Outskirts of Bhopal, the next day

  "Get down, Kammu. We have reached the barracks."

  "Can you hold my hand, Alka? I am tired."

  "Why, most certainly!"

  Two more horse-drawn carriages halted near the iron gate of the barracks. Guards stationed on its sides hurried towards the carriages to open their doors.

  One of the doors creaked as it opened, and a tall man, dressed in what seemed to a maroon kurta, walked out. Seeing him, the guards surrounding the carriage lowered their heads in reverence.

  He was Aniruddha.

  As Kamayani too hopped off her carriage, she saw a turbaned man alighting from the third carriage. From his attire alone, it was apparent that he was a Brahmin-a prominent yajnopavita was wrapped around his shoulder and ran diagonally until his waist; his entire backside was visible, save the parts covered by a wheatish uttarīya; he wore a red coloured dhoti.

  Kamayani noticed something else. Something eerily familiar.

  Chest marks. On his lower back.

  Could this be..

  "Dwijendra Ji, is that you?"

  "Yes, yuvarāja. It is I."

  So it was him. What was he doing here? Given his occupation, should he not have been at the munshis' quarters?

  Dwijendra too saw Kamayani, and felt a sudden surge of emotion in his heart. His cheeks turned crimson immediately-even the tiny strands of hair on his otherwise chiseled countenance stood up. Not wanting to embarrass himself further, he looked the other way.

  This did not go unnoticed, however.

  Alaknanda, who was keenly observing the munshi, slightly nudged her cousin, who flung both of her arms into the air, feigning ignorance of what had transpired in front of them.

  Dwijendra was her childhood friend. His father, Vishwamitra, was a Saryupareen Brahmin employed as the personal scribe of the former Emperor Avaneesh during his stay at Jhansi following his abdication. Vishwamitra often brought along this then ten-year old child—Dwijendra—who would spend his entire day playing with Kamayani, tolerating her temper tantrums, and sometimes, when nobody was looking, teaching her the Shashtras as he recalled.

  When Avaneesh left for the heavenly abode eleven years ago—a mere three years into his self-imposed exile—the Empress Dowager insisted on taking Vishwamitra with her to Bhopal, not least because Dwijendra, then thirteen, could not fathom visiting the palace without seeing his beloved Kamayani's smile.

  Aniruddha continued, "What business do you have here, Dwijendra Ji?"

  "Nothing, my prince. I was forced to accompany Lalaji."

  "Lalaji is here? I was not informed!"

  Lalaji was the pet name of Raghunath Rathod, the commander of the Lalitpur fortress in the north. He was the King's brother-in-law.

  Dwijendra gulped at the prince's reaction. Yikes.

  He muttered to himself, "Lalaji, where are you?!"

  Aniruddha closed the distance between the two of them and stared into his eyes, causing the young boy to flinch and drop the pile of documents he was holding.

  A gruff voice cried out in the distance:

  "Stop scaring him, Aniruddha!"

  Alaknanda's ears pricked up. Her right palm instinctively clapsed the dagger she had hid under her clothes.

  The voice was unmistakably his.

  Lalaji's.

  Kamayani saw that a burly man, probably not taller than five feet, alighted from a Marwadi horse-or was it? She wasn't particularly aware of horse breeds. The King rarely permitted her or her cousin to ride one, and unlike the free-spirited Alaknanda, she obliged.

  A mind of her own was something she had only recently started to acquire.

  The man walked towards her in a haphazard manner-he would take two steps forward and would retreat immediately. Sometimes he would even wobble and vacillate like a pendulum, and as he neared the trio, he started reeking of alcohol.

  Kamayani covered her nose in disgust. She despised the smell of alcohol.

  "My my," began the man, "if it isn't the late Princess' daughter!"

  "G-Greetings, mamashri," replied Alakananda, her arm still hovering over the hidden dagger.

  "Greetings, child. I wonder what crime I must have committed today for the gods to bless me with the face of a basta-"

  "Be careful," shot Aniruddha, "bastard or not, she is still the daughter of the king you serve, Lalaji."

  "Oho! My nephew! I am well aware of who she is, yuvarāja. I am the brother of the woman who had to share the bed with a Sudrani-"

  "ENOUGH!"

  Lalaji, startled, looked at Aniruddha's face. His mouth was fuming and the corner of his eyes were fluttering.

  He was furious.

  "Do not forget who put your family back on the throne. Perhaps you have forgotten the days when your father served tea to the Mlecchas?"

  "H-how dare you talk to your maternal uncle in this manner?!"

  "How dare you insult a brahmin's daughter, O kiledar of Lalitpur? Have you not read what punishment is prescribed in the Shashtras for those who disparage Brahmins?"

  Lalaji grimaced.

  "I think it is high time I tell my sister to teach his son manners."

  Aniruddha replied with a large, twisted, frightening smile. As Lalaji departed, he placed a hand on Alaknanda's head.

  "I am sorry, sister."

  "It is fine, bhaiya. You should focus on relevant issues."

  "B-but"

  Alakananda silenced her brother by putting a finge on his lips.

  "Find out what Lalaji is doing here."

  Kamayani quipped, "Maybe it has got something to do with what the King did yesterday? After all, isn't Lalitpur the closest fort to Jhansi?"

  Aniruddha nodded.

  "Could be, Kammu. Sigh. If only the King had not signed the treaty..."

  Kamayani placed a hand on her cousin's shoulders.

  "It is going to be alright. Alka says that the King is an able ruler who genuinely desires the welfare of the people!"

  Aniruddha had a puzzled look on his face.

  "Really? She says that?"

  "Yes, bhaiya! Is it not true, Alka?"

  Alakananda, embarassed, appeared to cough uncontrollably and looked the other way. Kamayani, amused, turned her head to the right and muttered, "Oh?"

  Sensing her sister's unease, Aniruddha signalled to Kamayani that it was time.

  Time to train.

  ***

  Diwan-i-Khas, Bhopal

  "I wasn't expecting the King of Bhopal to stand on the same ground as a mere general."

  "You are not a mere general. You are Tukoji Rao Holkar, the Tukoji Rao Holkar. You are the brother-in-law of the Maharani of Indore and the son of the illustrious Malhar Rao Holkar. But more importantly, just as Rameswar Bundela is the Sword of the Guptas, you are the sword of Malwa!"

  Tukoji rubbed his large earrings in response, trying his best to assume a garb of modesty. His bushy moustache twitched involuntarily at the compliment, though.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "You flatter me, Rajan. I am but a mere servant of the Holkar dynasty. I protect the people as it is my duty and calling as a Kshatriya. Is it not the case for you too, Rajan?"

  "My apologies, Tukoji. Circumstances have compelled me to behave in a manner antithetical to my station."

  "Is that so, King?" asked Tukoji, caressing the scabbard that dangled from his cummerbund.

  "I am a Brahmin by lineage, Tukoji. Wielding arms and commanding armies is not in our nature."

  Tukoji guffawed at the comment. Perplexed, the King continued, "Why do you you laugh, Tukoji?"

  "If statecraft and warfare were not in your nature Rajan, would you really be able to rule such a strategically important kingdom so effectively?"

  The King was dumbfounded.

  Tukoji averred, "Though the learned may disagree, I believe that he who takes up arms in the defence of the people is a Kshatriya."

  I am decidedly not a Kshatriya. I am a Brahmin, a proud Brahmin, uttered the King. But was it surprising for a servant of a woman to harbour such ignoble beliefs?

  As Tukoji opened his mouth to speak, the doors of the Diwan-i-Khas flung open violently.

  "Ashutosh Sahib, you must teach your son manner—T-Tukoji?!"

  "Why, if it isn't Lalaji!"

  "W-what are you doing here, Tukoji Holkar?"

  "I," began the King, "have invited him, Lalaji."

  "You, Rāja Sahib?"

  "Yes." replied the King curtly, continuing, "I am glad that you came too."

  Lalaji bowed.

  "Of course I would! You are my overlord!"

  Ashutosh smiled bemusedly. My overlord? What rubbish! You despise me because I am a Brahmin performing the duties of a Kshatriya.

  "You did not even send a herald to notify me of your arrival in the palace. Moreover, you did not even have the courtesy to knock before entering the Diwan-i-Khas, Lalaji. And let me not even mention the fact that you refuse to bow to me despite my being your superior in both station and rank! Do you truly consider Ashutosh Mishra your superior?"

  Lalaji's face flushed a deep hue of crimson, his nostrils flaring up in embarassment. Gulping the barrage of insults down his throat—he had enough of the same already—he quickly kneeled on the carpet below and unsheathed his khanda and presented it to the King as a sign of submission.

  Ashutosh smiled. Satisfied, he gestured to the visibly shivering Lalaji to rise, commenting, "Must I always remind you of who made you the suzerain of Lalitpur, Raghunath Rathod?"

  "A-apologies, Sire.."

  Tukoji, whose gaze shifted uncomfortably at his fellow warrior's humiliation, cleared his throat and reasoned with the King, "It is alright, Rājan. Us warriors ultimately prioritise the security of the realm over trifling matters such as etiquette. Raghunathji is an honorable man and your brother-in-law. I don't think he meant to insult you."

  Psst, muttered the King under his breath. He hates the fact that he has to serve a priest as his overlord.

  Tukoji persisted, "Let it be, Your Majesty!"

  The King relented.

  "Fine, fine. Lalaji, you may rise now."

  "T-thank you, my lord!" came the trembling reply.

  As Lalaji rose slowly—keeping his forehead lowered—the King walked a few paces ahead and sat comfortably on a cushioned chair.

  "Take your seats, gentlemen."

  The two men readily complied.

  Ashutosh crossed his legs, took off his turban, and started speaking.

  "Let me be utterly frank with you, Tukoji Holkar. The Empire is aware of our defence pact."

  Tukoji's eyes widened. He enquired, "Is that so?"

  "Yes," replied the King, adding, "Rameswar Bundela declared in open court that I was colluding with the Marathas and defying the will of the Emperor."

  Lalaji asked, "What was he doing here, my lord?"

  "The Emperor dispatched him to secure my support against the rebels in the East. Little did I know that it was a ruse for His Excellency to trap me by publicly accusing me of treason!"

  "How did you respond, my lord?"

  "I tried reasoning with him in my personal chamber. But he, he-"

  The King's countenance changed immediately into something that bespoke dread.

  Alarmed, Tukoji pressed on, "He did what, Rajan?"

  "He slapped me and declared in front of my chamberlains that he would slay me on the battlefield!"

  "HE DID WHAT?! My lord, that ruffian!"

  Turning to Tukoji, the King, with folded hands, spoke softly, "Tukoji, honor the treaty we mutually ratified. Save my kingdom. Save me. Protect this hapless dvija. Your Shivaji was a protector of Brahmins and cows, was he not?"

  "Yes, dvijottama. He was."

  "Then please honour his legacy. Rameswar has fled the city. Nobody knows where he is headed to. If news of this treachery reaches the ears of Avinash, I will be ruined. They will think I am doing this to harm Her Imperial Highness, who is in my custody. They will call me a traitor and besiege Bhopal. They will massacre tens of thousands of innocent men, women and children. Please! Please, I beseech you! They will... They will slaughter us Brahmins, severe the janeu-"

  "Compose yourself, brother-in-law."

  The King turned to Lalaji, whose eyes were shimmering with rage.

  "Compose yourself, my overlord. How can you allow yourself to spiral into despair when Raghunath Rathod is alive? Brother-in-law, I shall strike Bundela down before he crosses the border to Awadh! After all, how many retainers will he have? Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred?"

  "But," commented Tukoji, "would that not aggravate the already miserable situation?"

  Asked Lalaji, "How so?"

  "You have defied the will of the Emperor. That is a fact. That is itself causus belli for a punitive expedition. Will you add to your misfortune by killing an imperial harald? And that too, the jagirdar of Jhansi? Rameswar Bundela, whom the Late Emperor had himself elevated to the position of Senanayaka? Besides, do you not know who he really is?"

  Lalaji's jaw tightened. He said to himself: His military rank aside, he is the granduncle of the infant King of Jhansi—the grandson of the Emperor's own sister.

  "If you kill him, you kill the regent of Jhansi. If you kill him, you kill the brother-in-law of the Emperor's sister. Tell me O King, would you really want that?"

  "NO! NEVER!" Ashutosh blurted out. Kill Rameswar? Was Raghunath out of his mind?

  "But my lord, what else can be do-"

  "We can imprison him."

  The King's interest was piqued.

  "Imprison him, you say?"

  "Yes," answered Tukoji.

  "Imprison him where, Tukoji?"

  "Rameswar Bundela is no fool. He knows that he has become persona non grata in the territories of the Kingdom of Bhopal. He cannot travel to Jhansi via Lalitpur. He cannot travel via the east either, given the rebellion. The only remaining safe passage is via Guna and Shivpuri."

  Now it was time for the King's eyes to widen.

  "A..are you suggesting that we-"

  Tukoji smiled.

  "Yes, Your Majesty. I am suggesting that we let the Scindias take him into custody. Given the imminent assault on Awadh and the proximity of the state to both Agra and Jhansi, the Empire is more likely to compromise."

  "Y, yes!"

  "Moreover," the Holkar general continued, "his imprisonment will buy us enough time to mobilise troops and secure the frontiers. You can even introduce conscription to inflate your numbers."

  "YES!" the King shouted in excitement, his eyes twinkling as though he were a child who was seeing a gold coin for the first time in its life.

  "Tukoji, you have assuaged my agony! I will tell Lalaji at once to mobilise! Yes, yes! Gwalior....Scindias... They will be our deliverers! Oh, I will be free finally! Finally!"

  The King, as if possessed by a mischievous spirit, began spinning like a top.

  "That said..."

  "What, Tukoji? You can tell me too. The King is, as you can see for yourself, preoccupied."

  Tukoji let out a sigh.

  "The Scindias aren't a selfless lot. They will not do this for free."

  "Oh, I'll request the King to redirect the extra tribute to Gwalior. That should do the trick, I suppose?

  "Perhaps, but the Scindias, just like the Peshwa, would demand something more permanent, more meaningful."

  "Something more permanent? Tukoji, are you suggesting that my overlord submi-"

  "Marriage," whispered the general.

  Lalaji looked at him as though he had four eyes. What the hell was this Maratha blabbering?

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Marriage, Raghunathji. The Scindias, much like our suzerain the Peshwa, would like into enter a marital alliance with the House of Mishr-"

  "E-enti? E...em cheppavu?"

  Both men turned towards the King, who has frozen in his tracks. The word "marriage" had captured his attention.

  "P-pardon, Rajan? I...I don't understand Telugu..."

  "The King, quickly shifting to Marathi, bellowed, "Tumhī asē mha?ata āhāta kī Sindhiyā ku?umbālā Brāhma?a ku?umbā?ī vaivāhika sambandha havē āhēta?"

  "King, they-"

  "Whom do they want? The Scindias?"

  "A princess, Your Highness."

  "And the Peshwas?"

  "Rani Sahiba didn't say anything about the Peshwas having a preference, Ashutoshji."

  There was an awkward silence. Tukoji's gaze shifted uncomfortably yet again. He awaited the King's reply.

  Lalaji prompted, "Brother-in-law?"

  "You Marathas have no qualms about uprooting the Shastras, do you?"

  Huh? What did he mean by that? Tukoji wondered.

  "What do you-"

  "Tukoji, money and vassalage are different from marriage. In times of calamity, even a priest can undertake the duties of a warrior, but under no circumstances can fire and ice be united."

  "Pardon?"

  "I will pay lakhs of dams to Gwalior if it means that my kingdom survives. However, under no circumstances shall a daughter of a Brahmin marry a Kshatriya, whosoever the latter may be. I will not bring disgrace upon my illustrious ancestors by tainting the blood further!"

  Tukoji wanted to punch the King across his face, but all he could do was make a fist.

  The King, on the other hand, showed no intention to arrest his barrage of insults.

  "The Peshwas wants a marital alliance too?"

  "Yes, Rajan; I think I told you already-"

  "Then tell that Chitpavan scum in Pune that," the King sibilated into Tukoji's right ear, "Deshasthas would rather become one with Yavanas than allow the likes of Konkanis to blemish our pure blood."

  "BRAHMIN!"

  The King was taken by surprise at the sudden outburst and lost his balance, falling violently onto the floor. He saw Tukoji unsheathing his talwar and advancing towards him.

  "Arrogant brahmin-"

  "Halt! One step more and the sword of Raghunath Rathod will consign you to the deepest abyss of hell!"

  Not paying heed to Lalaji's warning, Tukoji brandished his slender sword in front of the King, who had by this point started palpitating with fear. Lalaji too had drawn out his sword and was slowly closing the distance between him and the Maratha general, who was solely focused on the King.

  "Dastardly brahmin! Your seek our protection and insult our lord the Peshwa, the crest jewel of dvijas! Your entire court is filled to the brim with members of the warrior clan and yet you have the audacity to trample their dignity under you fee—"

  Before Tukoji could complete his sentence, he felt the movement of hands behind him. Gripping his talwar tightly, he moved to his right, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow to his neck. Without waiting for the attacker to respond, he struck the the sword sideways, tossing it into the air and disarming the wielder.

  "Agh—" the attacker cried out, before being kicked in the sides by Tukoji and falling face first beside the now petrified monarch.

  The sounds of swords clashing with one another prompted a flurry of guards into the chamber, all displaying their unsheathed talwars and kukris.

  Their presence did not bother Tukoji—he had slain twice the amount of guards present in the past. His eyes were centred around his disgraced attacker.

  Spitting on the attacker's pagdi, he shouted, "Shame on you, Raghunath Rathod! Despite being a Kshatriya, you attacked me from behind! Have you no honour?"

  There was no response save a groan. Tukoji then glanced at the trembling figure King, who had already folded his hands.

  Began the general:

  "Unlike you, Ashutosh Mishra, our bloodlines are pure on both sides until the seventh generation. We are Kshatriyas through and though. It is you who have crossed caste boundaries and polluted the blood of your Deshastha ancestors!"

  "T-Tukoji!"

  "Apologise to me, Brahmin. Recant your words. If you refuse to do so, the Maratha Confederacy will consider the treaty null and void. Given that you have insulted the Peshwa and refused his offer, it is likely that he will order a punitive expedition to teach you a lesson."

  That shall not be necessary, Tukoji Holkar.

  Tukoji was startled. He exclaimed, "Huh?! A woman?"

  "Greetings, Tukoji Holkar. I am Rajani Devi, the widowed wife of Shri Vitthalanāth Mishra."

  Tukoji was flabbergasted and immediately put back his sword into its sheath. "R-rājmātā!" he cried out.

  Scores of maids and armed bodyguards rushed into the hall, taking positions around the dignified woman, whose white saree shone brightly in the light emanating from the nightlights kept beside every chair. Tukoji bowed curtly and took a step back, allowing the King to gain composure and touch his mother's feet.

  Rajani Devi was unimpressed. She had overheard the conversation and was appalled to know that her only son despised the warrior caste so brazenly.

  She shot at him (in Telugu), "Go to your quarters immediately. You have already caused us a lot of trouble. Clearly diplomacy is not your cup of tea."

  Ashutosh lowered his head in shame and scurried away, followed by her maids and the guards who had entered prior to the Queen Mother's arrival.

  Lalaji too stood up and ran towards the gate, not even bothering to acknowledge the presence of the strongest woman in the Kingdom.

  The Queen Mother shifted her attention towards the towering figure standing in front of him.

  "I apologise on his behalf, Tukoji."

  "It is fine, mother. It was improper of me to threaten him."

  "It was improper of you to insinuate that his lineage is tarnished because Kshatriya blood has been introduced to it. Are you not a warrior too, Tukoji? Do you too believe that the blood of a Kshatriya is polluting?"

  "No, mother. That wasn't my intention!"

  "I hope so, Tukoji. Just like you, I am a proud warrior princess of the Reddy family. The same blood that flowed in the veins of Shri Rama flows in you and me. How can it be polluting?"

  "It isn't, Devi. I was infuriated by what His Highness said about the Scindias and Shrimant Peshwa. I apologise nonetheless."

  The Queen Mother smiled, saying, "No worries, Holkar Sahib. It happens. Kshatriya blood is ever irate!"

  "It certainly is, Raniji."

  "Now now," she questioned, "Did Maharani Ahilyabai send you to seek a marital alliance with the House of Mishra?"

  "Yes!"

  "Then you should have come to me, general. No marriage can occur in this household without my sanction."

  "My apologies, Devi. I wasn't aware."

  The Queen Mother chuckled and quipped, "Well, now you are!"

  "Hmm.."

  "In any case, please meet me in the Diwan-i-Aam in an hour. We shall discuss the terms of this alliance in the presence of all courtiers."

  "So be it, Raniji."