Epilogue
EPILOGUE
H is Highness Ranvijay Singh Rathore, the thirty-one-year-old Maharaja of the erstwhile princely state of Mirpur, was a marked man.
He recognised the look in his mother’s eyes. It was a peculiar glint that she reserved only for her victims. She hadn’t turned that look on him until now, but he recognised it all the same. His mother wanted him to be married.
He waited for her to bring it up because he knew that the person who spoke first usually lost the upper hand in a negotiation. If his mother had something to say, she must bring it up. He also knew that if she did broach the topic, it was going to turn into a fight. Ranvijay would give his right arm to avoid a fight with his mother right now because he would come out of it looking like a monster.
Because only a monster would fight with an elderly woman who had just returned from a hospital stay. Especially since he was the one who put her there in the first place.
“Did you take your medicines?” he asked her as he scanned her face for any sign of illness.
“Sannata has turned into a drill sergeant,” grumbled Nandini Devi, the Rani Ma of Mirpur, referring to her maid of forty years who had come into the palace as part of her bridal entourage. The rest of the entourage including the footmen and groomsmen were long gone. All she had left in the way of loyalists were her maid and her bawarchi.
“I’m glad,” replied Ranvijay, as Sannata placed a bowlful of khichdi before his mother.
She grimaced at the bland fare and turned a hopeful face towards her maid.
“Sannata, get me some of that spicy jhinga pickle sent by the Rani Ma of Trikhera,” she ordered.
Sannata snorted in response and pulled out a neatly folded sheet of paper from the pocket of her lehenga. She refused to wear the livery worn by the rest of the Maharaja’s staff and he didn’t have the heart to force her to conform because she didn’t need a uniform to show that her loyalty belonged to the palace.
“This diet sheet clearly says no pickle or papad,” she read out.
“Prawns are protein,” argued the Rani Ma.
“Nice try, Ma,” said Ranvijay with a grin. “Eat your khichdi and tell me what you did today.”
The Rani Ma sighed and turned a sad, but brave face his way.
“Well, Kumudini brought Sangram for a visit. It was… nice,” she said tactfully.
“What did Kaki Sa say this time?” he asked, knowing that his aunt revelled in creating drama.
“Well, it’s just the way she looked at everything around the house. With a sense of ownership. As if she couldn’t wait to move into my bedroom, and have Sangram move into yours. Sannata told me that Sangram went into the throne room and bowed his head before the gaddi,” she said unhappily.
Ranvijay set his fork on his plate with a thud, the delicious lamb biryani turning to ashes in his mouth at the thought of his useless cousin eyeing the gaddi, which was the symbol of the Mirpur family’s power.
“Why was he allowed in there?” he demanded.
“He didn’t ask for permission,” said the Rani Ma drily. “He seems to think that as first in line to inherit the title and estate, he can go wherever he likes.”
“He won’t outlive me for too long, Ma. He’s only two years younger than me,” he sneered.
“Hmm, but he’s also not prone to doing stupid things that could get him killed well before his time,” countered his mother.
Ranvijay sighed heavily because it looked like she really wasn’t going to let him live down the humiliating events of last month. He had helped his friends, Ranveer and Randheer, shut down a huge cocaine lab in the desert. Instead of focusing on that important fact, his mother preferred to focus on the fact that he and his friends were almost blown up in the lab.
“Let it go, Ma,” he said with a sigh. “I came back safe and sound.”
“Only because Isha arrived in time to save the three of you,” snapped the Rani Ma. ‘I’ve never been as frightened as I was when her mother called me to tell me what the three of you had been doing.”
A pang of guilt smote Ranvijay when he remembered that the fright had sent his mother’s blood pressure soaring and she’d had to be hospitalised for a few days. He wished she had never found out about the events of that night. But trying to keep something secret in Trikhera palace was virtually impossible, and since the Rani Ma of Trikhera was a close friend of his mother’s, it didn’t take too long for her to rat him out.
“Beta, I know I can’t stop you from doing what you think is right,” his mother went on. “I will never interfere with your duty. All I ask is that you make a formal will naming your successor because you have seven cousins who will fight to the death for the contents of this palace. Sangram is the oldest and most closely related to us. Make him the Yuvarajkumar,” she suggested.
“Over my dead body,” roared Ranvijay.
His cousins were all entitled idiots, and he’d rather donate his wealth to charity than have them fighting over the pieces.
“I’m glad you feel so strongly about it,” said the Rani Ma primly, and Ranvijay felt the first stirrings of danger. “Because it’s not too late to remedy the situation.”
Damn it! He’d walked right into her trap.
“Ma, I know what you’re thinking. But it’s out of the question,” he replied angrily.
“Hear me out, beta,” she begged. “I know you still miss Devika, but she’s been dead for nine years now. It’s time to move on.”
“No,” replied Ranvijay starkly.
He didn’t know what he was denying. That he missed his dead wife or that it was time to move on. Because the truth was that he had been married to a lying, cheating, vicious harpy. You couldn’t miss someone like that even if you tried. As for moving on, he’d moved on alright. He had moved on from his wife and a failed marriage which left him feeling frustrated and trapped. And he had no desire to ever be in that position again.
“I know you will never be able to replace her, but you need an heir if you don’t want stupid Sangram to inherit everything you hold dear. And I know that if anything were to happen to you, he and his mother would boot me out of my own home,” said his mother, making a show of wiping her dry eyes on her napkin.
“No,” he repeated firmly.
“But I have the perfect girl in mind,” began his mother.
“I. Said. No,” growled Ranvijay. “Go play your matchmaking games with someone else. I’m not playing.”
The Rani Ma threw her napkin on the table.
“I’m not playing either, Ranvijay. I’ve allowed you to grieve in peace for years, but now you need to remember your duty to your title and your family. The Maharaja of Mirpur must have an heir,” she cried.
And so it was that the very grumpy Maharaja of Mirpur found himself on his way to meet his prospective second wife, Kavya Kumari, the princess of Sajjangarh.
“ I need a minute, Ma. You go on in,” said Ranvijay gruffly when they drew up in the courtyard of Sajjangarh Palace.
The yoke of responsibility felt like a noose around his neck and he was very tempted to turn around and drive back all the way to Mirpur.
“Don’t be too long,” chided his mother as she stepped out of the car.
Ranvijay took a few deep breaths and rolled up the sleeves of his linen kurta before he stepped out of the car.
Before he had taken a few steps, a woman came around the side of the house holding a tray of flowers. When she met Ranvijay’s eyes, she smiled sweetly and his heart clenched hard. As did other parts of his body.
He held her gaze as they both walked towards the small welcome committee waiting by the palace doors.
“Shivina, get back into the house,” said a dour-looking woman sharply, and the mystery woman gave him one last quick look before she disappeared into the house.
“Pardon me, Your Highness. That was our estate manager’s daughter, who doesn’t always remember that she’s supposed to use the staff entrance,” said the Rani of Sajjangarh with an uncomfortable laugh, as she led Ranvijay and his mother into the house. “Welcome to our humble home. Kavya’s dying to meet her future husband.”