Ajbante Kanwar was standing on the balustrade of her room, looking over the horizon. It was midnight, and a veil of stars covered the sky, twinkling like precious diamonds. She had just blown out her lamp after reading for a while. She had quietly stepped out on the balustrade, her hair free and dancing in the gentle breeze, her heavy jewellery and lehenga abandoned for the day, and she had a calm smile on her face as she lifted her eyes to watch the stars. She reminisced about the day while she stood there with a coy smile on her face.
Kunwar Partap had taken an interest in teaching Akhil and Balwant some basic skills that would help them defeat the enemy. While Akhil, who went to Gurukul, had a proper sword, Balwant, who was now five, used a wooden sword but was adamant to learn. They had followed Kunwar Partap to the arena when he talked about sword practice during a meal. Rao Ramrakh resisted their idea, but Kunwar Partap insisted he was happy to teach them. He eyed the veiled face serving him dal over his rice for approval. She did not look up at his words as she continued to serve. An hour or so after the meal, when Ajbante Kanwar had retired to her chambers to write a letter to Saubhagyawati, telling her that the prince of Mewar was their guest for a week or so, she heard a commotion at the Dangalsthal. Ajbante promptly walked down the corridor that connected the Rani Mahal with the Mardana Mahal and peeped out of one of the jharokhas at the arena. Balwant was giggling as Akhil chased him around in circles, and Kunwar Partap stood with his hands on either side, laughing. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight. How easily he mixed with everyone as if they were his own. He spoke with the same politeness to his Samanths, his attendants and his siblings… as well as hers. Ajbante Kanwar watched him pick up Akhil’s sword with his injured hand, forgetting about the balm in his palm as he winced a little. Ajbante Kanwar immediately felt guilty for attacking him like that. She abandoned the writing desk and walked back to the kitchen.
He was a little sweaty after the session at the arena when he was about to walk back to his room, when he stopped in his tracks at her voice echoing through the corridor of the Mardana Mahal.
“Replace the water of the vases when you replace flowers. How many times do I have to tell you? Do you want the guest’s room to stink? Have you changed the covers today? You will change the bedsheets and pillows every day, do you understand?” She walked across the room to the other side, “Have you not replaced the fruit bowl? I see no grapes or pears.” He stood at the threshold as the attendants bowed to his silent nod as she continued with her back to him, without realising he was there.
“And have you not got stationery here yet? What if Kunwarsa needs to write home?”
“I suppose he can ask you.” Alarmed at his words, Ajbante Kanwar pulled the dupatta further over her forehead as she turned, looking embarrassed.
“I apologise for their incompetence, Kunwarsa.” The formality in her voice was evident. He shook his head.
“They are not incompetent, Rajkuwarisa.” He looked around. “Everything here is just the way I like it. The reason there are no grapes and pears is that I ate them after they were replaced. And I used up the papers to write…” She nodded at his words. “But they should be aware enough to replace those. Daata told us to make sure you never have to ask for anything.” His glance made her stop, a little aware of the people around them.
“I…” Her eyes travelled to the balm she had freshly made and put in a brass bowl. His eyes travelled with hers to spot it. He smiled faintly. “It's much better now.” She eyed the open wound and cleared her throat. “Might I suggest, umm…” He urged her to go on, with a nod of his head. “You should bandage the wound after the balm to make sure it stays.” She eyed his injury. “And open wounds are prone to dirt…”
“Baisa.” Rama bowed, interrupting her as she informed that Rao Ramrakh had asked for the attendants who would follow him to the confluence of the monks by the Bijoliya Lake. She nodded as everyone except Pratap’s personal attendant piled out. “Rama, start lighting the diyas, it's almost dusk,” Ajbante spoke assertively before dismissing her maid. Kunwar Partap turned to his attendant and asked him to help Rama bring the lamps. Alarmed by the lack of people around them, Ajbante turned to follow the maid out, but he stopped her.
“Excuse me, Rajkumarisa.” She glanced over her shoulder, unsurely, as he extended his injured hand. “I suppose you could teach me how I should bandage my wound.” Ajbante’s throat went dry as he spoke, his eyes sparkling with unspoken playfulness as all she could do was nod. He brought the bowl as she sat down on the seat kept by the balustrade, from where the light of the setting sun was falling on the carpet. He followed by sitting in front of her, placing the bowl between them, allowing her to bandage his injury. As she bent a little, blowing at the balm before putting on the bandage, Kunwar Partap smiled a little, amused as she looked up with questioning eyes.
“I have not been treated like this for my injuries ever since I was ten.” He said. Rajkumari Ajbante Kanwar frowned. “Do you have a problem?” He shook his head, alarmed. “No, not at all. What could I possibly be complaining about?” He shrugged as she nursed his wound and picked up the empty bowl.
“I will see you at dinner?” He stood up as she stopped to nod slightly before she left.
At dinner, everyone was eagerly hearing about Rao Ramrakh’s experience with the monks and saints at the confluence, and the conversation led to Hansa Bai informing Kunwar Partap that the Shravan Festival was due to be held next week, and the Royals of Bijoliya would like it if he did the Mahapuja instead of Ram Rakh Punwar. “The entire township gathers at the Mahakal temples for the festivities that start on the second Monday of Shravan and continue till the next.” She sounded eager, and Kunwar Partap was interested. Ram Rakh Punwar suggested he needed to learn about the rituals of the Mahapuja, as it was a public event and everyone would come by to watch the prince.
“Rajkumarisa.” Ramrakh Punwar addressed his eldest daughter, who stepped forward as the women stood by the serving table and the men ate. “I leave it to you to arrange for the puja the way you do.” Kunwar Partap looked up to see Ajbante nod at her father without sparing him a glance from under her veil. “And guide Kunwarsa through the Mahapuja.” A smile formed on the edge of Kunwar Partap’s lips as she nodded, rubbing her hands together as if she wanted to say something. He knew it, her father knew it.
“Is there anything you want to say?” Her father asked with a smile, “My daughter is very shy.” He eyed Kunwar Partap, who nodded. “Daata, I was wondering if … it is a good idea for Kunwar Partap to be there…” She bit her lower lip as her mother looked displeased, and her father grumped, “What do you mean?” The smile had disappeared from Kunwar Partap’s lips as he anticipated an answer.
“There will be a crowd there and his security…” Before Ramrakh Punwar could contemplate his daughter’s words, Kunwar Partap chuckled a little, amused.
“I think I am old enough to take care of myself.”
“Yes, but if god forbid something happens in Bijoliya, we will be in trouble.” Hansa Bai eyed Kunwar Partap’s reaction to her words. She feared that her daughter had chosen the wrong time to be brave and intervene, but Kunwar Partap did not seem displeased.
“I understand the concern, but this is a holy time. If not on me, have faith in Shree Eklingnath Ji, Rajkumari.” A moment of silence passed by as Ajbante Kanwar lifted her eyes slightly to catch his gaze. Ramrakh Punwar broke the awkwardness of the dining hall with an amused smile. “Yes, indeed. We will have the best guards around Kunwarsa.” He reassured. “You understand her concern… she doesn’t want me in any kind of trouble.” He tried to make up for the way Ajbante Kanwar had intervened, hoping it did not displease the prince. Ajbante Kanwar realised her mistake of saying her thoughts out loud and murmured an apology as she stepped back, hoping that her father would not reprimand her later. Kunwar Partap insisted that her fears were justified, but he was capable.
Ajbante inhaled the fresh air as the smell of Jasmine from the garden filled the room. She was disappointed that he did not take her worries about his safety seriously. He did not tell her explicitly, but she knew from his little hints in his letters that all was never well at home. With Kunwar Shakti too leaving home, she feared he was going to be targeted by jealous kin once again after his success at war. Was her fear, her care for him, so silly that he laughed? She never said she doubted his capabilities, did she? She just wanted to make sure he was … a silhouette moved in the darkness below her window, and Ajbante Kanwar was suddenly alarmed. She stepped back, eyeing the sword she had put away, contemplating whether she should alert the guards who stood by her door when she saw the silhouette move from the darkness behind the bushes to the pathway lit with torches below her window. Ajbante Kanwar froze as she spotted Kunwar Partap, unaware of her presence, as he took an idle stroll around the private garden. Was he sleepless? Bothered? Uncomfortable? A part of Ajbante Kanwar wanted to know what was wrong. Another part of her did not want him to see her. She held onto the carved pillar of the balustrade with her painted hand, watching him. His Kesar Tilak was washed away, his hair appeared wet, and he wore a Muslin white angrakha over his Dhoti. For the first time, she saw him without his royal pagri and jewellery. Even then, he did not look like an ordinary commoner. He paced the path briefly as Ajbante Kanwar soaked into the scene, his shoulders broad, his walk brisk, his eyes sparkling and his face calm. He stopped to pick up a flower that had fallen from the Palash tree beside her window. It was fiery red. He smelled it and then smiled, lost in some thought. Ajbante Kanwar found a smile on her lips. Just like that, all her complaints vanished at the glimpse of him smiling. She watched a guard from the archway walk in Kunwar Partap’s direction, asking him if he needed anything, and he dismissed the man. “Just wanted to take a walk alone, I will go back soon.” She heard him say politely to the old man, who bowed and left. Then, perhaps out of curiosity about where the flower came from, he looked up, hoping to find the tree, but his eyes fell on her instead. Ajbante Kanwar froze in her spot, wide-eyed. She was unsure of what to do and suddenly became conscious of how he saw her in her night attire, with the lack of a dupatta, and her hair open. She lowered her eyes as he smiled at her, gesturing at what she was doing. She shrugged. He gestured with his hand that he could not sleep. She shook her head. I can’t either.
He mouthed something she did not quite understand. She narrowed her eyes as he mouthed it more slowly. “Meet me at the temple at dawn.” She nodded. He perhaps wanted to know about the rituals of the Mahapuja. She would teach him before taking Bijli out. She gestured with her finger, 3 Ghatika. He nodded. They were unsure of what more to say as they stood there. He looked around, a little aware, making sure nobody was around. Ajbante Kanwar leaned on the balustrade, gesturing at him to go back. He nodded. Then, almost in a playful manner, as if he were testing his capability, he threw the lightweight flower at her window. Almost in a reflex, Ajbante Kanwar caught the flower that seemed to be warm from his touch. He smiled as she smelled it with a shy smile, and he gestured at her to see whether she liked it. She smiled. He did not know it was she who insisted on putting the tree there. Every year, she would watch it bloom from her window. She tucked the flower in her hair as he smiled at her, waving briefly in a childlike manner, before walking away. Ajbante Kanwar watched him go as she found herself almost skipping playfully back to bed, and she lay down with a smile and held the flower close to her beating heart.
