‘Mahamahim Rajadhiraj is arriving,’ announced the darbari standing at the special entrance for the king. Uday Singh’s footsteps echoed in the gilded corridors as he walked past the lotus pond in the middle of the expansive chess-themed chowk.

After taking his place at the throne, Uday Singh nodded at the gathering. ‘Please be seated,’ he said. His face had softened with age, but his voice had lost none of its deep baritone.

Wasting no time on formal greetings, the Maharaja continued. ‘It is with incredible sorrow and pain that I have gathered you all here to announce that I will begin talks on merger of Ranakpour with the Union of India and negotiate the best deal possible’

There was silence as the words washed over the Durbar. The King had spoken, and while the news wasn’t a surprise to anyone there, hearing the words said out loud hit them in a strange way. They listened as Uday Singh continued. He told them that he had been informed that India would be a union republic in a democratic set-up, and that a committee would be writing the new constitution over the next few months.

‘I want to make it clear that,’ he continued, ‘in place of the British viceroy, there will be a new president and prime minister, both elected to lead the country for a fixed term.’ He looked at his younger brother, Dushyant Singh who regularly met with viceroys Wavell and Mountbatten.

‘We…’ Uday Singh’s voice trailed off and he paused to look at his family, members of the court, and then at the walls where enormous, life-like paintings of his ancestors stared down at him. Among them was Fateh Singh, the 13th century prince who had fought with warring tribal kings to capture the fertile lands at the edge of the Thar desert and form Ranakpour. Over the following centuries, his descendants had fought off the Mughals, the Marathas, and the colonial powers, to maintain control over Ranakpour. Uday Singh felt his ancestral history weighing down on him as he announced the end of the dynasty. He gently touched the Ranakpour royal family order pinned to his chest, a golden insignia of a rising sun with a sword and a bow on either side, and then took a deep breath before going on. ‘Our deal will include guarantees on fixed yearly compensation in form of a privy purse.’ As blank faces looked back at him, it was clear to Uday Singh that not a single person in the hall understood what a Privy Purse was, but of course, no one questioned the king.

‘For 600 years, we’ve sincerely served the people of Ranakpour, and we will continue to do so, despite these changes. It is our duty. Don’t ever forget that we will now lead an even more public life,’ Uday Singh said, his voice rising as he directed his gaze towards Vihaan, his youngest and most impetuous son. ‘A single rash act can ruin our image. We must not forget that now, more than ever, there will be people on the sidelines, ready to take advantage of any folly or misstep on our part. I hope that each and every one of you will rise to the occasion, and find a respectable place in this new, independent India. May God bestow you with the strength to lead and wisdom to serve. If you have any questions, now is the time to speak.’