Page 30 of Trapped By the Maharaja

It was Sanjana’s day off from work.

Normally, her days off from work were spent in laundry, grocery shopping, cooking and cleaning the apartment.

But now, she didn’t know what to do. The palace was spotless, every corner polished by dozens of staff who were quiet and efficient. There was nothing for her to clean or fold, nothing for her to arrange. She felt strangely useless.

But she knew she couldn’t just spend the day pacing inside the master suite. So, tying her long hair into a ponytail and slipping into a comfortable cotton dress, she stood before the carved double doors of the suite and made up her mind.

She was going to explore the Devara Palace.

She realized that though it felt like a lifetime, it had only been two weeks since Ram had married her in secret and brought her to the palace.

The hospital had consumed her days, and her silent battles with him had consumed her evenings.

Until now, she hadn’t spared a thought to discover the place she was expected to call home.

Stepping out, she walked through a sunlit corridor.

Tall arched windows let in morning light that spilled across stone floors, glinting off ancient paintings framed in gold and sculptures resting in recessed alcoves.

Portraits of past queens stared down at her with dark eyes.

For a moment, she imagined their judgment declaring that her plain cotton dress hardly worthy of their royal bloodline.

Letting out a short laugh, she passed through a large hall where crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead. Just as she stepped around a corner, she nearly collided with a petite elderly woman in a cotton sari who was holding a silver tray balanced carefully in her hands.

“Oh, Maharani!” the woman gasped, looking startled before dipping into a respectful bow.

Sanjana’s cheeks heated. “Please call me Sanjana.”

The old woman looked horrified. “We cannot address the Devara Maharani by her name. Forgive me. I wasn’t informed you will be at the palace today. Let me call the others to attend—”

“No,” Sanjana said quickly. “Please don’t. I only wanted to see the palace.”

The woman hesitated before nodding. “I am Rukmini-amma, the head housekeeper of the Devara Palace. I have served this family for over forty years.” Pride filled her voice.

Sanjana recalled seeing Rukmini-amma talking to Ram a few times in the main hall. Although Ram was commanding as usual, she recalled noticing a hint of softness on his face while he spoke to the elderly housekeeper.

Sanjana smiled faintly. “You must think it strange and rude of me that I haven’t introduced myself to the palace staff.”

Rukmini-amma’s face softened. “No, Your Highness. We all know you are a busy doctor. We are proud that Devara Maharani saves lives.”

Sanjana felt touched by the words. “Thank you.”

A few other staff members appeared, offering shy greetings and introducing themselves.

What struck Sanjana most wasn’t their formality. It was their loyalty.

Two weeks had passed since the secret marriage, but not a word had slipped beyond the palace walls. No one outside the palace knew Ram had married her.

They were loyal to Ram, to the royal family, and now to her.

“You are not what we expected, maharani,” a young maid said with a shy smile.

Sanjana knew the Devara queen was expected to be a royal-born princess.

“We didn’t expect someone kindhearted or someone who smiles and thanks us,” the maid said.

Sanjana smiled, not expecting the compliment. “Thank you.”

Rukmini-amma adjusted the silver tray in her hands and gave Sanjana a warm, motherly look. “If you wish, Maharani, I can take you around.”

Sanjana hesitated, then nodded gratefully. “I’d like that.”

The housekeeper gestured for her to follow. Together they walked through the main corridor, Rukmini-amma pointing out details.

“These arches were built in the reign of Raja Devara the Third,” she explained, her voice steady with practiced pride. “Do you see the lotus carvings at the top? They were crafted by artisans brought from Madurai. And those ceiling panels? Rosewood, polished for over two centuries.”

Sanjana tilted her head back, noticing the intricate patterns she had missed earlier. The palace was not just grand; it was layered with history, each wall bearing stories of another time.

They passed into a courtyard where sunlight fell across stone columns. The pillars were thick at the base, tapering elegantly as they rose, with carved deities and floral motifs circling them. A fountain trickled in the center, its soft sound echoing against the old granite.

“This inner courtyard is where the royal family gathered every evening during summers,” Rukmini-amma said softly. “Your husband and his brothers played here as children. I still remember chasing after them when they kicked balls against the walls.”

Sanjana paused, surprised by the image. Ram as a boy, laughing and mischievous, running through these same halls that now seemed so heavy with his commanding presence.

The tour continued. The kitchen wing was vast, the scent of ghee and roasted spices still lingering in the air from the morning preparations. A line of brass pots gleamed against the walls, and Rukmini-amma explained how some recipes had been passed down for generations, guarded like royal secrets.

They entered the gallery next, where paintings depicted not just rulers but moments of history. The coronations, weddings, and even the wars that had defined the Devara legacy. Sanjana’s gaze caught on one portrait of a Maharani draped in gold silk, her expression serene but her eyes piercing.

“The Maharani Subhadra Devi. Your husband’s paternal grandmother,” Rukmini-amma said.

They moved on to the music room, where the veena she had glimpsed earlier rested under a glass case. “Your mother-in-law, Suchitra Devi, played this in her youth,” Rukmini-amma explained. “She still does, sometimes, though rarely now.”

The way she said it carried respect, almost reverence.

Rukmini-amma led her past another series of sunlit courtyards and quiet corridors, her soft sari rustling against the marble. Sanjana followed silently, absorbing every new corner of the Devara Palace with the carved lotus motifs, the sandalwood-framed doorways, and the intricate Tanjore murals.

Eventually, they stepped into a quieter wing. Unlike the grander halls, this place felt untouched. The air smelled faintly of polish and sandalwood, as though the staff maintained it daily, though no one truly lived here anymore.

At the end of the long corridor was a small atrium where sunlight poured through latticed windows, bathing two large oil portraits in a warm glow.

Sanjana stopped in her tracks.

The first portrait was of a man. Tall, broad-shouldered and draped in traditional silk with a jewel-studded sword resting against his palm.

His expression was regal, his posture commanding, his jawline cut like granite.

There was something unmistakably familiar about the way he seemed to look out of the frame with a steady, piercing gaze.

Her heart thudded as she realized he looked like Ram. The same jaw. The same eyes. The same air of quiet dominance.

Only here, the hair was touched with grey at the temples, and faint lines creased the corners of his mouth. Age had left its signature, but it hadn’t softened him. If anything, it made the authority etched into his features more permanent.

Her eyes drifted to the portrait beside him.

A young woman. Barely more than a girl. Draped in silks, weighed down in gold. She was stunningly beautiful, but her beauty carried an innocence, a demureness that seemed out of place beside the commanding figure of her husband.

Her eyes were soft. Her smile tentative. Her shoulders sloped with youth and uncertainty, like a girl hiding behind duty.

Sanjana’s breath caught. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought the portrait was of a father and daughter.

“That’s Maharaja Rajaram Krishna Devara and Maharani Suchitra Devi Devara,” Rukmini-amma said quietly from behind her. “They were fifty and eighteen when they married.”

Sanjana was shocked by the age gap.

“Maharaja Ram was born two years later,” the housekeeper added. “Unfortunately, Maharaja Rajaram passed away before his son’s birth in a sudden heart attack.”

Suchitra Devi was married at eighteen. Younger than Sanjana had been when she got her first medical scholarship.

Her gaze lingered on the portrait of the young bride.

Ram’s mother. She wondered what it must have felt like to walk into this palace at eighteen, already married, already burdened with expectations far beyond her years.

And then, becoming pregnant and losing her husband within two years. It was heart-wrenching.

Rukmini-amma’s voice softened with memory. “I remember Maharani Suchitra when she was a young bride. She was soft-spoken, shy, and so innocent. But she learned quickly. She became everything the Devara family needed her to be as a maharani.”

The elderly housekeeper turned to Sanjana. “Just as you will, Maharani.”

Sanjana smiled faintly, touched. “I don’t know if I belong here, Rukmini-amma,” she said honestly.

The elderly housekeeper smiled. “You already do, child,” she said in a steady and sure tone. “More than you realize. You belong here because you hold the Maharaja’s heart with you.”

Sanjana’s chest tightened, her throat constricting with unspoken words. She didn’t correct her. Didn’t say out loud that Ram hated her. And that the marriage was temporary and based on a contract that would require her to give him an heir.

She forced a smile. “Thank you, Rukmini-amma.”

“If you need any changes, let us know, Maharani,” Rukmini-amma said gently, “the palace is now your home.”

Sanjana nodded even though she knew she wouldn’t be staying long enough to see the entire palace and estate, let alone make changes.

Just then, a palace maid came looking for Rukmini-amma, telling her she was needed in the kitchen to give instructions.

Sanjana looked at the elderly housekeeper. “Please go. Thank you all for your time. I don’t want to keep you from your work. I’ll return to the master suite to freshen up for lunch.”

The elderly woman nodded and then, bowing, she left with the maid.

Sanjana headed back towards the master suite. She turned a corner and instinctively slowed.

A corridor stretched before her, lined with tall arched windows on one side and dark wooden doors on the other. She recognized one instantly. She had seen Ram stepping out of the room that was at the far end. Her eyes fell on one particular set of double doors.

It must be his home office.

Curious, she decided to see what was inside.