Page 107

— TARA —

Tara grasped the pallu of her kasumbi saree and wrapped it around her shoulder, stopping right outside the open main doors of the Court of Nawanagar.

The last time she had walked to this court with a purpose was in a white saree, Samarth behind her, her head finally settled in peace.

Today, Hira ben was behind her, a dossier in hand.

“Ghoshna karo,” Hira ben commanded the guards.

They looked befuddled to see her on this main door that was used by the royal family only on ceremonial occasions.

It was reserved for the people of Nawanagar when they came to their Rawal for justice.

Tara nodded at the line of citizens leaving, their hands folding to her, their heads bowing.

She had chosen a time when the last of them would be moving out.

“Rajmata durbar maa padhare chhe!” The guard’s booming, ear-splitting cry echoed across the alley, freezing the citizens walking out of the court. Tara took one step forward and crossed the threshold of the court. The small crowd of citizens parted for her, heads bowing, hands folding.

The ministers sitting on both sides of the hall began to rise to their feet, Samarth’s eyes rising from the iPad he was being handed over by his Prime Minister. Murmurs of citizens moving out trailed and the doors of the court closed behind them as per Hira ben’s orders.

Samarth’s eyes met hers and stuttered. He began to get to his feet when Tara stopped in the middle of the court. He stood, three steps above her, standing in front of the throne that had caused a lifetime of grief between them. And inside him.

“Rawal,” Tara nodded. “Are members of the royal family allowed to petition in your court?”

Samarth blinked. His eyes shifted to his right without moving his head. Tara knew who was sitting there. His father.

Siddharth must have given him a nod.

“Yes, Rajmata,” Samarth announced, his voice loud and clear. She detected the slight tremor in his last syllable that nobody else did.

“Then I bring my petition to you in hope for justice,” she nodded as Hira ben passed the padded dossier like the one he had made for his exit to his Prime Minister.

The court fell into pin-drop silence. Vishwajeet opened the file as was protocol, reading through the petition before briefing Rawal. Tara stood there, unmoved, waiting.

Vishwajeet’s face remained as impassive as ever as he passed the file to Samarth. Unlike their usual practise, Samarth did not ask him to summarise it. Tara knew why.

He took the dossier silently and read. His eyes whirled up to his court and he opened his mouth — “This petition will be taken behind closed doors…”

“I ask for a public hearing,” Tara cut him off, prepared for that out. Samarth’s face hardened.

“Will the Prime Minister summarise it for the court or am I to present my case?”

“Prime Minister will summarise,” Samarth gave Vishwajeet a look. She knew that look well too — manage this.

Vishwajeet accepted the dossier back, stood on the step below the throne and began very carefully — “Rajmata has petitioned the Court of Nawanagar, asking if she has the right to choose the next heir of Nawanagar,” he spun the document.

“In my humble opinion, Nawanagar’s succession laws for the throne are based on primogeniture, Rawal.

The eldest son of Rawal becomes the next Rawal, unless he abdicates or commits a crime listed under Article 7 of our bylaws that is tried and proved in this court… ”

“Prime Minister, I believe you skipped the first part of my petition.”

Vishwajeet looked at her with panicked eyes. “I assure you, I summarised the petition, Rajmata…”

“I do not believe your summary was apt. I plead to present my case.”

“I read the folder,” Samarth interrupted. “I agree with Prime Minister…”

“Rawal,” Siddharth’s voice boomed from her left. “It is not this court’s practise to hand out a verdict without hearing the petitioner to their satisfaction.”

Samarth looked at her, she looked at him. It was a battle of wills. And he knew he was losing. He nodded — “Please proceed, Rajmata.”

Tara tipped her chin high — “I married into this illustrious dynasty of Solanki on the base of an oath and a promise.”

Samarth startled. This was never said out loud in public, forget the court of his ancestors. Rumours, whispers, assumptions — yes. But never words on the lips of those who were directly involved in it.

“Stop scribing,” he ordered. The court scribe’s typing hands stilled on his laptop.

“I would like this to go on record,” she declared. Her eyes fell on the scribe — Naren bhai, a loyal courtier of Siddharth’s. He looked torn.

“Isn’t it a petitioner’s right to make their case on record, Rawal?” Tara asked.

A beat. Samarth nodded. He looked like he was in control of his decisions, but she knew better. At this point, he could break into a run or climb atop his horse and blast off. That was how on edge he was.

“The oath you took in my house, in front of my parents and me was witnessed by your bodyguard, Harsh.”

The scribe’s typing ticks resumed.

“You took an oath, swearing to water, that you will ensure that my heirs would rule Nawanagar one day, so that my parents could be assured of my security in this kingdom. You further promised that you would remain unattached so that no threat ever rose to my heirs. I call upon Harsh to confirm if what I say is true, Rawal.”

All eyes of the court turned to Harsh, who stood unmoved behind his Rawal’s throne. Samarth did not need to glance back because Harsh nodded. This was the truth.

“Yes, Rajmata.”

“Ten years later, when we all believed Bade Rawal to have passed in Antarctica, and Nawanagar needed its next ruler, you called upon your oath and chose Sharan as the next Rawal. I set you free from your oath, drank that water, and commanded you to take the throne because you deserved this throne and this throne deserved you. There were no witnesses in that room save you and me, Rawal. I call upon you to confirm if what I said is true.”

Samarth did not even bat an eyelid. “It’s true.”

“You took the throne of Nawanagar as its steward and not as its king. You did not reveal this to anybody but me last evening. Is that true, Rawal?”

The court scribe’s typing fingers stopped. Silence fell in the court.

“True.”

“Does that mean then, that as Rajmata of Nawanagar, I have the obligation to choose my heir?”

“Yes.”

“My eldest son is taking care of my dynasty’s throne as a steward. I hence choose his daughter as the heir to Nawanagar’s throne.”

Samarth’s eyes widened. The court erupted in murmurs.

She glanced at Siddharth in her periphery, sitting back with pride in his eyes.

She had taken him into confidence earlier this morning but he had looked unconvinced.

He had still helped her draft her petition and handed her the folder with a squeeze of her shoulder.

Right now he looked like he would squeeze her whole and never let go.

“Rawal,” Vishwajeet cued.

“The Women's Inheritance Bill has been quashed by Bade Rawal in his time,” Samarth countered. “Nawanagar ’s succession is primogeniture.”

“That bill was originally titled ‘Royal Family Inheritance Bill’ and not ‘Women’s Inheritance Bill.’ It changed the definition of primogeniture in Gujarat Royal Families from first son to first child. Moreover, what has been overturned for all of Gujarat can still be instated in Nawanagar.”

Samarth’s mouth was tight. His court was quiet. Tara took that as her opening.

“Nawanagar is the legacy of Maarani Maithili Sinh Solanki who bore the storm of her husband’s paralysis at a tender age and guided her young son and a turbulent Nawanagar with sharp economic acumen and quiet strength,” she glanced at Siddharth.

“Nawanagar was protected from the evil eye of the British by Rajmata Anusuya Devi Solanki when her Rawal martyred fighting for the peace of his borders. Nawanagar has seen the sun rise brighter and lakes dug deeper during the reign of Rawal Chattar Raj Sinh Solanki who sat his Maarani beside him on this very throne and made her his Prime Minister,” Tara’s voice rose, the words coming from deep inside her stomach.

“And I haven’t even gone beyond the 19th Century. ”

She collected her breath, the silence now deafening.

“Every child, every bird, every speck of dust on this land recognises that Nawanagar has always been guided by its matriarchs,” she glanced at Hira ben at her flank.

“Kings have sat on the throne but queens have run this kingdom. By a stroke of fate or by their own interest, somehow queens have found themselves in decision-making places. Is it wrong now to think about them making their own place on the throne as well, Rawal?”

“It is not as simple as that, Rajmata…” Samarth began to dismiss her plea.

“I agree. Many considerations will go into it. What about a Maarani’s husband?

What about his family, his gotra, his background?

How will he fit into our dynasty? Will it dilute the sanctity, the authenticity, the values of our lineage?

These, and many more questions have been debated and continue to be debated in courts across Gujarat, including Jamnagar, Devgadh, Baroda and Bhavnagar.

Until we ask the questions of ourselves, we will not begin to seek answers. ”

“I stand with Rajmata,” Siddharth conceded. None of the courtiers said a word.

“Nawanagar cannot afford to lose a Rawal such as you,” Tara implied, bringing this very public spectacle to its climax. “Neither is it so backward that it cannot see what your daughter can bring to the future of its citizens. Rawal, it is hence my plea that Kumari Brahmi Sinh Solanki be my heir.”

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“You blindsided me!” Samarth thundered at her in the confines of his bedchamber. “In my court!”

He was so angry, she could see the veins pop up in his temple.