The Burning Lotus

3. For the Want of Love

Chittorgarh

Rani Padmini settled down on the window seat overlooking the lotus pond. It was cleverly crafted; the masonry allowed her to look out but screened her from view. It was peaceful now. A few hours ago, they marched a criminal through the streets. The man’s face had been blackened and he had been tied to the back of a donkey. Her attendants had found it hilariously funny; Padmini had felt sorry for the poor man.

She sighed. She hadn’t wanted to come to Chittorgarh. Yes, Mewar was one of the most powerful of the Rajput kingdoms. Yes, the Maharana was just and honourable, but those things hadn’t mattered when she was fifteen. Her father had arranged a swayamvar and princes and kings had come to prove that they were worthy of her hand. She could still remember it very well.

The princes and kings had fought bout after bout against each other. They wrestled each other into the dust, a roar rising from the crowd every time a body slick with sweat hit the ground. Padmini could make out the favourites from the way her ladies tittered every time one of them had entered the ring.

Her eyes had fallen on the dashing young prince from Kambhalner. Only a few years older than she, he had cut quite a figure and had defeated everyone else with ease. His dark eyes had flashed with amusement at the antics of the challenger and Padmini could not help following every graceful move of his muscled arms. The final bout had seen him face the king of Mewar, Maharana Ratan Singh.

Padmini hadn’t liked the prospect of marrying Maharana Ratan Singh. She knew that her father secretly wished for her to marry him; such a union would only be for the good of the state. Her attendants had twittered excitedly when they had heard that the Maharana was going to attend the ceremony. Padmini couldn’t see what they did. He was much older and he was already married. The rumour was that his Queen, Nagmati, was carrying his first child. The contrast between the two had been great in Padmini’s young eyes and she had found herself silently rooting for the younger man.

The battle had lasted over two hours. The men were evenly matched. Although the prince was quicker and had the freshness of youth, the Maharana carried the weight of experience. They had first indulged in sword play and Padmini sat trembling with fear that one of them would be grievously injured. She was glad when they decided to move on to wrestling. Sand and sweat flew everywhere as the men struggled. No sooner had one gained a point than the other caught up to him.  Sweat glistened on their tensed muscles, bunched together to resist the attack against them. Finally, the young prince conceded defeat after he found that he couldn’t get up while the Maharana sat firmly on his chest.

Padmini had been upset. She had wanted to cry, but a Rajput princess did not do so. Instead, her broadly smiling father had escorted her to the Maharana’s side and placed her hand in his. Trumpets had announced their engagement and the assembled royals had cheered.

The marriage had taken place the very next day. They had said the seven sacred vows as they walked around the sacred fire, while priests had chanted prayers all the while. Padmini had barely enough time to bid a tearful farewell to her family before her new husband whisked her off to Chittorgarh.

The sweet notes of a koel brought her back to the present. She sighed again. Padmini could have laughed at her fifteen year old self. Ratan Singh had been kind to her and had showered her with gifts. She had to admit that she had fallen in love with him, although she wasn’t sure when it had happened. 

Padmini heard footsteps and hurriedly adjusted the folds of her veil. Nagmati hated her and it wouldn’t do to appear disrespectful in front of the older queen. Padmini had been confused in the beginning as to why Nagmati hated her so. She might have been young, but she was far from naïve. It was clear that Nagmati was jealous.