The Prince and the Nightingale
To my father
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Book
About the Author
Copyright
Prologue
It was in the newspapers. Not in the national dailies; just the Ranakpour Chronicle, in the issue dated 20 June 1992, tucked all the way back on page 14, at the bottom right corner.
Abhimanyu Singh died here in Bombay at Breach Candy Hospital on Sunday following a protracted illness. A member of the Ranakpour royal family of Rajasthan, he was also a former first-class cricketer, a former manager of the Indian national cricket team and an ex-chairman of its selection panel. He had been suffering from Alzheimer’s disease.
Singh was also a close associate of the melody queen, Meera Apte.
There was more, but it was hard for me to read further. Former first-class cricketer was factually correct, but what of the legendary story about why Abhimanyu Singh could never play for India? And those words – a close associate of Meera Apte – were a real punch in the gut. It’s as though the writer of the article was the one suffering from Alzheimer’s.
Well, I, for one, remain in full possession of my faculties. And I think that it is finally time to set the record straight.
Chapter 1
Large rattan punkahs with ropes tied to them hung proudly from the gem-encrusted ceilings of the Darbar Hall in the Ranakpour Palace, but there were no coolies to be found at the other end of those ropes. Instead, an electric ceiling fan that had been installed right next to the punkahs blew modern air on the 600-year old throne placed right under it. The throne waited in silence for its king, Maharaja Uday Singh, to arrive.
As per the royal protocol, family members and palace administrative officials were to be seated according to their ranks, fifteen minutes before the arrival of the Maharaja. Uday Singh’s younger brothers had taken their place, flanking the throne on either side. Next was Ajay Singh Ranakpour, the Maharaja’s eldest son, who despite being adopted, was the heir apparent.
Abhimanyu Singh, the middle son, sat next to his older brother, and Vihaan Singh, the youngest, had sprinted in last, late as usual. After exchanging a few words with his brothers and uncles, as well as executing the signature Ranakpour pranaam that required a ninety-degree-bow, with the hands coming together from the sides rather than from below, he had taken his seat next to Abhimanyu, but not before placing his hand on his heart and looking up towards the jharoka, where the ladies of the royal family were seated, observing the proceedings through translucent curtains.