a decade. Some, like Sundari and Heera, even longer. No one has ever said that the life of a Durgavasi is easy. But no Durgavasi has been required to give up her life for a rani. The British cannons will arrive soon, and the real war will begin. So now you must decide whether you wish to ride into battle with me, or go home. I will not pass judgment on anyone who chooses to leave the Durga Dal today.”

  The maidan was so silent that I could hear the horses whinnying in the nearby stables.

  “If there is anyone who would like to leave, please do so now.”

  We looked at one another and waited for the first person to rise. I thought perhaps Kahini might leave, or Moti, who was so sweet and so small, but they both remained seated.

  “Do not make this choice lightly. I don’t know what I would choose if I was in your position. Particularly if I had a husband.” She looked at Jhalkari.

  “We are staying with you,” Jhalkari said.

  We raised our fists, and the rani briskly wiped the tears from her eyes.

  It was decided that if the British broke through the fortress walls, Kashi’s only job would be to protect Anand. The rest of us were to protect the rani; her personal guards were to protect the women and children inside the Panch Mahal. I tried to imagine a scenario in which our fortress was breached, but I could not. The granite masonry was built to withstand any siege. We had six thousand soldiers; our spies told us the British had fifteen hundred. Our seven wells and food supplies were large enough to last us for two months. They had no access to fresh water.

  The massive cannon we’d named Ghanagaraj, meaning Mightiest of Mighties, was positioned in the southern tower overlooking a hill named Kapu Tikri, and eight other cannons were wheeled into position on the ramparts. Then the British rolled their own cannons into view.

  Many people have described the sound of cannon fire as it tears through walls, and the agonizing cries of the wounded whose limbs are torn off or mangled. Fire, rubble, chaos, death. I will tell you that I have never read an account that accurately describes the horror.

  From my position near Arjun and Moti on the ramparts, I witnessed the destruction of the southern tower. I had joined Arjun and Mandar in an overhead assault. With each arrow, I thought, am I killing someone’s father? Who will be mourning the loss of her son? Then a sudden blast shook the foundations of the fortress and our chief gunner was dead and no one was launching cannonballs from Ghanagaraj.

  “Keep shooting!” Arjun shouted, “Keep firing!”

  “What’s she doing?” Mandar suddenly cried out.

  We watched as Moti scrambled up the broken steps of the tower. Small, fast Moti. I saw her ignite a single cannonball before gunfire tore open her chest and a blast knocked me on the ground. Then everything was gunfire and screams. I rushed to my feet and together, Mandar, Arjun, and I ran through the burning rubble toward the Panch Mahal.

  “Where is the rani?” I shouted, but no one knew. People were running, and children were screaming, and then Arjun pointed to the shattered courtyard where the pretty tiles lay cracked and the fountain was blackened by ash. Advisers and military men surrounded the rani, and her forehead was smeared with soot.

  “The English will stop firing as soon as it’s too dark to see,” she said when she saw Arjun. “But at first light . . .”

  The unsaid words hung in the air.
r />   “What do you want us to do?” he asked.

  The rani stared into the distance, where smoke was billowing from a mortar hit. “Make a protective ring around the palace to guard the women and children in the Panch Mahal.”

  Inside, the halls were crowded with people. Anyone who either couldn’t or wouldn’t flee ahead of the British army was taking shelter here. But we knew the British were capable of setting fire to buildings and burning everyone inside, and then shooting anyone who tried to escape.

  That night, we slept in the hall outside the rani’s chamber. Arjun took first watch and I dreamed of Moti running up the tower calling, “Sita! Sita! Wake up! I had a dream!”

  I opened my eyes and saw the face of the rani. “I had a dream,” she repeated.

  The rani had never spoken of her dreams. “I had a vision of an angel,” she confided.

  In Hinduism, we do not have angels. But there are angels in Islam and Christianity.

  “She was all in red, and the gems on her dress were brighter than this light.” She gestured to the oil lamp hanging next to her. “Then she was holding a ball of flame. Her hands were starting to burn and she said this was the fortress’s fate. Jhansi is destined to be destroyed by fire.”

  “But why an angel?” I began to shiver. “Why not Durga or even Kali?”

  “I don’t know. But she was as real as you are to me.”

  “Have you told anyone else?” I didn’t think she should.

  “No. But, Sita, it was more than a nightmare. It was a vision.”

  We were quiet for several moments. Then I said, “In a few hours, the sun is going to rise and the British will be here.”

  “Yes.” But I could see her trying to shake the vision from her mind. “We must prepare.”

  We began rousing the surviving Durgavasi and the palace guards. She woke Kahini first. By five in the morning, everyone was waiting.

  We stood around the breach in the wall, weapons readied, listening to the sound of birds calling to one another. It didn’t matter to them whether we slaughtered one another, or even who won. Tomorrow, they would be singing even if all of us were floating in the Ganges. The rani was peering over the ramparts, and I saw it at the same time she did: a wall of fire burning the grass along the northern banks of the Betwa River. And in the light of the flames, it was possible to see an army so vast that you couldn’t perceive its end.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Shouts of joy went up as we recognized the rebels’ red and white uniforms in the breaking light of day. Saheb’s general, Tatya Tope, had come with more than twenty thousand men. The King of Banpur was with him. The King of Shahgarh was with him. The Nawab of Banda, the sepoys of Kanpur, the sepoys of Assam. The numbers were so far in our favor it was a wonder the British didn’t turn around and run.

  We watched from the ramparts as elephants materialized in the gray light of dawn, hauling cannons and weapons and carrying men. Our own elephants were for show, not war, but to see the giant beasts lumbering toward the plains beyond the fortress made everyone’s heart light. The rani gathered her guards around her. Heera and Rajasi were to join the soldiers outside the magazine, where all of Jhansi’s gunpowder was kept. The remaining Durgavasi and twenty-two men still left from the rani’s personal guards were to remain in the Durbar Hall until further notice.

  Inside the palace, the feeling was celebratory. Twenty thousand men had appeared in the mist like a celestial army sent by the gods. This was our land. These were our people. The gods were on our side. We seated ourselves on the stage while the rani took her throne and we waited for victory.

  Then, the unthinkable occurred. Word came that General Rose had split his forces and was defeating the rebels at the river. As the day progressed, more bad news came, and Arjun couldn’t understand why Tatya Tope had exposed his outer flanks in that way.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” he kept saying over the din of crying infants and nervous women inside the palace.

  A few moments later, everything changed. Two British mortars hit the magazine where our gunpowder was kept. The explosion could be felt by every person in the fortress. The women inside the hall shrieked, terrified. It was as if the granite walls were about to crumble. Then the crowds inside the Durbar Hall grew silent as we waited for a second hit. It came, followed by a third.

  “What’s happening?” Mandar exclaimed.

  A soldier rushed in to report to the rani. “They’ve destroyed the entire magazine!” he cried. “All of the—”

  The rani covered her mouth with her hands. Her first thought wasn’t that all of our gunpowder was gone. “Heera and Rajasi . . .” she whispered.

  Mandar closed her eyes.

  “Come,” the soldier said, leading the rani away. “You must see this.”

  We waited an hour for the rani to return, listening to the rising panic in the hall. Heera and Rajasi were gone. I couldn’t believe it. They were dead.

  When the rani returned, she summoned three of us into her chamber. “Arjun, Sita, Sundari,” she said. We followed her down the stairs into her room. Inside, she told Arjun to lock the door. Then she held out what looked like an official letter from the palace. “From Tatya Tope.” Her hands were shaking. “He discovered it on one of the British soldiers.”

  I took it and read it aloud. It was a letter in English from Gopal, detailing where the powder magazine could be found inside the fortress, and how a pair of ten-inch mortars could destroy the whole thing and cripple Jhansi’s army.

  “We’ve been betrayed,” Sundari whispered.

  “And not just by Gopal,” Arjun said. “Has he already been arrested?”

  “Yes. And I have men questioning him.”

  I felt sick. My entire body was like a heavy stone, dragging me toward the earth. If only I had told the rani before. Arjun looked at me, and it was all I could do to whisper, “There’s something I know.”

  I could see from the rani’s expression that she was afraid I was going to confess to being a traitor. Instead, I told her what I’d seen. How Kahini and Gopal had sent someone a ring, how that same ring had appeared with Sadashiv when he arrived, her insistence that Sadashiv’s life be spared, and finally, how Kahini had discovered hemlock in my murti.

  The rani walked to her bed and sat down. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t look at anyone.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and felt the inadequacy of the words even as I said them, the way you feel when offering a starving woman a cup full of rice. “I didn’t know if you would have believed me.”

  She was quiet for several moments. Then she admitted, “I wouldn’t have. The raja once said that was my greatest fault as rani. I trusted too many people. And so did he . . .” Her voice slipped away, and we were silent while she spent some time with her thoughts. “I want to hear Gopal confess. I’ll tell the men to spare his life if he’ll expose Kahini. The British will kill him anyway.”

  Of course they would. If a man was willing to expose his own country’s secrets, what made them think he wouldn’t expose theirs?

  “Go back to the hall and keep a watch over Kahini. Make sure she doesn’t leave. If she does, restrain her.”

  We returned to the Durbar Hall. Inside, infants were still screaming while their siblings did their best to pacify them. Their mothers looked shocked. Some rocked back and forth on their knees, praying. Others stared blankly at the wall in front of them. Were the husbands of all these women still alive? Would they ever see them again?

  Kahini was sitting in the queen’s room on her favorite cushion. Perhaps it was animal instinct: she rose the moment she saw us and fled into the courtyard, navigating the broken tiles.

  The three of us gave chase.

  “Stop!” Sundari shouted, and to my surprise, Kahini did as she was told. But when she turned around, she leveled the pistol at Sundari’s chest and fired.
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br />   I launched an arrow, striking Kahini in the arm. She stumbled backward, and in the time it took to regain her balance, Arjun was on top of her, taking her weapons. He shouted and several guards came to help while I went to Sundari.

  The captain of the Durga Dal clutched her chest. After so many years of devoted service, the enemy had come from within, not without.

  “You’re going to be fine,” I swore. I thought of the first day we’d met, when she had reminded me of a cat. There is a saying in English that cats possess nine lives. But Sundari only had one. Her breathing became ragged and she squeezed my hand. A thin trickle of blood escaped her lips. “Sundari!”

  Kahini’s face was a perfect mask.

  “You killed her!” I screamed. Kahini’s arm was bleeding heavily, but she didn’t look down at it. “You poisoned the rajkumar,” I said, moving toward her. “You poisoned the raja. The rani was next, but you were hoping the British would do your work for you!”

  “And what did you do about it?” She wore a satisfied smile.

  “Take her to the prison,” Arjun said. “Guards!”

  But I reminded everyone that this was where her lover, Sadashiv, was waiting.

  “Why don’t we just give her to the British?” one of the men suggested.

  For the first time, Kahini’s face registered fear. “I’ll kill myself first!” She struggled violently, but there were four of them around her. We could hear her screaming all the way down the hill. Soldiers carried away Sundari’s body and we returned to the rani’s chamber. From the redness in the rani’s eyes, I assumed she had heard everything that had happened.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, glancing at Kashi, who was holding Anand. “They’ve taken Kahini to the British to do with her . . . as they will.”

  The rani was confused. “I don’t understand.”