A Princess And Her King

A short story

Growing up in India: A Princess and Her King

A man is playing soulful Shehnai on a raised dais. The guests linger near him, glasses in hand, and move on, when they recognize familiar faces. Smiles stick to their carefully made-up faces, some noses corrected, some jaws fixed. The man plays on, unmindful of the audience. I wonder if he is even bothered about them. I guess not. I can smell money everywhere. After all money is the common denominator here, in the Opal Room of the only Seven Star hotel in the nation. The venue is decked slightly less than the bride, which is me, Her Highness Kunwar Rani Meena Singh.

The ubiquitous HH finally got hitched to my name. After such a long wait, I deserve it too.

It is eight thirty. The reception will go on till nine thirty, an hour more. Then I will get to retire to my suite to consummate my wedding. My new husband, the King of Jhuggarpur, His Highness MahaVikramidtya Pratap Singh is looking dapper in his imported suit and shoes. I quickly turn to look at him. He senses my look, turns and gives me a practiced, much used smile and squeezes my mehendi-covered hand, discretely. A quick thrill ran down my spine. I never had a doubt about his great luxurious tastes. He was a man any Princess would covet; a true King with pure blue blood gushing through his veins.

But, in the midst of this entire hullabaloo, between plastic smiles and photographs, my thoughts took wings.

Flashback

I grew up in a small hill station called Jogtal, near Shimla, Himachal Pradesh. My mother died while giving birth to my youngest brother, a still born, leaving behind four children: Bade Bhaiyya, the oldest, nine, Saanya and Sarairaj the twins eight, and I, Meena, four years old. We stayed in our palace, one of the many. I always found this palace very cozy. I got a room to myself when I turned five. My sister Saanya had one for herself. I loved the view from my room.

Mother was known for her beauty and charm. Her pictures adorned the walls of many a museum. Father was called His Highness Birender Pratap Singh II. Grandfather was number I so Father had to adjust with II.

Saanya took after Mother, and I after Father. Whatever I lost in the looks department, I made up in the brains department. I didn’t look ugly, I simply didn’t have the feminine curves that Mother had and had passed on to Saanya. I was quite angular and could pass off as a boy many times.

I didn’t cry much when Mother passed away because I had just turned four and could not comprehend the idea of death and loss. Mother was given a royal funeral. We were not allowed to go near the Ghats where her pyre burnt on sandalwood. Father whispered quietly with his ministers.   

After Mother’s demise, Father found it inconvenient to remarry and passed on the responsibility of looking after us to a nanny, simply and conveniently called Aunty. Even today, I cannot recollect her name. She had a face with deep laugh lines and a ready smile. I grew used to her and began to love her. She was the one I would run to after I returned to school. Aunty was a widow and had to make ends meet so she interviewed with Father who hired her immediately. After a couple of years, she started taking care of Father also. Bade Bhaiyya, once informed us conspiratorially that he had seen Father hugging Aunty and that Aunty would soon become Mummy. I was thrilled. I liked Aunty. I vaguely remembered my Mother so, I didn’t actually mind if Aunty became Mummy.

Sadly for me, Aunty remained Aunty. Father lost interest in her after sometime and found a new fancy, Dolly Aunty, the widowed Queen of a neighboring state.

When my siblings turned eleven and twelve, they were packed off to a boarding school. I met them only when they had their vacation. Or if Father believed we had behaved ourselves and deserved a treat. He would pack me into his chopper and off we would fly to Nainital, to my siblings’ school. We were always given a royal welcome. I felt that Father cherished such adulation. And sometimes craved for it; due to health condition, I was educated in a nearby school, and stayed with Father. It was not that I was a sickling or anything of that sort. I considered myself very healthy. Sometimes when I was naughty, my heart would start racing and I would have to be hospitalized. That is all. Due to this, I was protected like chinaware, kept away from stressful situations, away from any sort of dust and pollution. In the true sense of the word, I was a Princess; a delicate, not-so-pretty Princess.

When I fell sick and felt lonely, I would wake up crying for Mother. Aunty would soothe me and put me to bed. Father would never do such things.  

 I never saw Father except when I did something naughty at school or when I got good grades. He would sit me down on his plush sofa in the huge study and smile a benign, almost angelic smile. Strangely, I would cringe at that smile. I wanted him to hug me, pull my cheeks, and carry me on his shoulders.

I always wondered how other Kings behaved with their children.

In my school, everyone knew I was a princess. Because of this, I had few friends, even the ones I had stuck to me to have fun at my expense.

After nationalization, the Kings and Queens had to do something to keep their coffers full and their beds warm. So they resorted to some compromises with the government and shared revenues. To ensure the latter, while attending the much-talked about ‘wine tasting’ parties, the royals would swap information about ‘eligible mates.’ So, in such a party, Father and Dolly Aunty met and she became our house guest for a while. We kids thought Father would settle down with her. But, Dolly Aunty went her way, and Father found another muse and another and another. He decided to give a break to his amorous pursuits at the age of forty five. At that time, I was thirteen, my twin siblings, Saanya and Sarairaj seventeen, and Bade Bhaiyya eighteen.

As he was a major, Bade Bhaiyya had certain privileges such as getting to spend time with his friends after eight at night. Father discussed ‘grown up’ issues with him and called him his ‘heir.’ I would wonder if Bade Bhaiyya was his heir, what we were. Fate took care of that. I sighed in relief.

Life went on smoothly for us. I finished school with more than decent grades and Father beamed when the school invited him to be a Chief Guest at the convocation function. The children looked resplendent in their best finery and I looked my best because this was the first time Father had accompanied me to a social function. He ensured he never let me out of his sight and looked at me adoringly. He also patted my head and hugged me when they announced my name. I went up to the podium to collect my certificate and a small medal from my Father, my role model, my Knight in Shining Armor.   

After a few years, on my eighteenth birthday, Father called me to his study and had a ‘grown up’ chat with me. I was thrilled. I always imagined having this ‘chat’ with Father. I considered it a privilege to sit on the richly upholstered sofa and listen to Father talking about my chosen career, a teacher.

‘Meena, I understand that you want to serve our people and do your part, but why can’t you do that here, in our kingdom? Why would you want to relocate to Mumbai and teach there?’

‘Papa, I am just going to study for a degree in Education, for now. After that I will pursue a Masters degree then decide whether and where I want to teach. I may decide to do something else after my studies, am not sure, Papa. I might return and decide to take over from you Papa.’ I smiled and Father looked at me for a long time before replying.  

‘Hmm, alright then, Meena, in that case, I will ask my PA to make necessary arrangements for your comfortable stay.’   

‘Thank you so much Papa’ I gushed and almost was about to curtsey; I stopped myself when I realized I was his daughter and not a maid.  

When we were parting, as an afterthought, Father told me he wanted me to go out in the world and get some ‘worldly knowledge.’ But he had a condition.

‘Meena, I am not happy to send you away, my youngest, to a city like Mumbai, alone. But, am sure, you, my wise one, would keep her wits around and ensure you never behave in a manner unbecoming of your stature as a future ruler of our kingdom.’

‘Yes Papa’ I replied, my heart beating so fast, I feared it would jump out. Kingdom, oh yes, we were royals and we had subjects. I would often times forget my stature and slip into a ‘common man’ mode, as my siblings would say, screwing up their aristocratic noses.

‘Meena, why do you behave like a commoner? Why can’t you be like us? Seriously, Meena, grow up!’ my elder sister Saanya once said. I ignored her.

Saanya was a beauty and had suitors wooing her after she turned sixteen. Princesses in my family got married or laid as soon as they learnt how to change their napkins. When she turned nineteen, Saanya met her King, HH Maharaja Rajendraprakash Badola, from the princely state of Sirmur, Himachal Pradesh. Saanya met Raj, as he was popularly called, at a rave party in Shimla. They got sloshed and ended up together. When they realized they liked each other even after the drugs’ effect wore off, Raj proposed. A formal engagement followed and Father rejoiced. Bedecked aunties nee queens looked at me and asked the inevitable question, ‘When are you going to find your prince?’ I wanted to say, I am in no hurry, but kept my answers to myself.

Some bitchy ones sneered when they thought I was out of ear shot and said, ‘Who will marry her? She doesn’t even look like a royal, poor HH Birender ji.’

It was funny how even when they were bitching about me, they never missed adding the ‘HH’ to my Father’s name. Old habits die hard. I focused on the pista-flavored delicacy in front of me and arm-twisted the cook to get me some more. I never bothered to do anything about my weight. I was sure I didn’t have to bother about all that. I was certain that no man was going to woo a plain Jane like me.

Saanya got married soon and went off with her husband to warm his bed in their thousand year old palace. Within a year, she gave birth to twins and bloated like a balloon. Raj grew tired of his fat wife and went grazing. Between the two babies and frequent nappy changes, Saanya lost her charm and youth. When maturity knocked, she looked at me with a newer, clearer vision. I cringed. Saanya’s love and hatred were similar, stifling.  She would often come visiting and I would cringe. She would give me lectures on how to maintain my figure and skin and lure men. I was not interested.

Sarairaj, aka Junior, Saanya’s twin, was a darling. He was also very sensitive. I always felt close to this brother of mine. He would bring me flowers from our garden and show me his poems. We would go for long walks and discuss world politics. Saanya hated him because he was not macho like Bade Bhaiyya and did not have handsome friends who she could flirt with. Junior hated her back. Bade Bhaiyya’s friends considered her too young. Junior took leave one day when he could no longer bear the torture of his own existence. He understood that he could not accept his orientation and live a respectful life. He jumped from a cliff. It was called an accident. But, I knew better. Junior had left a note to me that simply said,

‘Meenu, I am going. This world will not understand why, but am sure, you my favorite sister will understand. Whenever you miss me, remember these words by Oscar Wilde: Experience is the name every one gives to their mistakes. I am sorry. Take care. Love, Bhaiyya.’

I felt as if I had lost more than a sibling. I didn’t cry. Rather I decided to flee the place. Father became withdrawn after Junior’s death as his pride and confidence were shattered. He knew about Junior’s orientation and somehow had guessed that his untimely death had something to do with the ‘discrete discussion’ they had had with a counselor. Father never regained his older spirit for life after that.

He had already lost Bade Bhaiyya’s support. His exit had left a large hole in Father’s heart. Bade Bhaiyya had shown a lot of promise as a future King and had made Father very proud. Father had announced Bade Bhaiyya’s coronation at a personal gathering when Bade Bhaiyya revealed his plans. He didn’t want to become the Monarch. Instead he wanted to travel and serve the underprivileged. Father tried to persuade him but Bade Bhaiyya had made up his mind. He left home with a small satchel and left behind a legal document that stated that he didn’t want any claim to the throne and the inheritance. Father could do as he pleased. I heard that Bade Bhaiyya had joined some organization that toured the third world countries and served and taught underprivileged children. He also had learnt to nurse the sick. When I understood the situation, I felt very proud of Bade Bhaiyya. Here was a man who had dared to throw away his inheritance to serve people. A true, people’s King.

Father could not bear the fact that both his sons had cheated him like this. He took a few months to recover from the shock. When he regained a bit of his old style and confidence, he realized that I had grown up and was big enough to handle a kingdom. Now I became his only hope. And this change in thought started showing in his speech and behavior. Suddenly, I was the cynosure of all eyes and I got special privileges. Father started treating me like Bade Bhaiyya. I found it stifling and wanted my simple uncomplicated life back. In my heart I knew it was not to be.

When I turned eighteen, I craved for freedom; to escape this place; this dread that seemed to hang on my head always. I had started looking somewhat like my Mother. Not a stunning beauty but I could hold my own in the world. I wanted to get away. I applied in several universities.

Soon it was time for me to bid goodbye. I had scored decent grades in the entrance exam and had received a scholarship in a college in Mumbai. Father refused to accept the scholarship and instead donated a hefty amount to the college. I cringed.

Being rich had its advantages. But, being rich and a princess in a city like Mumbai was a disaster. And suddenly realizing that the high you get by throwing money around is hard to shake off. I had had a whiff of this one and I was not one to let it go.

Without trying I suddenly found myself being invited to many rave parties and impromptu lunches. I found the ecstasy that marijuana gave me. I tried different combinations also. Many wannabes wanted to befriend me. I let this go on for six months then I decided to find my own way. I tried everything before renouncing the drugs. I could do it, most people can’t. Being a royalty somehow ensured you had nerves of steel.  

I stayed on in the house Father had bought for me. It was simply convenient, you know. And, I was certainly not the adventurous type to find a small room or a paying guest accommodation. I ignored the money-minded bunch and made myself some friends who accepted me the way I was, not because my Father was loaded and was a King. I enjoyed this life. I also learnt a lot about the way normal people lived their lives. From my friends, I understood the meaning of words like want, poverty, need, and joy. Some of my friends were royals: two princes, a junior Nawab, and a princess. The rest were normal working class people with a mind of their own and burning desire to change the world. I loved and looked forward to the impromptu sessions at the college canteen with my friends. My royal friends would drop in whenever they wanted and we would exchange information about our kingdoms. The others would listen in and not comment.

‘Meena, do you think it was right on his part to reinstate the land tax? I think it was barbaric’ said a prince when we were discussing the tax reforms in our states and how our respective fathers had behaved. The ordinary folk would look at us without batting their eyelids as if it was completely normal to have such conversations each day. This simplicity and freshness grew on me. I hated being bowed to or treated like chinaware. Somewhere during this time, I realized that being a princess in a modern world was not that bad either. During this time I also realized that I actually loved being the centre of attention and being the princess of a kingdom. I loved the way people reacted to my royalty status. Slowly, the feeling grew on me and I relished it. It showed when Father came visiting. He looked at me curiously and said, ‘Meena, are you alright? You look different.’

‘I am perfectly alright Papa. It is just that I have realized what you want for me and do for me is perfect. I truly appreciate being a princess.’

Father was surprised but being a King didn’t show any emotions and simply nodded. When he called after reaching home, he sounded relieved and happy; after a long time.

I settled down into my studies routine and loved it absolutely. I found the subjects very interesting. When I passed my first year with flying colors, Father flew down in his private jet to congratulate me. He spent a couple of days with me. He took me shopping and insisted on getting me a car. I refused. I loved traveling by bus and train. It gave me a feeling of blending in. And I wanted to blend, fast. Father returned after topping up my account with loads of cash and a whole new wardrobe. He had an agenda.

‘Meena, I want you to meet someone when you come for your vacation.’

‘Who?’

‘The man you will marry.’

‘Papa, how can you decide who I will marry? I don’t think I will ever marry anyone. What If I don’t like him?’

‘No discussion. I have decided. You are my daughter and you will do exactly what I ask you to.’

He ended the discussion thus. My heart sank thinking about the impending meeting with a strange man. But there was certainly a fleeting feeling of interest. Who was this man and why would he be interested in her, of all people? I was nervous, but I didn’t feel it was the right time to meet a suitor. I said so to Father. He said ok and cut the call. He didn’t call after that. Months passed. I wondered if I had broken his heart.     

A few weeks later, I met my man. His name was Suraj. Suraj Gehlot. Thankfully, he did not belong to any royal family and was the most honest and simple person I had ever met. In the first meeting, he stirred strong emotions in me. Suraj looked like a Greek God and I was a plain Jane. I wondered many times what he saw in me. The women who surrounded him were far prettier than I was. He kept pursuing and I relented. I accepted that I was crazy about him and he seemed deeply involved as well. We started meeting often. Suraj worked in a bank and would hang out with my friends at my place. I met him at a common friend’s birthday party and we realized we both had a lot to talk. We spoke for six hours straight. I kept meeting him after that. Suraj kept his charm up and I fell for him, totally. He was a great lover. I allowed him to deflower me and soaked in his perspiration and mingled it mine. I felt ecstatic. I discovered yet another way to get high. Suraj and I spent many a nights discovering the forbidden pleasures the flesh had to offer. Alcohol flowed freely and I decided I wanted to spend a lifetime with the man.      

After a month, Suraj proposed. I was so much in love with him by then, I immediately accepted.

After my final semester exams, I called Father.

‘Papa, I am coming home.’

‘Meena, I heard from your teacher that you have been a brilliant student. I am very proud of you. I will book a ticket for you. When are you starting?’

‘Papa, you will have to book two tickets. I have a surprise for you.’

‘Surprise?’

‘Papa, I have found the man I want to marry. I am in love. His name is Suraj.’

Silence.

‘Papa?’

‘Meena, you disappoint me. I am old now and you are doing this to me? Is he at least a royal?’

  ‘No Papa, he is not. And I don’t want to marry a King. I will marry Suraj.’

‘Ok’

Long after I disconnected the call, I kept wondering what Father would be thinking.  He had not said anything I had expected him to say. Hell, he had not even chastised me. How strange was that?

 When Suraj and I flew down, Father had put together a grand reception at the airport. I was embarrassed but to my utter surprise, Suraj seemed to be enjoying every bit of this drama. Father took to Suraj immediately. I had expected him to give Suraj a showdown. Suraj on the other hand befriended everyone in my family, well whoever was left, including Saanya’s twins. They adored him. All this adulation rankled me. I was taken aback by my own reaction.

‘Suraj, I am glad Father has accepted you. I am so happy.’

‘Meena, I was pretty sure he will accept me. He is old and he doesn’t have any other option you know. He has to accept whoever you bring home. You are a lucky woman that you got me.’

I was so shocked I didn’t reply. Suraj thought I was agreeing to his idea. I was wondering if I had missed seeing this ‘side’ of Suraj somehow when we were dating. I recalled that Suraj had seemed least interested when I had informed him about my royal status. He had simply shrugged and said, ‘I don’t care who your Father is. For me, you are the woman I love and want to cherish my whole life.’ I felt so elated at his words; I never bothered to use my saner instincts.  

We got engaged in a few days and Suraj metamorphosed totally. He invited his parents and a few relatives to come live with us in the palace. Suddenly, our palace started resembling a chawl. No, I had nothing against them, but I had pride in my lineage and the way my home, my palace was built. I didn’t like the way Suraj’s relatives used the things around the palace. When I found one of his uncles cleaning his shoes with one of the antique upholstery, I blew my top. I shouted at the Uncle and complained to Suraj and Father. Strangely, Father kept quiet. Maybe, he was actually getting old. I felt terrible for putting him through all this.    

Suraj’s behavior became obnoxious day by day. When the wedding date was announced, Father seemed shattered. Giving his precious kingdom and his daughter to a nobody was killing him. When I overheard the accountant informing Father about the huge amounts of money Suraj and his relatives had taken from him, I just gave up. This was the limit. Suraj could not use me like an ATM. I decided to confront him.

 ‘Suraj, do you love me?’

‘Meena, of course, we are going to get married in a few days. What kind of doubts are you getting? This is it baby; you will be mine; forever. All this will become mine. I will be the King and you my Queen.’

‘Never Suraj, you can never be King’ I informed him with relish. I waited for the reaction. His eyes widened and he looked at me with surprise, rather shock.

‘What? How is it possible?’

‘What do you think? You are a commoner. I am a Princess. I will be the Queen and if you marry me, you will just be my consort, not the King.’

Suraj’s reaction was something I cherish. His handsome face contorted and he grew frustrated.  

I kept needling him.

‘Suraj, when I told you about my royal lineage the first time, you told me you had no interest in becoming a King or even in my wealth. In fact you told me that I will have to come and live with you in a 2 bedroom flat in Mumbai. Don’t you remember?’ I challenged.

Suraj had never expected me to say all this. He had never known that I could become a confident and assertive Princess. I had to, after all I was royalty, and had to save my kingdom from a con man.

Love flew out the nearest window. I felt relief. In fact I was wondering if it ever was about love. I wondered if I had even loved him or had I just wanted to challenge my Father’s autocracy?

My confidence about my chosen life partner was shaky and I wanted out. I dare not tell Father about this. I managed my broken heart like an elegant princess. The women in my family were renowned for their elegance and beauty. I was not one to let them down. I decided to do this in my style.     

I made a few calls and waited.

A few days before the wedding, Suraj vanished. I got a confirmation call and I got ready for my part.

I ran crying to Father, ‘Papa, Suraj is missing. I think he ran away. I do not know what to do.’

Father looked perplexed. He managed to calm me down and promised me that he would track down Suraj. I took his old hands in mine and said, ‘Papa, I have caused you enough heartburn, I will do as you please.’

Father looked surprised by the turn of events. The wedding was called off when Suraj’s mangled remains were discovered in the forests dotting our kingdom by the police. The case was closed and termed an accident.

I mourned my supposed loss for a few weeks and nodded my head when Father suggested that I accompany him to a party. While we were driving to the venue, he gently squeezed my hand and slipped a picture into my hand. A pair of brown eyes and an aristocratic nose stared at me. I felt thrilled. I nodded softly.

Father smiled, after ages.