‘Control your emotions.’ Ajay Singh dabbed his mouth with a napkin, carefully folded it next to his plate with an unfinished omelette and walked off.

Abhimanyu was never fully comfortable with the trappings of a royal life. It was true that the prince in him came to the surface when he was confronting the guards, but now he disliked how rigid and unfeeling his family felt. He longed to see someone shed a tear, to see someone wail and curse the gods, break things. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to do any of it.

Chapter 8

That night, Abhimanyu dreamt about the queen. Her face covered, she was seated on her chariot, on her last ride to the burning ghat. Abhimanyu was among the townsfolk by the roadside. His dead mother lifted up her veil, and her lifeless eyes looked straight at him.

‘I’ve done my part, Abhi, I’ve spoken with your father.’

Abhimanyu started weeping unabashedly. People around him were saying their prayers. The prayers turned into loud chants.

Our body is light, we are immortal,
Our body is love, we are eternal

Somebody tapped him on his shoulder. Abhimanyu turned around and saw that it was the same old man who had approached him at the Ahmedabad railway station the day he had left Ranakpour for Bombay.

‘Abhimanyu? Look what we have here! I can see your tears.’

Abhimanyu bristled at the man’s insolent tone at first, but then buried his wet face in his shoulders, inconsolable in his grief.

‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ said the man, patting his back.

He grabbed Abhimanyu by his shoulders and pulled away so that they faced each other.

‘I take it now that you can’t help me with the ownership papers. I really could have used your help, you know. But here you are, standing among us commoners, bawling like a baby. It’s okay.’

Abhimanyu woke up with a start, perspiration running down his body like tiny rivulets. He skipped breakfast to avoid another confrontation with his siblings and arranged for a meeting with Meera at the high-point terrace. Located at the far-east end of the palace, the terrace was considered to be a rather misplaced architectural element, oddly perched over arcades that made it the highest point in the palace, exposing it to the elements and thus reducing its utility. A perfect corner away from the prying eyes for Abhimanyu to have a quiet moment with Meera. Nevertheless, Ranjit Singh accompanied the two to avoid raising any doubts.

Abhimanyu’s trusted servers had set up a makeshift seating arrangement with a hasty yet elaborate breakfast spread, expertly ameliorated with flower arrangements. The meal remained untouched as the three sat in silence after the initial consolatory remarks by Ranjit and Meera. Minutes passed before Abhimanyu reminisced about his mother. ‘This was my favourite spot as a child. Playing hide and seek with Ma, making her walk all the way up here to find me.’ Meera and Ranjit Singh smiled. ‘I used to set up a tent here – my own outpost to look out for invading armies,’ he laughed softly and looked out at the textured grey mountain peaks dotting the horizon. He wanted to continue talking about whatever came to his mind, feeling much more at ease in his new company compared to his own family’s. He saw Meera shifting uncomfortably, with her face turning red in the harsh sun. ‘Do you want to move inside, Meera?’ he inquired. ‘That’s alright, Abhimanyu,’ she said hesitantly, ‘I am just cognizant of your schedule today. Pind Daan is in an hour’s time.’