Ajinkya Palace
It was high time she did something. The setting sun over the Suddhi river, as picturesque as it was, was the reason for her chagrin. In her head, she thought the sunset signified her diminishing position in the harem. It had been over a month since Ayayutas had visited her chambers, such ignorance on his part was unprecedented. After all, she was the Harem-in-chief, his first wed. Her reputation about her steel nerves, cold-hearted attitude and most of all her knack for crushing her opposition preceded her wherever she went. She was Rani Snigdha. The name was enough to strike fear in the hearts of any person living in the harem. It was her territory, she ruled with an iron fist.
But in the recent past, her fear was terrorised. Mainly by the arrival of Alta. Generally, anyone who was given an entry into the harem acknowledged the position Rani Snigdha held. A small offering, anything, just to get an excuse to get themselves acquainted with her, to get in her good books.
But Alta, well she was different. She had chosen to ignore her supremacy, if not challenge it. This she knew for sure; a messenger had been promptly sent to Alta to vet her, and she showed no remorse on missing her window to pay her respects to the Harem-in-chief, rather it seemed to be intentional. And much to her disbelief, a rival opposing camp had started to form. The concubines and queens that thought that they had been injustice by her, they went to Alta to crib about it. She had become their messiah, and this irritated her. Also was the fact that she had the full and unconditional support of Ayayutas.
Each day the reception room of her palace was swept clean, the rugs taken out and dusted, the shades drawn over windows by ten in the morning to keep in the night's cool. Each day her slave went to the royal kitchens to command the Emperor's favourite dishes made afresh. The Empress knew Ayayutas's desires to the littlest detail. And until this marriage, he had never failed her yet. Within a week of his other marriages, Emperor Ayayutas had come to her palace to pay a visit, acknowledging her place in his Harem. It had been years since Ayayutas had spent a night in her palace, slept by her side, years since she had woken to the sight of him first. And somewhere deep down she had already made her peace with the fact, learnt to live with it. But not like this. This was her worst nightmare becoming a reality.
And in this period of hell, she turned to an old friend, an advisor and moreover someone who knew Ayayutas and still had his ears. She sent summons for Asaf Khan.
*****
A million thoughts were running through her head, as she stood outside the chambers of the Dowager Empress, Rukmini. Alta had known that she had wronged her former mistress by not paying her a visit for a month, a blissful one at that. She also missed her mother and hence reached out to the closest person she regarded as her mother and mentor.
She was in two minds, when she heard the voice, "So, the new empress not only lacks the brains but also a spine I guess."
"Your majesty, if I lacked brains, I wouldn't have come here in the first place."
Rukmini opened the doors to her chamber, looked into the eyes of Alta and embraced her.
"I've missed you Farza. Why have you taken so long to visit me?"
"It's a mistake on my part, I agree with your majesty. Tell me how can I repent for it?"
"Just come and sit with me Farza, for no one in this palace wants to talk to me it seems. At a second you're at the pinnacle and in the dumps the next. Nothing is permanent Farza, except for the relations you make."
"Noted, your majesty. Now if I may?"
Saying this the ladies entered the chambers. The next hour went like a second, the smoke from the hookahs swirling around the room. After having settled, Farza started for her real mission. The question for which she had come to Rukmini.
"Your majesty, I don't know how to mince words. Neither do I know how to quench this thirst for power, for Ayayutas's affection and mostly my desire to humble Rani Sahiba." The last words triggered a smirk from the Dowager Empress.
Rukmini took a deep drag from her hukkah, exhaled the smoke, and said, "I know my child. Ever since Ayayutas has become the emperor, she has become drunk on her own power, her own ego making her fly at great heights, heights that can prove to be very dangerous."
"But what can we do about it. It's not like Ayayutas would take the ring away from her."
What Alta was referring was the imperial seal, the ring as it was fondly called. It bore the imperial sign of the emperor, any letter signed by it would immediately become a Royal Farman. Only the Emperor and Harem-in-chief wielded the ring.
Under the rule of Emperor Pridhwaj, Rukmini had the ring, and she made sure that everyone in the harem recognised the fact. But, now that Rani Snigdha wielded the ring, Rukmini felt the heat. Her owned land was almost cut in her half, the situation of her income through the royal purse was even worse. It was a matter of pride more than anything else for her now.
"Farza, you know what, to show the opposition your strength, do something outlandish. Something no one would've imagined. Something that would require courage, something that would question the foundation of the Harem itself. That would be your opening sentence to a long-drawn debate, for it would get ugly. Believe me."
With Rukmini's words ringing in her ears, Alta took her leave. She had to do something, something that would drive her point home. She wasn't here to be ruled, but rather to rule.
*****
The night had deepened, and the heat had become unbearable. In Emperor Ayayutas's apartments, music floated through the courtyard, stopping and tripping in the still night air as the musicians' slick fingers slipped on the strings of the sitar.
When Alta opened her eyes, she first saw the sky above her, packed with stars. Every inch of her vision was filled with them, a ceiling of diamonds on black velvet. Emperor Ayayutas slept by her side, his forehead resting on her shoulder. His breath, warm on her skin, was steady. Alta could not see her husband's face, just the top of his head. His hair lay flattened against his skull with a ring around where the imperial turban sat during the day. She touched his face lightly, her fingers resting against his cheekbones, then swirling down his chin, where a stubble scratched at the pads of her fingers. She did this without waking him, feeling his face, searching through familiarity, although her memory was flooded with every contour and line.
She moved Ayayutas's head gently onto a silk-covered pillow, shifted his arm from where it lay on her stomach and sat up. As she sat there, sweat began to pool damply under the weight of her hair, on her neck, soaking through the thin cotton of the kurta she wore. She rubbed her back and unwound her hair from its plait until it lay about her shoulders in a dense blanket. Stepping past the sleeping Emperor, Alta went to the edge of the platform of the pool of the emperor's chamber and sat down, letting her legs dangle in the water. A breeze swept through the courtyard, and she raised her face to it, lifting her arms so it could ruffle the long sleeves of her tunic. It brought the scent of smouldering neem leaves from braziers in the veranda, unpleasant enough to keep away the mosquitoes.
The water was warm as honey and heavy around her, but cooler than the air. Alta dipped her head in, letting her hair swirl wet about her face. When in the water, she replayed the talk she had with the Dowager Empress, unsure what she had to do ahead.
At one end of the pool, in full night bloom, a Parijat tree swooned over, slowly drifting its tiny white flowers into the water. She cleared the Parijat flowers from the stone edge of the pool with a wet hand. Then, picking up the flowers one by one, she laid them in a row. Then another row, petals turned inward toward her. This was the courtyard of the Hall of Public Audience. Here were the war elephants at the back, the commoners ahead of them, the merchants, the nobles, and, in the very front, the throne where Ayayutas sat. To the side, she put two more flowers, behind and to the right of the Emperor. Pulling off the petals of the Parijat flowers, she laid the orange stems, edge to edge, around the last two flowers. This was the balcony at court; the stems were the marble latticework screen that hid the imperial wives and concubines. Unseen by the men below. Unheard by them. She knew that the screen put her in a different place. One without a voice, void of opinion.
But what if . . . she picked up one of the balcony flowers and laid it in centre court, in front of the throne. For many years, when Ayayutas had been just a distant dream, Alta had chafed against the restrictions on her life. She had wanted to be in the imperial balcony, not merely an onlooker but a member of the imperial entourage —not just a lady-in-waiting but an Empress. She moved the flower back within the orange-stem confines of the balcony screen. It was not enough. Could she ask for more? But how much more, and how to ask for it? Would Ayayutas give to her what she asked? Would he defy these unsaid rules that fettered her life as his Empress, as his wife, as a woman?
She swam back to the platform through the warm water, and when she reached it, she put her elbows on the marble and rested her head in her hands, looking at Ayayutas. She traced a finger over his brow, then put it in her mouth, tasting his skin. He stirred.
"Can't you sleep?" He woke like this always, not needing to shake off dreams. Once she had asked him why. And he had replied that when she wanted him, he would give up sleep.
"It is too warm, your Majesty."
Ayayutas smoothed her wet hair from her forehead, his hand lingering on the curve of her cheek. "Sometimes I cannot believe you are here with me." He looked intently at her face, then reached into the water for a leaf lamp. Holding it close to her, he said, "What is it?"
"Nothing. The heat. Nothing."
The Emperor laid the lamp back in the water and pushed it on its way. Clasping her hand, he pulled her out of the pool. A slave slid into view, holding out silk towels. Alta knelt at the edge of the platform, lifted her arms, and allowed the Emperor to peel off the kurta she was wearing. He wiped the water from her body slowly, bending to inhale the musky scent of her skin. Then he dried her hair, rubbing the strands with a towel until it lay damp around her shoulders. He did all this with great deliberation. She waited obediently until he was finished, the warm night air on her shoulders, her waist, her legs.
"Ask what you want my love. This whole empire is yours. If not for you then for whom have I earned all this?"
"Your majesty, if you may, can I come to the Oriel visits with you?"
Wanting to be fair and equitable to his subjects, he imposed the ritual of the Oriel, something his father, Emperor Pridhwaj, had not done, something that was exclusively his. He called it thus—an Oriel—a glimpse, for it was to be, for the first time since the Harpal conquest of Angavani around a hundred years ago, a personal viewing of the Emperor by any subject in the empire. It was here the commoners came to petition him, here he listened to their appeals, important or not. And in the balcony, he stood alone, his ministers and the commoners below him. It cut away the pomp surrounding his crown, made him less of a figurehead on a faraway throne.
Ayayutas was stumped. He had not expected this from her.
"I have not done this before," he said finally. "I can see the trouble you are going to cause me." He smiled affectionately.
He tried to change the subject "Do you think it will rain- "
"-if it rains can I come, your majesty?" she cut him short.
"Close your eyes." And he lovingly ran his hand across her eyelid.
With his eyes shut too, with her aroma to lead him, Ayayutas bent to the curve of her neck. She wrapped her hair around them. She did not open her eyes, just felt the warmth of his breath, sensed him tasting a line of sweat that escaped from her hairline down her face to lodge itself against her shoulder blade, shivered as the rough of his fingertips scraped against the sides of her breasts. They did not speak again.
*****
The sun, a flat line of gold behind purple clouds against the horizon, woke them the next morning. Alta lay with her head against a velvet pillow looking up at the play of light against the sky. The clouds hung densely above her. But there was no rain. Moisture in the air, but no rain.
They walked in silence, hand in hand, not looking at each other. The servants behind them padded on soft bare feet, Alta's Ghaghara swished over the smooth marble floors. She could not talk, could not bring herself to ask again—would she be standing behind the arch of the balcony or with the Emperor? In a sudden flight of superstition, she looked again at the sky as they passed, but no, the clouds lay massive and unwilling. A weight settled over her and her feet dragged.
Alta almost spoke again, opened her mouth, and then closed it. With the noise of the orchestra echoing around them, the Emperor reached behind her head. Her indigo veil lay shawl-like over her shoulders, and he raised one end and brought it over her face. As Ayayutas stepped out into the balcony to the glow of the lightning eastern sky, he tightened his grip on Alta's hand and pulled her with him.
She was standing on the Oriel. With this one gesture, Ayayutas had made her the most powerful woman in the history of Angavani.
With this Ayayutas had declared his love for Alta
But neither he nor Alta could've imagined the series of events this gesture had set rolling.