Dusk was setting in and the citadel of Bijoliya was slowly being wrapped in a blanket of mist. The late autumn leaves were rustling and the wind carried some of them in through the jharokha of the palace.
“Kasturi, clean the floor before Maasa comes by for the evening. You know she will not like the floors dirty before her evening prayers.” She picked up the dried leaves in her palm gently twirling them by the end and observing their texture as Kasturi rushed to do what was ordered. She looked up at the sky, peeping slightly from the balustrade. It was then that she saw her father’s horse being led away. He was home, why had he not summoned her? With a slight frown, she stepped down the swirling flight of stairs, gently pulling her lehenga over her ankles and ran towards her father’s chambers.
“But you can never let anyone know. Not even Ajbante.” She stopped at the threshold alert as her father spelt out her name. She realised that in her hurry to catch the sunset from the tallest dome she forgot to wear her anklets. “Do you understand how important it is Hansa?” Her mother’s voice was more fearful. What if they had to pay a price for it? Was it not deceiving the ruler of the land? Ajbante’s throat went dry. Was her father planning something against the king? But why would he? She turned back to reach her chambers before her parents caught her there. Her mind was disturbed. Their dynasty had given up the throne once upon a time. They had ever since been loyal to the throne of Mewar. Her father had fought so many battles alongside the king. Ajbante could be all of eleven but she knew the history of her dynasty by heart and the names of the outposts and generals who worked under her father. To Mewar, he could be a simple Sawant of Bijoliya; but in Bijoliya which was a small world in itself, occasionally welcoming weary travellers who travelled between Bundi and Chittorgarh, he was their ruler, the one who had the last say. Ajbante had grown up in this little world, learning her way through the customs and traditions, following what was expected from the eldest daughter of the dynasty. A part of her grooming also involved learning the basics of administration and defences. She had seen her mother take charge whenever her father would be at war and she had learnt by observing keenly. She could anticipate sword movements just by watching her father in the arena and often offered him solutions to problems related to the village and its people. She would often take a stroll with her entourage of friends through the village and no matter how much her mother forbade it she would end up helping the poor and needy by giving away whatever she found in her possession, her rings, bangles and sometimes even her scriptures. She was not a child her father would hide something from. Ajbante was slightly disappointed. She wanted to be a part of whatever he was telling her mother. She wanted to feel like she was capable and responsible. Perhaps she was wrong and he meant something else by those words. Her attention was slightly interrupted by the sobs of her younger sister. It sounded like she had tripped and hurt herself. She glanced over her shoulder to check one of the ladies running to attend to her. Ajbante sighed and again collected her thoughts. She suddenly remembered the conversation at dinner a few days back. Her Kakasa had arrived from the borders with a few men and her father seemed rather irked with the king’s decision to make the queen and heir apparent leave.
“The news has spread like wildfire across Mewar.” Kakasa said between the morsels. “Worse, they are not in Jalore.”
“The future of Mewar is unsafe.” Her father had grunted showing his displeasure about the king’s decision. Everyone adored the prince. He had met the boy only once but it was enough to make a deep impression on his mind. He had come home and said that the future was in safe hands. And now they did not know where he was?
