While Ranakpour existed in relative symbiosis with its subjects and the British Raj, elsewhere, kings had been complicit with the colonial rulers in their horrible treatment of Indian freedom fighters. It would only take a stroke of the pen in the new constitution to make them criminals overnight if negotiations with the Indian government fell through. Yaduveer’s speech was mostly a way for him to wrestle with his own demons. For every lavish and royal dynasty, he could think of ten that met an inglorious end. Giants that fell through the cracks of history. Yaduveer didn’t know on which side of history Ranakpour would fall. And so, as India prepared to awaken to life and freedom, the royal family of Ranakpour ponderously made their way to their respective quarters, knowing full well that at sunrise, everything they had known about their world and themselves would change forever.

*

Critics often say that Jawaharlal Nehru’s ‘Tryst with Destiny’ is one of the greatest speeches of the twentieth century, albeit slightly short. For Abhimanyu, it was shorter still. He turned the knobs, adjusted the rheostats on a large wooden console and waited for the tubes to heat up. Then, from the only radio in Ranakpour that played sounds from cities as far as Rome, Ceylon, Moscow and London, came Nehru’s voice, so much closer to home:

‘... to the nations and peoples of the world, we send greetings and pledge ourselves to cooperate with them in furthering peace, freedom and democracy.

‘And to India, our much-loved motherland, the ancient, the eternal and the ever new, we pay our reverent homage and we bind ourselves afresh to her service. Jai Hind.’

Chapter 2

‘A lion’s grace lies in the forest. Once he is out in the village, in the city, he’s seen as a nuisance. People attack him, hunt him down instead of revering the majestic creature.’ Abhimanyu’s mother, Kaushalya Devi, was in her final attempt to stop him from leaving Ranakpour. They were at the front terrace of the palace, eating breakfast; four servers scurried around to tend to Abhimanyu’s voracious appetite. In some ways, the servers knew him better than his mother, the erstwhile queen, did. They had prepared the former prince’s favourite dishes, knowing full well that Abhimanyu won’t budge and it would be his last day in the palace.

It was October 1947, and the Ranakpour khandan had begun picking up the pieces of their shattered kingdom. The stateless Uday Singh paid regular visits to the corridors of power in New Delhi, the new capital of free India, but was no longer in a position to keep some of that power for himself. Instead, he found himself struggling to stay relevant while negotiating a better monetary deal for his family and fighting for a semblance of autonomy for the kingdom. His adopted son, Ajay Singh, an ex-soldier in the British Indian Army who had fought in the Burma campaign alongside the Allies, had pledged his allegiance to the Indian Army. He didn’t harbour any patriotic feelings towards the new nation, but was guided by a sense of deep gratitude towards his adoptive father. The army was a job for Ajay Singh in which he could excel and restore his family’s honour. Vihaan, the youngest son, had no such sense of duty towards his father or the country. He had brought up his wild ideas about Ranakpour staying fully autonomous – a land-locked sovereign state by itself in the heart of India – to his father. The king dismissed it outright, so Vihaan had summarily left India for London to ‘chart his own course’. Avantika had moved to Delhi to help her father deal with numerous bureaucrats, and found herself managing the situation rather admirably.