‘Leaving the palace, going to the city without anyone to look after you … Kaushalya continued, hoping to dissuade her last remaining child from leaving Ranakpour. ‘I have heard about the crime-filled streets of Bombay – there’s hardly room to breathe there. You are giving up all this to live there?’ She waved her right hand in the air as she spoke, taking in the sprawling palace and the uninterrupted vista that boasted a stunning view of the Ranakpour valley. From the balcony, they could see around them a sea of blue marble havelis and smaller houses. On a bright and sunny morning like that, Ranakpour could have easily been mistaken for Athens. (It’s another matter that the city looks garish today. Forget Athens, it doesn’t even look like a knock-off painting of the Greek city that amateurs sell on the streets of Pláka for three euros a piece. Ranakpour today barely retains its former glory, no thanks to the able administration of the Ranakpour Municipal Corporation.)

‘It’s for the best, Ma,’ Abhimanyu said, taking in the view. His childhood flashed before his eyes: playing cricket with his brothers on the terrace – their make-believe stadium – till they grew older and moved on to the palace grounds. He remembered those long afternoons when his brothers and he would squabble over whose turn it was to bat; how Avantika was always appointed the umpire because she never played favourites, and how their mother would drag her back indoors, lest the harsh summer sun turn her skin dark. He remembered practicing shots and sending the ball whizzing all over the grounds, and sometimes over the hill, requiring at least one member of the royal staff to abandon his chores and chase after it. The palace was full of memories of his whole life, but Abhimanyu knew that the future beckoned. Bombay beckoned.

‘This place is too small for me to make any sort of mark in the world of international cricket, or anything for that matter. There’s not much to do here now that …’ His voice trailed off, stopping short of reminding his mother that their kingdom had been taken away from them and the family relieved of their royal duties. ‘Besides,’ he broke into what he hoped was a reassuring smile, ‘I’ll visit often.’ That irresistible smile, quite the rarity in her children, had Kaushalya tongue-tied as always. Abhimanyu took one last sip of his tea, stood up and then bent down to touch her feet. ‘Goodbye, Ma,’ he said, and with that, he turned around and walked away, his stride strong and confident. ‘May you have the world at your feet, son. But remember, you’ll always remain the prince of Ranakpour.’ Abhimanyu turned around and gave her a quick bow without breaking a stride, and went his way. Kaushalya sat there, disappointed at how easily her son seemed to have made his exit. Perhaps if she’d known that he’d rushed off to steal a moment alone, and to collect himself as he stood at the main entrance, taking one long, last look at his home of twenty-seven years, she’d have felt differently.