The ousting of Shams Khan and his troops from Chittorgarh earned Kunwar Partap Singh overnight fame across the land as tales of his bravery made their way through the dunes and hills, across rivers and borders to lands far and beyond. At thirteen, he had commanded an army troop to take over the fort of Chittorgarh and restore Mewar’s borders to their former glory. People started comparing him to his forefathers, the great Rana Kumbha, who built forts across Mewar and his grandfather, Rana Sanga, who had united all Rajputs against external threats. As bards sang praises of the prince, gossip soon followed. Gossip was the most entertaining one could get in the mundane city lives and village gatherings, and it often travelled faster than the fastest Marwadi horse. So alongside the tales of his absolute bravery and how he hoisted the Mewari flag on the fort, were the stories of how his life was in danger, the king and queen did not quite get along and how he was made to live in poverty by his father. Rana Udai Singh was quick to realise his blunder as people started pointing fingers at him. Truth be said, amid his drinking, leisure and an unhealthy attraction towards dancing girls, he was quick to admit that he needed his sons to make sure his kingdom was safe. Rana Udai Singh tried in vain to mend his image, taking the advice of his best chieftains. Ramdas Chundawat of Salumber had advised his king to make charity appearances with his queen consort Jivanta Bai. They made public appearances in temples and fairs, and all their efforts led to more speculations from the public. The more they sympathised with their beloved queen, praised her upbringing and loved the heir apparent, the more insecure Udai Singh became of his position and authority.
“I really don’t understand, Dheer Bai.” He paced his chamber as his favourite queen, Rani Dheer Bai Bhattiyani of Jaisalmer, was busy using her painted hands to make a mix of masalas from the silver box to put in his Paan. “I have tried everything. Public appearances. Charity. Prayers. The gossip doesn’t die down. What do I do now?” He stopped to glance over his shoulder at her calm face visible in the light of the dimly lit lamp. The night was quiet, and the moonbeam flooded the floor from the open curtains of the jharokhas. He walked up to the balustrade as she quietly continued her chore and inhaled the fresh air. In the distance was the city, lights out and quiet, waiting for dawn. Perhaps they slept more peacefully than before, knowing their prince would protect them better than their king ever could. Rana Udai Singh felt a little heavy in his heart. Under any other circumstances, he would have been a proud father over an insecure king. But for the fourteen-year-old prince in him who had to see his mother scheming to put his half-drunk brother on the throne, and eventually his near-death escape from the very same palace, he knew better than to trust even his blood. He needed to remain king and regain the trust of his people. How could he do that if all they talked of was Kunwar Partap? His attention was drawn to his queen now that she moved from her place, the trinkets on her waist and ankles making music as she brought a Paan to his lips. “Give it some time, Ranaji. Everything will be fine.” She reassured him as if she could read his mind. “It is not like Kunwar Partap would ever rebel or disobey you.” She reassured him with a faint smile as he pushed the paan to his cheek. She caressed her locks that fell carelessly on the edge of her deep-necked blouse, revealing her cleavage as she exhaled and looked up at the sky. “I am not so sure about Kunwar Shakti, though.” She murmured. Udai Singh stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“He has a rebel streak in him, unlike Kunwar Partap.” She shook her head. “Kunwar Partap is a gem, thanks to Jija’s upbringing…” She smiled at him through her thin, painted lips and Kohl-drawn eyes. Rana Udai Singh smiled.
“You should make sure that such praises you sing of the heir apparent go beyond the walls of my private chamber into the ears of those who once accused you of poisoning him.” He drew her close to her waist as she giggled under his embrace. “I did not think it was necessary, Ranaji. Jija only cares for his safety; she means nothing ill to Kunwar Jagmal or me.” Udai Singh admired her with primitive lust as she appeared coy. “You are a gem of a person, Dheer Bai. Someday, she will know that. She is stubborn in her judgment.” He made her nod. Udai Singh did not quite understand why, but Dheer Bai oddly reminded him of his mother. His mother was the second queen and not the mother of the heir to the throne. But she was his father’s favourite. He grew up watching her advise the administration, take over once his father and the heir apparent were dead, deal with the nuisance the heir apparent’s saintly wife created and finally put his elder brother on the throne. She would have been happy to see him on the throne. She would have praised Dheer Bai. Out of all his chief wives, Dheer was the third and youngest. He had married her while attending an invitation from her brother. It was love at first sight, something he had never experienced despite having two other wives, several concubines and children. Jivanta Bai was his marriage of convenience, something he was advised to do as a teenager to make sure her father, Rao Akshay Raj of Jalore, once a friend and aide to his father, helped him with troops and advice. It did not take him or his wife long to realise they would not get along. She was too stubborn for his liking, and he was too weak for hers. Rani Sajja Bai Solanki was a marriage of tradition. Since the time of Bappa Rawal, the first queens of every king who sat on the throne of Mewar had been from the Solanki clan because Kalbhoj, as Bappa Rawal was known to be as a cowherd, fell in love with a Solanki princess. Sajja Bai was immature for his taste. The nuances of impressing a man, seducing and making him happy were lost on her. With both the queens, his relationship was limited to household issues Jivanta Bai took charge of, the guardianship and decisions involving their children, and sometimes administrative moves when he sought Jivanta Bai’s advice. But the other side of him, which was insecure, weak and vulnerable, was always exposed only to Dheer Bai. He trusted her with his flaws. How could he mistrust her when it came to his children? She was always singing praises of Kunwar Partap, so when Jivanta Bai insulted her with an implied accusation, he had to take a stand for his wife. He could never doubt the woman he loved.
Dheer Bai had entered the palace premises of Chittorgarh at the tender age of fifteen, scared and intimidated by the grandeur and presence of so many women around him. Especially his queen consort, the mother of his heir. He loved her, but was it enough? Dheer Bai was quick to understand that all was not well between the chief queen and her husband. But no matter how distant they were, her husband doted on his firstborn, the future of Mewar. She immediately knew the quickest way to impress the scrutinising eyes of the Rani Mahal, especially his other wives, on whose books she was the woman who bedded their husband every night, was to be a good stepmother to the children. It was easy to manipulate them with occasional pickles and good words. Everyone was convinced, except Jivanta Bai. Another thing Dheer Bai had learnt the moment Udai Singh wished to marry her, and she was going to be his third wife, was that to keep her relevance in his home and heart, she needed to keep pleasing him. There were two ways to a man’s heart. She could always prepare his favourite food, and so could all the others. But she could also give him something the others did not. She could give him the comfort of love like a queen and the pleasure of lust like the other women he kept. It worked in her favour as he opened up to her with his emotional flaws. The more he did, the more Dheer Bai felt relevant. He would summon her to his chamber at night, no matter where he was during the day. He would ask her to travel with him. But her desire to be relevant grew the day she knew she was expecting a boy. A prince. A chance for her bloodline on the throne of Mewar. Kunwar Jagmal was the answer to her prayers after three unwanted daughters. She could not let it go, could she? She made a terrible mistake by trying to poison the heir apparent. She should have known better. It was a miracle that the maid who was caught conspiring was fiercely loyal to lose her life rather than name her. But Jivanta Bai? She had planted the seed of doubt in the minds of everyone else. Even Udai Singh seemed aloof for a few days after they left. It took all of Dheer Bai’s skills to win him back. Now she needed to do the same with the chief queen and the prince. It was tougher since they were smarter. The skills that worked on Ranaji wouldn’t work for them now that they saw through her. And if they did so, would the others, especially Sajja Bai, whose closest association in the family was this elder queen she called Jija? They were the first in his Rani Mahal; they shared their children’s responsibilities and the pain of being unloved. Their bond was almost unbreakable. Sajja Bai had three children; Shakti was merely ten months younger than Kunwar Partap and fiercely competitive. But he could die for his brother. He would have when he offered to drink the suspicious buttermilk to prove it was a poison that made Kunwar Partap feel dizzy until his mother stopped him. There was Padmavati, the eldest princess, who turned eleven. She was the middle child and Ranaji’s favourite daughter. Enough for him to get her engaged to the Prince of Bundi, Rajkunwar Surjan Singh Hada. He had not cared for any other daughter’s alliances yet. Kunwar Vikram was the youngest among Sajja’s children. He was quiet and distant. Something Dheer did not understand.
“Where is your mind at?” She stared at her husband’s question as he tucked in her drapes. She shook her head with a smile and continued to please him through the night as Kunwar Jagmal slept peacefully in a guarded room adjacent to theirs, served by her trusted attendant Koli.
It was almost dawn when Dheer Bai paced the room, watching the king sleep peacefully. She needed to find a way to stop the gossip. If his throne was at stake even before Jagmal was a young boy, there was no way her dreams would be fulfilled. She needed to eliminate the competition before. Kunwar Partap could not be fought with or manipulated, unlike his father. She remembered something her elder sister once told her. Uma Devi was now the queen of Marwar, one of Rao Maldeo’s chief queens. Her administrative and manipulative skills were admired by Dheer Bai as a younger sister. She used to say that to stop gossip, one must divert attention to something bigger, more extravagant or scandalous. The royal family could not afford scandals, so extravagant they could be. But what kind?
“I have an idea.” Rana Udai Singh sat up on his bed, looking confused at his queen, who smiled. “What?” He seemed disoriented.
“I know how to stop the gossip.” She sat down by his feet as he urged her to go on. She suggested declaring a month-long celebration for the win, and then, after a few more months or so, when people would begin to forget the feast and merriment, Padmavati would turn twelve, and he could declare her engagement and impending wedding. The wedding party would stay for a month-long festival and celebration, and they would throw a wedding that Chittorgarh had never witnessed. The Shringar Chauri would be decked up like the bride herself. It would also put forward a message that Bundi was appreciated and that their alliance mattered. Udai Singh seemed impressed by her idea. What Dheer Bai did not share was that the prince of Bundi was a friend of Kunwar Partap from Gurukul. If anyone, especially enemies, ever doubted a rift between father and son, this was a chance to show them how respected and loved Kunwar Partap was by his family, thus impressing the people who called Udai Singh insecure.
