Page 58

— SAMARTH —

Life had meaning again. That was the dominant thought in his head as he walked down the Al Maktoum International Airport to catch his connecting flight.

Argentinean citizenship primaries in his bag, Ava’s kisses still tasting like peppermint on his mouth, and the excitement to break this news to his Papa mingling with the dread of revealing that he would be moving away.

But Samarth knew it — his Papa would let him go.

He was so desperate to get him married that he would let him go and live abroad for the majority of a year if that’s how it happened.

“Harsh, ask Ajatshatru Kaka and confirm if Rawal’s flight will be taking off on time,” he relayed, clearing his tabs and opening his call log. Samarth searched his contacts list and tapped on Maarani’s. One ringer, two ringers, three ringers.

“Bhaiii!” Sharan’s excited yell deafened his eardrum. Samarth squinted, pushing his phone off his ear.

“Hello, Sharan,” he laughed. “Why so quiet, today?”

“Nana is sleeping.”

“How is Nana?”

“Amazing! We blow into his ball exercise machine together! It’s so much fun.”

“Alright, is Mummy around?”

“Here, here… and, Bhai, did you get my toco toucan book?”

Samarth checked his backpack. The solid encyclopaedia-like weight was heavy. It was a practise to carry any and all of Sharan’s orders in his hand luggage. God forbid his check-in luggage got lost in transit or arrived late!

“I have it. Now give the phone to Mummy.”

“Ok bye… It’s Samarth bhai.”

“Samarth?” Maarani’s voice was concerned. “Are you not on the plane? Your father’s flight is going to take off for Ushuaia soon…”

“Maarani, my flight got delayed and it is still showing a 20-minute delay. Can you take Sharan and drive to Nawanagar?”

“From here…?” She sounded sceptical.

“I know Kaka is recovering from his bypass… but if you can send Sharan with the driver? I won’t be able to reach Nawanagar in time to see him off. At least he should get Sharan to do it.”

“Hmm… let me see if we can reach there in time. Where are you?”

“I am at Al Maktoum. Waiting to board.”

“Ok, I’ll take Sharan and leave. Let me know when you land.”

“Yes, Maarani.”

“Bye, Samarth.”

“Bye, Maarani.”

He glanced at Harsh walking beside him and he showed him his chat with his father.

Rawal’s flight was on time. Samarth winced.

Papa would wait for him, as usual. This had become a ritual for them.

Every time he left on a long expedition, Samarth would be there to see him off at the airstrip.

Today, he wouldn’t be able to reach him on time.

He thought of calling him but checked the time and realised he would be in court.

His phone buzzed and Avantika’s calling banner dropped. Samarth smirked, swiping the answer button and plastering the phone to his ear — “Yes, Raje.”

A sweet giggle. In bed when he called her that she went wild. Outside the bed when he called her that she went mushy melted marshmallow. He loved that.

“You forgot something at my flat.”

“What?”

“A kiss.”

“I got four.”

“I had kept five for you.”

“You like paying high interest on your debts, no?”

“Hey, your flight is still showing delay, Samarth.”

“You are again tracking my flights?”

“I always track your flights.”

His insides stuttered. She stole his heart over and over again. At this rate, he would be melted into marshmallow mush just like her.

“I am sorry…” her voice softened.

“For what?”

“If I hadn’t kept you up all night you wouldn’t have missed your flight this morning.”

“If I recall correctly, it was a two-person job.”

“Still. You might not be able to see off your Papa.”

“I have sent Sharan. If I can’t reach in time, he certainly will.”

“When will he return from Antarctica?”

“In two weeks. I’ll talk to him then.”

“Cool. I will come to India in March first week to start the final fittings for Kresha’s wedding. Are you coming to Paris before that?”

“I might have a trip in Feb-end. Let’s see if I can route it through Paris. If not, then I am coming to Kresha’s wedding anyway. And who knows, my father might take that nariyal and sava rupya to Gwalior before Feb-end.”

“Yeah!” She laughed. "From what you describe, he is ready for you to yell ‘Go.’”

“Exactly… ok, Ava, my flight is announced. I am boarding.”

“Ok, ok, let me know when you land.”

“You message me before I can even take my phone off airplane mode. You let me know when I land, ok?”

“Oh my gawwwd! Indian mother-in-law. Go now! I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Raje.”

————————————————————

The court of Nawanagar smelled faintly of sandalwood and parchment.

Even with the palace's new air conditioning quietly humming behind carved jharokhas, the scent of ink, old paper, and polished wood was inescapable.

The Durbar Hall, with its high ceiling and scalloped arches, held centuries of conversations in its bones — some whispered, some roared.

Samarth sat on the seat to the right of the throne. Not quite the gaadi, but close enough to feel the weight of it. Rawal had tasked him with occupying it and taking the place of acting-Rawal in his absence.

“These acting-Rawal stints don’t mean that I will ever sit on the thr…”

“I know, Samarth. I know. Sharan is young. Do you want me to make him helm court in my absence?”

“No, Rawal.”

After that, every time Rawal was away, Samarth had taken to holding court. This was his third time, and would be his longest stint, considering Rawal wouldn’t return for another week yet.

"Kunwar," came the voice of a wiry man in his fifties, turban slipping back with each pleading gesture. “Mein aa jameen mara lhoy thi jothi chhe. Kripa karo, Kunwar, aa hotal naa banwa dyo. Hu huh karish nitar?” [67]

A younger, immaculate man, stepped forward — “Aa jameen legally maari chhe, Kunwar. Mara Papa e lease par aapeli, daan noti aapi.” [68]

Samarth didn’t sigh. Royals didn’t sigh in public. But he did blink a little longer than necessary before looking to the court secretary — his father’s Diwan. “This one belongs to the revenue division, not the royal court.”

The court secretary nodded. Samarth turned back to the old farmer. “Tame badha kagadiya District Magistrate ne pochadi do. Aano chukado e lavse. Agar emne amara layak kayi madyu, toh aapde paachu a layine aavta athwadiye bessu.” [69]

The farmer folded both his hands and touched them to his forehead. He moved on.

An elderly woman came next, asking for help in restoring a collapsed well near her village. Samarth leaned forward. “ Panchayat paase funds nathi?” [70]

“ MLA na bhai na godown man wapri mukyu, Kunwar, [71] ” she said flatly.

Samarth’s mouth tightened.

He signalled the court scribe. “Get the Jal Shakti Department’s report. If there’s been misappropriation, flag it for the DM and CC the state office. In the meantime —” he paused “—send her village two tankers daily till repairs are approved. From our side.”

A murmur of appreciation rose. Samarth didn’t look up from the docket.

He had inherited his grandmother’s habit of scribbling annotations in the margins of reports.

He remembered her doing that a lot whenever his father brought reports to her.

Right now, his own reports were full of underlines, question marks, and exasperated comments in blue ink. Just like hers.

The session continued. And he did not leave even when the clock struck one.

It was his grandfather’s legacy that his father had continued — no getting off for lunch until the last petitioner to have been admitted before noon is seen to.

Samarth too waited, in spite of knowing there were special guests in the palace today.

A local artist seeking space to exhibit. A dispute over temple donations. A young woman requesting legal aid after being evicted unfairly. Samarth listened, questioned, disbursed solutions, referred where needed, redirected when asked.

For every two issues, one was sent to the district administration. It was bureaucracy — slow, imperfect — but necessary.

And yet, even in this dull, droning carousel of governance, he sat straight, alert, princely. Not out of pride. Out of duty.

Because soon he wouldn’t be able to sit here on a regular basis. He would give it all that he had while he could.

————————————————————

Samarth undid his cuffs and rolled his shirt sleeves as he left the court, veering towards Chandi Haveli.

“Rawal Maan Sinh Devgadh and Rani saheb are here?” He asked the usher as he passed the palace’s main entrance.

“Yes, Kunwar.”

Samarth nodded, a smile automatically stretching his mouth. His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out to check, half-expecting the girl who could not keep mum from the moment she woke up. Even if it was over text.

AVA

Good morning! Or noon. Finished court?

Any fun cases today?

SAMARTH

Not really…

No wait

This cattle herder — his goats were

being seduced by his neighbour’s buck.

AVA

What did Kunwarji decree?

SAMARTH

I told them to separate the goats for a week.

Give them time to ‘cool off.’

And then conduct a supervised reunion

under the watch of the sarpanch.

AVA

Oh. My GAWWWWD!

I’ll die laughing

Please tell me this went into the royal records.

SAMARTH

Scribed. Sealed. Archived for posterity.

One day Sharan’s grandchildren will read about

the Great Goat Mediation of Nawanagar.

I have to go, Maan bhai is here, talk to you later

AVA

:*

Samarth pushed his mobile into his pocket and stepped inside Chandi Haveli to the sounds of Maarani’s laughter.

”Rawal saheb!”

Rawal Maan Sinh Devgadh, the King of Devgadh stood to his feet, his face turned away but his eyes focused sideways at him. He opened his arms in time for Samarth to embrace him.

“Where have you been?” He thumped his back. “I hear you are burning the candle on both ends?”

“Hardly,” he pulled back, folding his hands to his wife — Rani saheb Samriddhi Sinh Devgadh. “Where are the kids?”