The chaos that followed was comical and tragic in equal measure. The cows were re-stamped with the new party name, symbols and slogans. Scripts blaring from the loudspeakers were rewritten on the fly. New alliances were formed in the dead of night and betrayals were made in the cold light of day, all while in full view of the public that was being swayed from one end of the state to the other. Months of campaigning had to be started all over again, and Abhimanyu went on the road again with a new proposition. Old money flowed through the streets of Ranakpour; money that was meant for the development of the state was now being deployed to change something much more intangible – opinions. The people’s party of Congress had no money, of course. The party that rose to prominence through blood, sweat and emotions and slayed the powerful colonial powers struggled to win over the common man. The lack of resources in a free, democratic India meant that the party had to reach out to anyone they could to collect donations – these requests were made with folded hands and, sometimes, a gun. In Ranakpour and elsewhere, parties resorted to getting their funds from unlawful sources, often reluctantly. They thought that they could milk the beast and tame it when the time came. But that time never did come. The same moneyed goons who funded the parties in the first election soon figured that they could run the show all by themselves. Not surprisingly, politics became a free-for-all game. A truly secular form of governance where everyone – the swamis, the revolutionaries, the career politicians, the royals and the gangsters – had a shot.

One group of organized dacoits from northern Ranakpour, a huge voting bloc of the state, came up with an offer for Abhimanyu. ‘Find a legitimate place for us in the Mewad Mahasabha,’ the thugs said, ‘and we’ll have our people vote for you in hordes.’ It was one of several sinister propositions Abhimanyu had received – schemes he would outright reject in a heartbeat. But weeks before the looming elections, knowing that they didn’t have the votes to win, Abhimanyu travelled back to the palace to confer with this father.

‘600 years,’ said Uday Singh while running his hand across the ornate arm of the chair he was sitting on, which by all accounts was less than 200 years old. ‘We’ve been ruling this land for 600 years. Ranakpour, the city of kings. And do you know how we were able to rule for so long? Not by cutting deals that would benefit us tomorrow, but by standing by principles that stood the test of time – principles of honesty and service that we as Suryavanshis live and die by. Ask yourself if this proposal will win us power for the next 600 years.’