RAABTA

Ajbante Kanwar found herself by the Menal waterfall that made enough noise for her to not hear Kunwar Partap approaching with the horses. She was lost in thought.  After two days of playing host to the royals of Bundi, yesterday, the king had informed her father that they would start their journey to Chittorgarh early in the morning. As she snuck out of the palace, she saw the pompous procession of elephants decorated with gold ornaments and horses with golden quilts over their seat being led out by the Bundi soldiers. The palace was awake earlier than she anticipated, and she had to squeeze in a little time and excuse herself for her “prayers”. But as she sat by the waterfall, she was unsure whether he could come. She looked up at the sky clearing into dawn as she sighed and shook her head. He must be preparing to leave. Rajkumari Ajbante Kanwar stood up, brushing her lehenga as she turned to leave. If she wasted more time, Daata would scold her. She had not worn her warrior attir...

Kunwar Partap entered the relatively quiet stable premises at the break of dawn, checking on Bijli, who was asleep, when he heard the sound of anklets near the cow shed. He walked up to the entrance of the stable, from where he could see her, her dupatta placed loosely over her wet hair, devoid of jewellery, the way he had never seen a royal lady, with a basket of flowers in one hand and a plate of sweets in the other. She was distributing sweets to the cow keepers, veterinarians and everyone who came by on the occasion of Lakshmi giving birth to her calf. “What will you name her, Hukum?” an old man asked. She smiled shyly, pressing her lips together. “Mandakini, Kakasa.” The old man smiled at her suggestion. “Like the Kund? Very nice.” Kunwar Partap walked up to Lakshmi’s shed only after most people had dispersed to their work. Ajbante Kanwar heard footsteps behind her and turned with the plate that now had one sweetmeat left. Alarmed at his sight and at the lack of options she could...

Hansa Baisa had never imagined in her lifetime that she would see the princess of Jalore, the queen of Mewar, in a dimly lit hut on the outskirts of her fort. She felt anxious and guilty. She could not bow even when she wished to, for the maid who came with her knew that she was coming to meet a poor friend of hers who needed help. “You look just like you used to when we were children.” Maharani Jivanta Bai said with a smile. Hansa Bai looked up at her words, quick to realise the act and played along. “You look well too…” She lied. “Parvati Baisa.” Hansa was seeing Jivanta Bai for the first time in her life. She was nervous and weak on her knees. The queen of Mewar wore a simple cotton lehenga with a bandhani dupatta, and the room barely had any furniture. Jivanta gestured at the only piece of furniture, a makeshift bed, and told Hansa to sit. Hansa ordered her maids to wait outside the door as she sat down, holding her breath. She was a little alarmed, sitting away from Jivanta as she...

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 dom...

1553 CE It was not like he had never seen a damp cold room in a modest village. It was just that he had never called it home. The thirteen-year-old boy eyed his mother, trying to read her face. She seemed satisfied with the arrangements as she thanked the mysterious man who left after bowing. When he left, his mother started moving the things, unpacking the little they had with them. A thousand questions ran in his mind. Could they not go back home to Chittor? Why did they even leave Jalore? It was not like Rao Akshayraj Songara ever told his daughter to leave. But was she the kind to burden her father with her worries? He eyed his mother again. This time she had started cleaning the floor. The sight disturbed him a little. He had never seen his mother do such chores back home in Chittorgarh and never imagined the chief queen of Mewar would ever need to. She did not look upset at all. Perhaps she was good at hiding it but he was not. He had explicitly mentioned his disappointment that ...

1576 CE. The dark clouds circled over the Haveli of the Chieftain at Avadgadh, one of the unimportant posts on the western borders of Mewar, Rajputana. It was the arrival of the rainy season, with occasional downpours over the green veil of the Aravallis on the horizon and the streams that often meandered around the hills now surged like rivers. The monotonous life in the little settlement was stirred by the arrival of guests in the Haveli. It was not usual for the old chieftain to receive so many guests, especially women, and it sparked curiosity and rumours among the villagers. Who were these people? Some of them looked like royal ladies, and some did not. In the inner palace of Avadgadh, on a balustrade that was designed with Jali, nymphs adorning its pillars that looked over the Aravallis in the distance, covered with dark clouds, the gusty wind blew the new curtains, almost toppling a vase kept by the window. She caught it, alarmed, almost out of the force of habit to be alert abo...

“What are you really scared of?” Ajabdeh sighed as she eyed the Therapist in her mundane beige attire, clicking on the edge of her pen. The all-white office had always been a safe space to vent for the teenager still dealing with her traumas. “Of making mistakes.” “Everyone makes mistakes, right?” The woman raised her eyebrows. Ajabdeh nodded. “And losing people.” She looked uneasy. “We have gone through this numerous times, Ajabdeh.” She put her pen down and leaned in. “You can’t push people away because you fear losing them. You lose them anyway, then.” Ajabdeh inhaled. “But he … this friend… his world is very different from mine… we don’t have anything in common.” “You just told me you felt a connection.” “Yes, and it was a stupid thought. He did not feel so.” She shook her head. “Did your… friend say so himself?” Ajabdeh looked up at the question. How could she tell the woman that she thought he was imagining someone else while in bed with her? Was that why he said her name aloud? ...