Page 62

“Here, Raje,” Ananya passed her the brick that she set atop the wet layer of cement amid soft applause.

Avantika kept her smile in place as she accepted the coconut from their Rajguru and cracked it open on the brick, sprinkling its water around the pit.

These rituals were ingrained into her since she was a young girl, having done bhoomi poojan for countless temples, houses, roads and highways in their kingdom.

This one was for a state-sponsored play school and daycare centre where working parents would be able to drop their children at a sparing fee.

The country was progressing to working families, their state was keeping up in providing facilities to make that lifestyle easier.

This land had been donated by Kaka Maharaj, and she was sent from the family because she was the youngest and the only one who wasn’t drowned in wedding prep.

Even after her mother’s numerous attempts to pull her into shopping and trials, Avantika would always find herself lost, wandering, in a corner or by a window.

Like some lovesick fool. She knew she wasn’t a lovesick fool.

She was drowning in thoughts of him — wondering how difficult things must be for him, how would he be going through the motions, how would he be managing everything singlehandedly.

Moreover, how would he be dealing with his father’s death.

He hadn’t called her again so she had called him, and continued calling him every night. They didn’t talk for more than a few minutes every night. And those were courteous exchanges.

Did you eat?

Yes.

Are you sleepy?

Yes.

What is this Garud Puran that they are telecasting live from your palace?

It’s the story of Garud, births, rebirths and moksh that is told when somebody passes in our families.

Is that Sharan crying?

No.

Things like that. He would always be tired and go to bed. She would try to sleep, consoling herself that she had heard his voice and he sounded ok.

“Raje?” She startled. Her eyes whirled up and Rajguruji smiled, holding a bowl of kumkum paste — “Swastik banaiye.”

She nodded, dipped the tip of her right ring finger in the paste and began scribing a red swastik on the brown mud. Petals and akshat were sprinkled atop it and she pulled herself up to her feet, holding her saree pallu tight around her shoulders as photographs were taken.

“Thank you, thank you, Raje. This daycare and many more like these will bring Gwalior in the race for tier 2 cities,” the MLA who had championed this movement bowed his head to her.

“You are right,” she smiled. “Women empowerment, employment and opportunities are not enough. Our women need to know that their children will also be taken care of by the state. I commend your efforts.”

More conversations, more photo-ops, more folded hands and bowed heads.

Avantika nodded and smiled through them all.

When it was over, she blinked at Ananya and they started walking towards the car.

Her first instinct was to grab her mobile and call Samarth.

Today was his Papa’s Terva. It would have ended by now.

But she held her instincts. It would have to wait until she reached the palace and her bedroom.

They settled in the car and it turned out of the open property and into the busy street of their city.

Avantika messed with Instagram, doom-scrolling to take her mind off its own doom.

Her thumb scrolled then scrolled back up.

She did a double-take. Was it… She zoomed in and it was .

She read the caption and it was . How was this possible?

In a dramatic and unexpected turn of events, Samarth Sinh Solanki — eldest son of the late HH Rawal Siddharth Sinh Solanki — has been crowned the next King of Nawanagar.

Speculation had long swirled around the royal succession, with many anticipating that the late king’s younger son would take the throne, allegedly backed by the Queen.

But the kingdom witnessed a remarkable twist: the Queen herself initiated the sacred Rajtilak during a full court assembly of ministers, bureaucrats, and state dignitaries.

Royal insiders say the succession decision may have been influenced by some family vultures ready to usurp the throne, but for now, the throne has found its rightful heir.

Rawal Samarth Sinh Solanki is the next king in the illustrious lineage of Solanki dynasty that dates back 800 years…

Stunned, Avantika took a screenshot of the image and zoomed in on the face.

Samarth. In a white kurta-pyjama, sitting on the throne, head bowed…

his stepmother smearing tilak on his forehead.

The car zoomed in through the palace gates and she didn’t even wait for the guard to open her door.

She pushed it open herself and dashed for her room.

Locking the doors shut, her breath swelling with every swipe of her finger, she pulled up his contact and pressed the call button. Ring. Ring. Ring.

Avantika scoffed, ending the call. She opened her chat to Harsh. He would reply. He always replied to her — promptly. She began to type a message when Samarth’s calling banner darkened the top of her screen.

“Samarth!” She plastered it to her ear. “What’s going on?”

Silence.

“Samarth? It’s you? Are you there?”

Silence again.

“Samarth? Are you ok?”

Bad thoughts hit her. Worse thoughts. Had something happened…?

“Yes,” his voice broke that crazy chain of paranoia. “I am here.”

“Oh my god, what is this? I just saw something on Instagram. Is it AI-generated? The photo looked legitimate… are you… the king of Nawanagar?”

A pause. Then — “Yes.”

“But… how? That woman has been after your life for all these years! How did she do this? Is… what’s the catch?”

“There is no catch. Sharan is very young. And there are forces that might become stronger under an unstable Rawal.”

“Like? Is the king in danger? Is that why that woman put you on the throne?”

“No. Nobody is in danger. My father’s first cousin and his mother have had their eyes on the throne ever since a bill was introduced for women to inherit the throne.

Papa got a court order to settle that but they have not given up.

The public sentiment has been slightly bitter towards Maarani and the rumours that she made me renounce the throne.

Now if that happens, the people of Nawanagar may not fully accept Sharan.

Over time, and with these forces working, that might turn into more. We are avoiding that.”

“So this is temporary?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Are you ok? You… your oath…?”

“Maarani released me from my oath.”

Avantika began to smile.

“But my promise stands.”

Her smile froze. “As in?”

“I had promised that her children would rule Nawanagar one day and that will happen. I will pass on the throne to Sharan when he is ready.”

“As you should. But he needs you to be his rock right now…”

“I cannot have any future with you now.”

“Excuse me?”

“There will be no contest to Sharan’s claim to the throne. I am sorry, Ava. I am backing off. I can’t marry you.”

“Like marry me now-now, right? This year you can’t marry me, right?”

“Ava…”

“It’s ok. We can postpone it for a few years… until you get things stabilised in Nawanagar. I am in…”

“I am not.”

Avantika stared at the parrot jumping from branch to branch outside her window. Its tail fanned, then closed. Fanned, then closed.

“Ava?”

“But… we decided, na?” Words tumbled out of her.

“Huh? First we… we weren’t doing this. We were going to be friends.

And then you said that you will do this, we will live far away, not come here, our children will not be royals, and…

let’s do that. You can still travel up and down.

I will never claim your time or stop you or hold you back.

And I swear our children will never claim your throne or anything from that land. I assure you…”

“Ava.”

She snapped her mouth shut, realising how pathetic it sounded. How desperate.

“I swear, Samarth, I will bring up our children to never claim your Nawanagar! I swear!” She opened her mouth and still went on, even more desperate.

“I cannot leave Nawanagar. I cannot do this anymore. And this time, please move on. This is it from me. I am a weak, helpless man now, more helpless than I was then. It was my lapse in judgement that I thought this could even happen between us.”

“No! No way! Are you fucking crazy? I have everything planned out! My notice period is planned. I was going to tell Kresha about you!”

“Forget it and move on, Ava.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“This is it. I am very sorry.”

Before she could think of more creative cusses the line went dead. Enraged, she pressed the call button again. It rang once and got disconnected. She called again and the same response. What the actual fuck? He had blocked her?

Avantika stared at the wallpaper on her phone — the sunrise from their window in Arezzo, taken when she had been closed in his arms and he had been laying kissing across her back.

Bile rose to her throat and she tossed the phone on the bed, running to the bathroom.

Like a pathetic, wretched teenager, she cried and puked, her saree soiling, her hair in the way, everything in the way.

Who would she fight for this now? Samarth, time or god?

————————————————————

Seven days. Seven days of her digestive system growing weaker and weaker. If it wasn’t vomiting in the day then it was loosies by night. She would feel hungry by midday and even eat to keep her family happy. But nothing worked to bring her body and mind any semblance of peace.

For a girl who had the rest of her life figured out at 15, she was clueless at 26.

With a job in hand, an apartment in Paris, a set routine in that city with good friends, she was suddenly free-floating in space.

And this feeling in the middle of glitter and sparkles of joy in the palace as Kresha’s wedding came closer.