Chapter 9
The lavender gray of early dawn lingered in the skies as I tiptoed across the diamond-patterned dhurrie rug at the base of my bed.
Nobody had come up yet, so I could get ready in peace.
I ignored the sari and blouse that had been laid out for me and went to a zigzagging rosewood screen in the corner of my room.
Thankfully, the heavy satinwood trunk I’d kept there was still undisturbed.
My fingers glided over the pine inlays carved into intricate hibiscus blossoms, and I grunted as I lifted the heavy lid.
A rainbow of brightly colored embroidered cloth greeted me within.
This trunk contained many of my favorite outfits—the lehenga cholis I had worn until about a year ago.
After my sister’s wedding, I became eligible for marriage and was expected to wear saris daily.
But no sari could compare to the comfort of the short-cropped tops and long skirts that had been stuffed into this trunk at my uncle’s command.
I dug through the clothes until I found my favorite: a plain, sea green blouse and a billowing skirt in matching fabric with white leaves and gold birds embroidered all over it.
The golden dupatta was patterned with small white flowers, and I threw the long piece of cloth over my shoulder as I finished getting dressed.
Instinctively, I reached for my bangles and payal but decided against them.
They would make too much noise, and I didn’t want to attract attention.
There was only one thing I really needed before I left: my tambura.
Dawn’s soft light enhanced its glossy jackwood, giving it a warm luster.
I ran my fingers over the four-stringed instrument fondly before picking it up and stepping out into the hall.
Gripping the strings of my tambura to keep the droning instrument silent, I made my way out of the fort and toward the gardens.
The servants and guards that scurried through the halls stopped only to bow to me.
None asked where I was going or why I was up this early.
No doubt they all had enough to do without worrying about the whims of a cranky rajkumari, but I was thankful for their indifference. And their silence.
The morning mist still sprinkled the ground, wetting my feet as I made my way to the fort’s gardens.
Green leaves shone with the gloss of dew as the sun peeked over the horizon, and I relished the stillness of the grounds.
The gardens ran from the side of the fort all the way to the back wall that abutted the cliff above our port.
Gulls squawked as they circled in the skies and then disappeared beyond the wall as they dived into the sea in search of their breakfast.
I passed through the marble archway to the gardens and walked the winding paths to the farthest seaside wall.
It was covered in madhumalti vines, and clusters of spiky pink flowers hung in clumps, filling the air with their powdery, sweet scent.
Bees buzzed in their desperate search for any remaining nectar in the blossoms, which had opened at dusk.
When I reached the far corner of the wall, I checked over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching before I moved a clump of vines to reveal a ringed door handle.
I threw my weight into the hidden door, and it creaked open, leading me into a secluded stepwell.
The large rectangular area was hollowed deep into the earth.
It had stone walls on all four sides and was filled with water at the bottom, where pink-and-white lotuses bobbed in the reflection of the sky.
With one hand gripping the neck of my tambura and another running along the wall, I descended the stairs that zigzagged down to the base.
When I reached the bottom, I inhaled deeply, embracing the cool, moist air that filled me.
My favorite platform was just above the water’s edge, and I climbed onto it, making sure not to scratch or jostle my tambura.
Here, facing away from the entrance, I could imagine myself sitting in a world of my own.
The wind rustled above, but down here it was just me, the water, and the flowers.
And an adaiman.
I chuckled. “How did you find me already? I haven’t even started playing.”
He cocked his head at me, fanning his feathers out behind him, and he waited.
“Fine, keep your secrets.” I sat cross-legged and strummed my tambura, wincing as the twanging strings sang in dissonance. “I’ll get started soon. But you have to let me tune first.”
With a chirp of acknowledgment, the adaiman settled into a spot on the platform, just beyond my lehenga’s hem. Its green feathers barely glowed in the dim light of the emerging dawn. Even now, it would be easy to mistake the luminescence for luster. But I knew better.
After tuning until I was satisfied, I played again. The knots in my shoulders relaxed as the strings reverberated in harmony. More adaiman clustered around me, and the first one pecked angrily when another tried to stand between him and me. The newly landed bird scurried to a place at the side.
Sometimes I wondered what drew them to the sound of the tambura.
There was no denying the power of the instrument and its ability to carry its sadness, but its aching notes longed for a melody even if—perhaps especially if—played by someone skilled.
So, I sang as I played, following the melodies as they led the way from one to the next without a thought to guide them.
I sang of the moon and the stars, of dreams and disillusionment, of first love and last heartbreak.
The adaiman were still as they listened.
Their feathers lost all trace of their light as the sun rose higher.
Even the walls of the sunken stepwell began to reflect the sky’s pink hues.
My fingertips warmed in the sun’s rays, and I launched into my favorite song—a song of longing and love destined to be lost in wonder.
A thump behind me cut my song short. The adaiman chirped angrily and swirled toward the man standing on the nearby stairs. I stood and spun to face him, but the little birds created a fluttering green curtain between us.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I froze. I knew that voice. The adaiman calmed as one of them chirped to the others. They came back to me, circling my skirts before settling down on the platform.
Raja Lakshmappa stared at me, and color rose to his cheeks. “It’s you.”
“And it is you.” I cleared my throat. “Raja Lakshmappa Arasa, where is your horse?”
“He is probably getting a snack in your stables,” the raja replied. “Your uncle asked for a private meeting this morning before we present ourselves later, so I came with only a few guards to avoid attracting attention.”
“That’s quite an early start to your day.” I fought the urge to interrogate him about why it was necessary for them to meet in secret.
He smiled shyly. “It was actually my second stop. First, I went to the turmeric fields to pay for the crops I ruined yesterday and to thank you properly. Imagine my surprise when they told me that nobody at the farm matched the description I gave.”
“You went to pay for the turmeric?” I forgot my irritation.
“Yes. I never forget a debt.” He frowned. “And the farmers shouldn’t have to pay for my poor horsemanship. That’s their livelihood.”
Perhaps he was not quite as stupid as I’d thought. Silly, but not heartless. I tipped my head at him. “I agree, but I cannot say as much for all the rajas I have met. I am thankful you think the way you do and am grateful for your respect toward the farmers of Ullal.”
“I am happy to hear we are in agreement.” He smiled and walked toward me but stopped short of the platform as he held up my dupatta, making sure its embroidered edges never brushed the ground. “I think this might be yours. I found it in the door.”
“Thank you.” I stepped off the platform, close enough to see the dimples framing his smile. An adaiman nuzzled my cheek. “I didn’t realize it had gotten caught.”
“Well, I am happy for the chance to rescue something of yours. Even if my rescue was a little less daring.”
He enveloped my eyes with his as he extended the dupatta toward me.
I took the gauzy fabric from him, and our fingertips brushed against each other through the cloth, but neither of us withdrew our hands.
Instead, we let them linger for a moment.
Warmth filled me—from his gentle hands, my burning cheeks, or the risen sun, I couldn’t be sure.
But I became light and glowing and oddly fluttery.
It was probably the sun.
I took the dupatta from him and draped it over my shoulder, breaking away from his gaze and pretending to have an immense interest in the adaiman.
There had to be something I could say. It didn’t even have to be clever; I just needed a thought I could articulate.
Nothing came. I’d never felt this empty headed in my life.
Even when Thevan and I had started to drift closer, it had been nothing like this.
Thevan didn’t have this man’s smooth words or eager smile—he and I had simply been side by side, as we always had been.
But this was different. This man was . . . was wooing me.
And I had no idea what to do with that.
I gripped the tambura so tight that I could feel the strings indenting my fingers. What right did he have to come here and make me so uncomfortable in my favorite hiding place?
“How did you find me?” I blurted out. The adaiman on my shoulder puffed its chest and pecked angrily at the raja.
“I followed one of the adaiman,” he said, gesturing down to one of the small birds, who ducked its head as the adaiman on my shoulder admonished it.
“It flew past just as we were leaving. This is only the second time I’ve seen an adaiman, so I followed him here.
To you. The Spirits must have known I’d hoped to catch a glimpse of you. ”
He glanced up at me and caught his breath. When he saw my blush, he looked down at the birds again. “You’ve managed to attract quite a crowd of them. I’ve never even heard of so many adaiman congregating together before.”
“They like it when I play.” I hardly recognized the shy voice coming from my mouth. “They’ve come ever since I was little.”
“You are, indeed, Spirits blessed.” He looked at me with unabashed wonder. “You attract the adaiman, sing and play the tambura, ride horses with ease, and rescue rajas. Is there anything you cannot do?”
“Hold my tongue.” I smiled, but it quickly disappeared as I blanched at the thought of what my uncle would say if he heard me quip like this with the man he wanted me to marry.
“That is well.” The raja locked my gaze with his. “I would hear you speak if it meant I could hear no other sound in the world.”
Those eyes. They would pull me into the ocean until I couldn’t feel the sand beneath my feet.
One of his curls dropped in front of his left eye as he tipped his head down to look at me.
I caught myself before I extended my hand to move it from his face, and I commanded my heart to stop fluttering.
Thankfully, the raja didn’t notice as he reached up with his long fingers and fixed it himself.
My heart beat through my chest as I gripped the neck of my tambura with both hands and took a step backward.
Good natured as he may be, I didn’t want to marry him.
Having a pleasant laugh and an enchanting pair of eyes didn’t make him a good husband.
He was still the silly man who preferred the easy life and had destroyed a perfectly good turmeric field as a direct result of one of his exercises in vanity.
And had gone to pay for the damages first thing the next day.
No, no. It was better to marry a man who would never get on a horse he couldn’t control. I took a deep breath and met the raja’s eyes, refusing to get swept away, but before I could speak, a rumbling voice rang through the open door and over the stepwell.
“Raja Lakshmappa!”
The raja winced. “That’s Vishwajeet. I should go. Otherwise, he’ll send everyone down after me. This place is too precious to be sullied by so many footsteps.”
As he turned to leave, all the adaiman launched themselves off the platform and swirled around me and the raja, surrounding us in a column of flashing green feathers. They circled and then swung up and out of the stepwell, leaving us below as we stared.
“That is the second most beautiful sight I have seen today.” Raja Lakshmappa gave me a meaningful look before turning to the stairs as he said, “I will make sure I see you again soon.”
My mouth went dry, and my legs turned to jelly, but I forced myself to stand straight. He ascended the stairs to the doorway, two steps at a time, then turned and gave me a small bow before leaving.
The door clunked shut behind him, restoring the sanctity of my space. But my knees had had enough. They buckled, and my skirt billowed out in a circle around me as I collapsed to the ground in a heap. The strings of my tambura cried out and argued with each other as I fell.
This would all be much easier if he weren’t so charming.