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Without thinking what it would taste like, he used his fingers to make a morsel and closed his mouth around it.

It wasn’t spicy. The curd mellowed it all.

Like fuel had hit his stomach, he reached down for more and kept eating, finishing the mixed portion off before he knew what he was doing.

Rajmata’s hand came again with more rice and more dal.

She mixed the curd in and recreated the same lemon yellow heap for him, the rice again pulverised to porridge. Samarth kept eating.

When he came up for air, he realised he had eaten the rice in his own plate as well as hers.

“You haven’t even started eating?”

“I’ll eat. How do you feel?”

“Full.”

“Good. I’ll order some ice cream in a while so that these medicines don’t burn your stomach.”

He sat back and stared at her. She hadn’t slept well all night, hadn’t bathed, had changed his bedsheets, mixed his food, was hungry for who knew how long, and was still planning his next meal.

With a palace full of staff, she was here, as if moving away would make him disappear.

The food he had eaten had tasted contending.

Now it settled in a cooling heap at the base of his stomach.

“Up and about already?” Papa’s happy boom broke his chain of thoughts. Samarth glanced at the door and Papa was striding in, his white kurta and pyjama glowing in the sunshine from the window. “You ate?”

“Over-ate,” Samarth chuckled. “Evidently, I ate Rajmata’s food too.”

Papa smiled, his hand landing on the top of his head and giving it a shake.

“Change of duty,” he informed Rajmata. “Go take a shower and eat.”

She smiled, sitting back — “Where is Sharan?”

“Flying high as a kite in the palace. He is in recovery, you are focused on Samarth, and there are 2-litre bottles of soft drinks passed around.”

Rajmata laughed, the voice satisfied and tired. She made no move to leave.

“It’s alright, Rajmata, go. My fever is down.”

“I know. It spikes at night. But since you are eating today, I think it won’t be spiking that bad. Take a break and then again start with the liquids. I am sending a 2-litre bottle of Limca. Start on that.” Samarth kept mum and bobbed his head until she was satisfied and got to her feet.

“Take his BP in half an hour. Dr. Haren will be here by 4,” she directed to Papa. “He wants his readings every 2 hours.”

“Yes, Rajmata.”

————————————————————

“Are you going to drink that?” Papa asked, lying beside him on his bed.

“Papa, you can go to the office. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“Let Tara come.”

“What are you scared of?”

“Her rant.”

Samarth snorted, leaning over and pouring a glass full of Limca and passing it to him.

“You drink first.”

“My stomach is bursting. I’ll have it in some time.”

Papa accepted the glass and sipped.

“Did you roll out the quinine?”

“Hmm,” he swallowed a sip. “The peak of the endemic curve has come and gone. Dr. Vora and his team predict a rapid decline in cases. We just need to manage the symptoms of the current infections and prevent more breeding.”

Samarth nodded. He often forgot that his father was a renowned environmental scientist with two doctorates and had ruled the kingdom of Nawanagar singlehandedly for nearly three decades.

Silence fell between them. Papa sipped the Limca quietly while he let his thoughts run wild — Random thoughts.

The hallucinations of his fever last night.

The things he had raved about. He recollected those moments.

He had not uttered any names out loud. At least, he hoped he had not.

Memories of earlier illnesses flooded back.

Illnesses in school or when he was travelling for polo — minor flus or stomach bugs or viral fevers.

The only big illness was a typhoid episode when he was nine. Papa had gone into a mad tailspin.

“Papa?”

“Hmm?”

“You weren’t panicking last night.”

When Papa remained silent, Samarth turned his head to him.

“What do you mean panicking?”

“Whenever I got sick as a child, you ran around in paranoia. That is why I did not want to tell you this time. But now you are… so normal,” he smirked. “I think Sharan made you give up on panicking for our sicknesses.”

Papa laughed, the sound deep and amused, but also a little… sad.

“No, Tara took over the role of the panicky parent.”

Samarth’s smirk faded.

“One of us has to keep calm and bring the other down the rails. I did this alone with you all those years ago and I can’t even go back to think how I took all the stress and the fears.

Dadi Sarkar was there to talk me down the rails but still,” he smiled, his eyes far away.

“You are an adult now, a king, way past ready to get married and have your own children. And yet, the moment you fell unconscious on your bed and your fever wouldn’t go down, everything became immaterial.

I didn’t get a chance to panic then because Tara did enough of that for the two of us.

That’s parenthood. You’ll know when you go through it with a partner. ”

Samarth’s mouth turned bitter.

“Why are you drinking his Limca, Sid?” Rajmata’s enraged thunder startled them both half off the bed.

“I was just holding it for him…”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Papa shoved the glass into his hand. “Now try holding it, your hand won’t shake.” He pushed him under the bus. Samarth glanced from the half-full glass of Limca to Rajmata and drank it down in one gulp.

“Now the per-day count is messed up,” she announced. “You will finish this and then another bottle for my peace of mind.”

“What? Why? Papa drank only half a glass…”

“Sam-arth!” His father hissed.

“Sorry,” he winced. “My head is not working at full capacity.”

Rajmata plucked the glass from his hand, filled it and passed it back again.

“You,” she pointed at Papa. “Go. Now I am here.”

His father dutifully vacated the space, walked around the bed and strode towards the door. He turned at the door and pointed at her — “Panicky,” he mouthed.

Samarth laughed. Rajmata turned and he was gone. Samarth continued laughing.