‘He’ll be dragged through the mud. He’s ready to be humiliated a thousand times over to get one democratic vote, for in his mind, anything would be better than the ignominy of being the last leader of this dynasty. And for that, he needs your help.’

Abhimanyu walked out of the room and didn’t return to the palace that night. The pond in the forest beckoned. He longed for Meera, and yet he knew he wasn’t ready to face her with the truth.

Chapter 10

‘It’s unfortunate the tournament didn’t go as I had planned,’ said Abhimanyu over his soup.

He was hosting a dinner for the Gaekwads in the grand chowk of the palace once the queen’s thirteenth day rituals concluded. The sunbaked marble was still warm, but the cool desert air had made the night bearable. The Gaekwads had stayed put in the palace, even as the tournament was postponed indefinitely, while the Ranakpour family went through the ceremonies to honour their deceased matriarch. Some from the Baroda royal family had suggested that they leave Ranakpour and be back for the tournament at a more appropriate time, but Bhimji Gaekwad ordered them to stay out of respect. They had taken part in the public procession, conveying their condolences and offering help where they could.

‘We’re sorry for your loss. Your mother was a gentle soul. I am happy I had the opportunity to know her,’ said Bhimji Gaekwad, aptly ignoring Abhimanyu’s talk about cricket.

‘Thank you for your kind words,’ said Abhimanyu. He was digging into the main course. After barely eating for nearly a fortnight, he was enjoying the return of his appetite.

‘We plan to take your leave at daybreak tomorrow. While we would have loved to meet up under better circumstances, I want to thank you and the family for your tremendous hospitality, even at such an unfortunate time.’ The Gaekwad clan nodded in approval.

‘Oh no, no,’ said Abhimanyu, looking up from his plate. ‘The match is on for tomorrow. Have you been told otherwise?’

There was a certain edge in Abhimanyu’s tone that made the diners uncomfortable as he looked around the table. He seemed rather enthusiastic about a game for a man who had recently lost his mother. The Baroda clan didn’t know how to react, and looked towards Bhimji for clues.

‘Now you regret skipping your practice sessions, don’t you,’ Abhimanyu guffawed. Bhimji Gaekwad nodded and smiled for a brief second, but the expression on his face was grim.

A lot has been written about that infamous match in the desert city. How Abhimanyu had braved the loss of his beloved mother and played the match. The prince kept his word, they said. Death could not vanquish his commitment towards the sport. However, on the eve of the match, the Gaekwads interpreted things quite differently. They saw a man tethering on insanity. His chirpy demeanor and his voracious appetite for the lamb curry, kesar kulfi and assorted drinks on the table that night were all proof that Abhimanyu was in shock after his mother’s death, and was simply losing his grip on reality. He taunted the Gaekwads about how they were chickening out and finding excuses not to play out of the fear of losing. Good old ribbing under normal circumstances, but highly inappropriate behaviour for a night when the guests were trying to handle a difficult situation with grace.