9. The Curse of Beauty

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The queens’ palace, Chittorgarh

General Gora shifted uneasily as he stood in front of the curtain that separated him and the queens. He could just see their silhouettes with their veils pulled forward to provide another barrier between them and him.

“The queens would like to know why you need to speak with them, sir,” said the maid who kept her eyes trained firmly on the ground. “They say that this is improper in the extreme.”

Gora grimaced. There was no easy way to tell them. “The circumstances demand it. The Maharana has been taken prisoner by Khilji.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind the curtain. Rapid words were exchanged quietly with the maid.

“The queens wish to know how that came to be, sir.”

 “Khilji’s men slaughtered twenty of my best men as soon as they left the gates after...Khilji’s little morning excursion. They managed to whisk away the Maharana.”

It was awful to admit it. Twenty of his own men, armed to the teeth and trained by the best, had fallen to five foreigners armed with nothing but daggers. Twenty men lost. And they had only managed to kill one of the attackers and lose the king to boot. Gora was not looking forward to meeting such an enemy on the battlefield, not when they would be better armed and in superior numbers.

“The queens must know if their lord and husband is well, sir. Should they prepare to crown a new king?”

Gora sighed inwardly with frustration. This would progress much faster if the queens would simply talk to him directly. He knew that they wouldn’t. It meant breaking their honour, and honour, well, honour was everything.

 “There are no reports that the Maharana has been harmed in any way. He is simply a captive of the foreigner.”

“The queens want to know if there has been a ransom note yet.”

“Yes. The envoy reached our gates less than an hour after the incident.”

“The queens would like to know what it is and if they can help in any way.”

“Khilji wants the Rani Padmini in exchange for her husband.”

There, he had managed to say it. There was a muffled gasp from behind the silken barrier as the queens realised what his words meant. There was another rapid exchange with the maid, although this time only one voice spoke.

“Should the Rani Padmini make preparations to leave for Khilji’s camp, sir?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Then how do you plan to rescue the Maharana, sir?”

“We might need to borrow the royal palanquins....”

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Padmini breathed a quiet sigh as General Gora left their presence. Things had taken an unexpected turn for the worse. The plan to rescue her husband sounded reckless in the extreme. She had no idea if it would work.

Her husband was gone. It was a strange feeling. Padmini had worried incessantly when he marched off to war but in the very depths, she always knew that he would return. Now, she wasn’t so sure. She might never see him again.

Padmini could see why the generals wanted to rescue the king. It was better to have an experienced leader and fighter leading the army. They could always coronate Nagmati’s son, but a five year old could not head Chittorgarh at such a time. Either the backstabbing nobles of the durbar would eat him alive or the army knocking at his doors would. No, better to at least attempt to rescue her husband.

She tried hard to ignore the pain in her heart. Padmini had grown fond of her husband and it hurt to know that she probably would never see him again. She could not cry, could not let the tears threatening to spill over fall. The older queen probably loved him more than she did. Nagmati needed to be comforted.

Padmini turned to face the older woman. She suddenly froze in stunned silence.

Nagmati’s beautiful face was contorted into an ugly expression. It was a war of jealousy, hate, anger and fear. “You,” she hissed, her eyes narrow slits. “You are the reason my lord and husband has been taken from me. You are the reason my son might never know his father. You and your accursed beauty! I hope you’re happy now.”

A mask fell over Nagmati’s face, turning it carefully blank as she turned away. “Bring my son to me. He will not leave my sight from now onwards,” she commanded as she left the chamber. A maid scrambled to obey. No one dared to disobey the older queen when she was in such a mood.

Padmini was left feeling more than little shocked. A soft voice startled her as she stared blankly at the door way through which Nagmati had disappeared.

“A letter for you, my lady,” said the maid, proffering the silver tray. Padmini accepted the letter, her henna stained hands shaking slightly as she noted the strange seal. It looked vaguely familiar. Maybe an offer of help from one of the nearby kingdoms? She broke open the seal and began to read,

“Padmini, my dear, the love of my life, I hear that your husband is in grave trouble. I offer you my help to save your kingdom. With our combined forces, what can we not accomplish? In return, I wish for nothing but for you to recognise the love we share, so that it may blossom...”

She recognised the familiar hand. Her eyes darted to the end to check the seal. It was as she had feared. The king of Kambhalner’s seal was stamped boldly at the bottom. Of course, he would be a king now. Padmini didn’t need to read any more.

She had thought that Kambhalner would have had a little more sense. There was no honour in such a proposal and there was no chance of her accepting it.

“Burn this,” Padmini said, handing the letter to the maid. “And if a messenger is waiting, tell him that I do not deign to reply to such a proposal.”

The vultures were already circling. If they had to march into war without any allies, so be it.

She picked up a mirror left on the window sill and studied her reflection in the silver surface.

Yes, she thought, running a hand over her cheek. Nagmati is right. My beauty is a curse, not a blessing. It has brought more sorrow than she knows. What awful deed have I done in my previous life to deserve this fate?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nagmati sat at her dresser, her head cradled in her hands. Her cheeks were wet with tears that she could not afford to shed in public.

He was gone! She had thought that this day would never have dared to show its face to the sun. Her husband had been the most powerful king in all of Mewar. Now he was the prisoner of that cursed barbarian!

She wouldn’t see him alive again. That she knew in her heart of hearts. He would never hold her in his strong arms again. He would never play with his little boy. Nagmati had never felt so alone, so abandoned in her life.

Somehow, Nagmati knew they didn’t have long. Her son’s end, her husband’s end and her end were close at hand. That she knew with certainty. Death was lurking around the corner. She only didn’t know how long they had.

She heard the familiar patter of tiny feet outside her chamber. At least she still had her little boy. She quickly dried her eyes and adjusted the folds of her veil. The toddler burst into the room and climbed into her lap, excitedly chattering away about something that had caught his fancy.

Nagmati hugged him close. He was all she had in the world now and she wasn’t going to let him go easily. Her son was here and that was all that mattered for the moment. She could handle everything else in the morning.

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Glossary:

Palanquin: It is a covered sedan chair or litter carried on four poles. It derives from the Sanskrit word for a bed or couch, pa:lanka.

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