Chapter 3: Pawn on the Chessboard

I met Raghav Singh at a palace banquet.

The halls were ablaze with lamps, the air thick with the scent of rosewater and the sharp tang of sandalwood. Music drifted from the courtyard, and laughter rose above the clinking of glasses. I remember feeling dizzy, half from nerves, half from the sickly-sweet thandai they served.

He was drunk and mistook me for the Maharani.

At that time, he had quarrelled with the Maharani, so I became her substitute.

His hands were rough but desperate, grasping at me as if I was the last hope before the monsoon floods. My heart pounded, part fear, part anticipation—a strange, secret thrill to be seen, even if only as someone else.

He refused to give me a title, but also refused to let me go.

Every night in those days, I was carried in a small Ambassador car to an old temple, then blindfolded and led through a tunnel to the Maharaja’s room.

The car would sputter quietly past the chowkidar, and I’d feel the bumpy road through the thin soles of my chappals. Sometimes, I could hear the distant call to prayer from the mosque nearby, or the cooing of pigeons settling in the eaves. The blindfold was soft, always scented with attar, but it made me feel both treasured and trapped.

Even after he reconciled with the Maharani, he would still occasionally summon me.

From calling me by the Maharani’s name, to eventually calling me with deep affection: "Asha."

The first time he used my name, my heart fluttered like a trapped bird. I held onto the syllables, afraid they might vanish if I breathed too loud.

I thought he must have had me in his heart. I wanted a status.

As a young woman, with no izzat left and no protection, my only choice was to enter the palace.

But he still refused me, saying the Maharani was pregnant.

But I didn’t want to wait any longer. I had drunk so much herbal medicine, and if this went on, my body would be ruined.

The bitter taste of those brews still clung to my tongue, and every time I saw the bottle of herbs on my nightstand, I felt a wave of resentment. In silence, I counted the days, praying for escape.

I wanted to marry.

I wanted to take a gamble—to marry into a good family.

I went to find Mausi.

For my marriage, Mausi picked many candidates.

The list was long—babus, zamindars, army men. Each name accompanied by details: job, property, family standing. The elders discussed my fate over endless rounds of chai and dry fruit, as if they were choosing mangoes in the bazaar.

I took a fancy to Colonel Pratap, who was posted at the border.

He had lost his wife and had a son and a daughter at home. This time, he came to Delhi to seek a second wife from among the illegitimate daughters.

Many girls disliked the remoteness of the border and were unwilling to marry. But for me, marrying far away was safer.

The idea of escaping the tangled web of palace politics, even if it meant facing sandstorms and loneliness, seemed a kind of freedom. I pictured myself in a small cantonment house, where no one would know my secrets.

Not long after, Mausi brought news that Colonel Pratap was coming to propose marriage.

She smiled and comforted me, telling me to set my mind at ease and prepare to be the Colonel’s wife.

Her words were gentle, but there was steel behind them. I saw her hands tighten around the folds of her saree, and for a moment I thought she too wished she could run far away from all this.

I nodded, though a faint worry lingered in my heart.

That night, I tossed and turned under the mosquito net, listening to the distant sound of dogs barking, wondering what kind of life awaited me at the border.

It was at this time that things changed.

On the day Colonel Pratap proposed, the legal wife promised the fourth sister instead.

My face turned pale, and I staggered to the main room to ask why.

The world spun as I made my way, each step feeling heavier than the last. My palms were slick with sweat, and the dull ache behind my eyes threatened to burst into tears.

Just as I was about to push open the door, the legal wife’s voice floated out:

"I’ve thought about it for a long time. It’s more stable to have Asha as a second wife to accompany you."

"Your fourth sister is scheming and hard to control, but Asha is easier to manipulate. And with her mother in the family, she won’t dare cause trouble."

Their voices were sharp, slicing through the thin wooden door. My nails dug crescents into my palm as I strained to hear, each word landing heavier than the last. I realised then that my fate was a matter of convenience, like shifting a pawn on a chessboard.

Then came the reluctant complaint of the legitimate sister.

"Mummy—Asha is too pretty. I’m afraid she’ll attract the Second Prince’s attention."

"So what? She’s just a pretty vase. Why take it to heart? Be generous. This marriage your mausi fought for, don’t let yourself be unhappy."

The casual cruelty stung more than any slap. I bit my lip, tasting blood, wondering if I would ever be more than an afterthought.

Only then did I know that the Maharani had asked the Maharaja to betroth my legitimate sister to the Second Prince, and the legal wife wanted me to be my sister’s second wife.

Originally, they intended the fourth sister, but at the last moment changed their minds and gave the fourth sister to Colonel Pratap.

"Third girl, why are you here?"

A call interrupted my thoughts. As the door opened, the legal wife and sister looked at me in astonishment.

The sudden silence in the room was deafening. I kept my gaze low, hands trembling at my sides, as the weight of their stares pressed down.

I lowered my head, and after a long moment, heard my own hoarse voice: "Mummy, I want to marry Colonel Pratap."

My voice sounded thin, almost childish, but it was all I had.

"Insolence!"

The legal wife’s anger was expected. She stood up and looked at me coldly. "Marriages are decided by parents. How can a daughter decide for herself?"

Her words echoed the old rules—obedience, silence, sacrifice. I braced myself, knuckles white from clenching my dupatta.

"Since you’ve heard, I won’t hide it. I plan to have you be a second wife to the Second Prince. Dadi ji knows this too."

"As an illegitimate daughter, being a prince’s second wife is already your honour."

My throat tightened at the word ‘honour’. In our world, honour was a burden, a weapon, a curse.

I raised my head, a sudden wave of disgust rising in my heart, my dark eyes unreadable, my voice tinged with a faint mockery.

"Is mummy serious? If I enter the Second Prince’s haveli, I’m afraid the Second Prince will never reach the throne in his life."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the others. The silence crackled, as if the very air was scandalised by my words.

"You will regret it."

I didn’t believe Raghav Singh would look kindly on a prince who dared to take his woman.

Clearly, they didn’t understand what I meant, thinking I was cursing the Second Prince.

The legitimate sister angrily threw something at me.

A little box of sindoor landed at my feet, its contents spilling like the blood of all the women forced into unwanted marriages. I stared at the red powder, refusing to bend.

Only then did I notice she was wearing that set of luminous pearl hair ornaments.

The fine pearls dazzled as she moved.

For a moment, jealousy burned hot in my chest, but I quickly looked away, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.

I was locked up, and only Mausi came to see me once.

She brought me my favourite coconut barfi, wrapped in a banana leaf, and sat beside me on the cot. Her eyes were rimmed red, but her voice was steady.

She bit her lip, as if making some difficult decision.

"Asha, I’ve discussed with your fourth sister. She wants to marry the Second Prince. On the day Colonel Pratap comes to marry, you will marry in her place, and she will become the Second Prince’s second wife for you. Is that all right?"

I was stunned for a moment, deeply moved.

Mausi loved her daughter dearly, but I couldn’t let her fall into misfortune.

Besides, I had already made up my mind.

I gently shook my head. "Mausi, I will marry."

My decision was final, though I could see her heart breaking. She pressed my hand, her bangles clinking softly in the silence.

Since they wanted me as a second wife, I would fulfil their wishes.

I also wanted to see what Raghav Singh would feel upon seeing me as his son’s woman.

Would he still be able to swallow his disgust and tell me to wait a little longer?

The sparrows on the window sill were still circling. When I approached, one landed in my palm.

I smiled at it. "Go and tell your master, I agreed."

It chirped, spread its wings, and flew away.

Asha, I thought, you are sending yourself to your own fate—like the sparrow, small but stubbornly free.