Page 64

Samarth clawed his wet hair back and exited the bathroom. The sun was rising on the horizon outside his window, its rays piercing the glass and his eyes. He gazed at its light and at the shadows that the birds flying across the sun painted on his window, and him.

He had lost count of how many days it had been today.

Yesterday he had done a back counting and reached a number.

Today, he considered this a win and moved on to his vanity.

A crisp white kurta and pyjama were set on the hanger.

He left his towel and pulled on the pyjama.

Then pushed his head into the kurta. He had never been one to favour these over his comfortable shirts and polos.

Papa had worn these. After all these days of mourning, it had become his new uniform.

Samarth looked at himself in the mirror.

If he had to bring the palace, Sharan and Maarani out of their mourning then he had to get out of it first. Samarth reached down and pulled the kurta off.

He strode into his walk-in wardrobe and slid the door open to his shirts.

He pulled out a blue shirt. He went to the line of his pants and selected a navy blue one. Belt. Watch. Shoes.

He got dressed and left his room, mobile in hand. He had meetings lined up in Papa’s… his office before court.

“Rawal?” Hira ben’s voice sounded. It took him a second to realise that she was calling out to him. He turned — “Haan, Hira ben?”

“Rajmata would like to see you.”

He nodded and took an about turn. As he crossed her, Hira ben’s face softened, a smile blooming on her mouth while her eyes trailed him from head to toe. He tried to smile back.

“We have to come out, no?” He asked.

Her smile widened. “We have to,” she reached into the small potli of money she carried at her hip, fisted a few notes in her hand and circled it around his face. “Tamara shaurya ne koi ni najar naa laage.” [72]

“Shaurya aavo na hoye. Shaurya ranbhoomi ma hoye.” [73]

“Aa aj ranbhoomi chhe, Rawal.” [74]

Samarth looked down.

“Tame tamari maadi na pet thi kasumbi no ghado peene aavya chho.” [75]

His hair stood on end.

“Pan tyaag karo, toh tyaag samajhta bi seekhjo.” [76]

Samarth swallowed the sound of those words, gave a nod and began to stride towards Rajmata’s chambers.

Hira ben did not know what had happened in the palace that day.

He had ensured that it got completely sealed.

The handful of guards who had been witness to the confrontations in bits and pieces had also been sworn to secrecy by Harsh.

So why did it feel like she knew it? Why did it feel like she could read it in his face?

Samarth reached the door and gave a knock. Two knocks followed by one.

“Come, Samarth,” Maarani called out.

He pushed the door open — “How did you know it’s me?”

She came out of her bedchamber folding some bedding, smiling, and her eyes froze on him. Samarth began to open his mouth to explain when her smile widened. He hadn’t seen that expression on her face in long days.

“This is good,” she nodded at his attire. Joy suffused through him. He glanced down — “It has not been long but…”

“But you boys will move on.”

His head whirled up in surprise. She had folded the bedding and placed it on her sofa.

“Sit, I wanted to talk to you.”

He sat down on the single armchair and she took the long sofa, ready for the day in her pale saree.

“Now that you are the king, you must live like one.”

“What do you mean, Maar… Rajmata?”

“I mean,” she emphasised. “Move into the King’s Chambers. These chambers. I would like to shift closer to Sharan’s chambers.”

“No.”

“Samarth, that’s protocol.”

“No it’s not. Dada Sarkar’s chambers are the original King’s Chambers. He never moved out.”

“Because your Dadi Sarkar was there and Papa did not want to disturb their routine…”

“I do not want to disturb your routine.”

“But I don’t have a routine set with these rooms.”

But you must have memories, he thought.

“No, Rajmata. I understand where you are coming from, but you will not leave these chambers. They belong to Papa and you. I am perfectly happy in mine.”

“Then we need to renovate yours, pull in Sharan’s to make it bigger and give Sharan a new room.”

“Sharan is happy where he is, just as I am. My chambers are enough for me.”

She sighed. The patient smile drained from her face — “We need to change and move into a new world, Samarth.”

He held his arms up — “See?”

Rajmata laughed. Laughed! He smiled, his eyes misting at the sight of her wet eyes laughing. With sorrow and joy and hope. That this could become ok.

“Alright!” She rolled her eyes. “And way to go with that silent sense of humour. It’s going to take you very far in life.”

“I know,” he grinned cheekily. “I practise every night.”

“I know your practise. Every night you bring your papers and files and do nothing but study here,” she pointed to the king’s chambers.

It was their nightly ritual. All three of them would gather there after dinner.

She would work on her thesis, Sharan would allegedly do his homework, and he would catch up on all the businesses and administration history that he was not marked on for all these years.

“Sharan studies too,” Samarth pointed.

“Ha ha. One more joke,” Rajmata deadpanned. “Now go. You need to collect more study materials for tonight.”

“I like reading,” he got to his feet.

“Said no child ever.”

“Alright, yes, it’s taxing,” he admitted. “But the more I finish, the sooner I will get over it.”

“I’ll give you that,” she sat back. “Did you have breakfast?”

“I’ll eat in between meetings.”

“Like you ate yesterday?”

He glanced away sheepishly.

“I did eat a brunch…”

“That same cold poha. Samarth, at least get the food reheated.”

His eyes widened.

“What? Only you can have unnamed sources, Kunwar?”

He loved that she still slipped out Kunwar sometimes. Made him feel like Papa was still alive.

“Alright, I have to move now! Aagya,” he folded his hands and turned on his heels.

“Run, run,” she chuckled. “Giriraj has taught you his superpower of slipping out of difficult conversations.”

“And how!” Samarth hollered, closing the door behind him.

————————————————————

The most dreaded time of the day was lunch.

Between morning and afternoon, his day went so busy that he didn’t even have the time to come up for air, forget thinking about the horrors of the last few weeks.

He assumed the same was true for Sharan with his home school classes and Maarani with her working double-time on completing her environmental philosophy thesis.

But as they would gather on that table for lunch — a second to spare, a minute to think, a meal to go through in that gas chamber of the mind, all three of them would fall silent. Eating had become a chore. Most morsels weren’t even chewed, just swallowed.

Samarth unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves.

He braced himself for another gas chamber as he entered the dining room but found Maarani standing behind Papa’s chair.

He glanced from her to the chair to Sharan sitting not on his own chair but the one that he had occupied all his life — the one next to Papa’s.

“New arrangement, boys,” she announced. “Sharan is on his new seat. Get to yours, Samarth.”

He blinked, horror mushrooming inside him at the idea of occupying that chair.

“Rajmata, let’s…”

“Come on, everybody is hungry,” she pulled the chair back. “Most of all you. Did your daily dose of poha finally bore you?”

He snorted — “I like poha for breakfast.”

“Every day?” Sharan asked incredulously. Samarth strode down the table and shook the top of his head — “Every day.”

“I hate poha!” He made a face as Samarth slid between the table and the chair and sat down, eyeing Rajmata as she took her place to his right.

“Poha is nutritious and our staple breakfast,” she lectured Sharan just as a steaming bowl was brought to the table and placed by his plate.

“And not to be eaten in lunch,” she added, looking pointedly at him.

Samarth smiled, opening his plate to be served — “I had it made for breakfast and skipped it, so it’s only fair that I finish it in lunch.

Sharan, doesn’t Mummy say no wasting food? ”

Sharan glanced at the pot of poha and then at him — “We can feed this nutritious poha to our cows though…”

Samarth threw his head back and laughed, pulling his arm back as a bowl of sev was placed beside his plate.

The servers began to fill Sharan’s and Maarani’s plates with the usual lunch fare — rotli, shaak, kadhi, kathol, salad.

He waved it all away and sprinkled a generous amount of sev on his poha.

“Bring kachumbar for Rawal’s poha,” Rajmata ordered.

“Oh no, this is fine,” he spooned a bite and closed his mouth around it.

“You eat poha with sev? Since when?”

“Your unnamed sources are failing, Rajmata,” he cocked his head.

“I’ll have to tighten them up.”

“I want sev too!” Sharan demanded.

“It comes with poha,” Samarth announced.

“Bhaiii!” He began to reach around his plate but Samarth blocked him.

“With poha or none at all.”

“Mummy!” He whined.

“Don’t come to me. You and Bhai sort it out.”

“One spoon sev and one piece poha,” the little trickster bargained.

Samarth filled his spoon with poha and placed one tiny piece of sev atop it. Sharan scowled, making him mix it back into his plate and fill his spoon with a generous amount of sev and a little poha. If this is how he started, it was a good start.

“Open your mouth.”

Sharan eyed the spoon like it was poison. His lips parted just a smidge, ready to spit out like a little baby. Samarth just stuffed the bite in and held the spoon over his mouth to keep it in, making Rajmata chuckle. Sharan chewed, swallowing it down without any protest.

“How was it?”