Chapter 2: Shadows and Sacrifice

I will never forget that day.

Even now, when the nights in Lucknow are windless and the power goes off, I still see those shadows and hear the sounds—the shouts, the clang of swords mixing with the sharp tang of haldi, and the distant wailing of temple bells. Desperate prayers were whispered in every corner of the palace.

The rebel cavalry stormed the royal palace.

The ground shook as if the gods themselves were angry, and the peacocks in the garden screamed in terror.

The family guards fell one after another, their bodies littering the marble floors.

Blood ran down the steps, and even the great marble elephants at the gate seemed to weep silent tears as their stone feet were stained red.

My sister and I hid behind a carved wooden screen, her hand desperately covering my mouth.

Her palm was slick with sweat, smelling of rose oil and fear. I could feel her heartbeat racing. We huddled so close our breaths mingled, both of us hardly daring to blink.

We watched, eyes wide, as Raghav Singh himself thrust his sword through my father's—His Majesty's—chest.

The king hadn’t even drawn his sword, so sudden was the betrayal. The flash of steel, the gasp, and his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

Several rebel generals, eyes gleaming with lust, pounced on my mother like hungry wolves.

The sound of her bangles shattering was louder than her cries. Later, even the palace parrots fell silent, as if in mourning.

Unable to bear the humiliation, my mother threw herself against a marble pillar.

Blood splattered before my eyes.

The white of her saree turned crimson in an instant. Somewhere, a diya flickered and went out, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same.

Raghav Singh, his eyes bloodshot, swept his gaze around the palace chambers—as if searching for any fish that might have slipped through the net.

My sister whispered in my ear,

"Ananya, don't cry. Didi will protect you."

She gritted her teeth. The words tasted of salt and old promises. Even then, she was all that stood between me and the world’s cruelty.

Clutching me, she slipped out the back door, hiding us behind a pile of fallen guards.

There was the sharp tang of iron in the air, the overwhelming smell of sweat, dust, and sandalwood oil. My feet slid on the marble, sticky with blood.

Then, she began to tear at her own clothes with force.

My voice trembled uncontrollably.

"Didi, what are you going to do?"

I had never seen her like that, desperate and wild-eyed, like a deer cornered by hunters. Her hands moved with savage urgency.

She forced a smile at me.

"Ananya, you stay here. Don't move. Wait for me to come find you."

She tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, the way Ma used to do, and kissed my forehead. The scent of her jasmine oil lingered long after she was gone.

Since childhood, I always listened to my sister.

So I hid behind that mound of bodies, not daring to move a single step, waiting for her for a full day and night.

The hours crawled by. I counted the cracks in the ceiling and the distant sound of conch shells from the temple. Hunger gnawed at my belly, but I didn’t dare even to weep.

On the morning of the second day, my sister finally found me.

By then, she was already dressed in the saree of a woman from Kaveripur. Her eyes were sunken, her face haggard.

She moved as though she were centuries older, her back bent and her smile brittle. The silver in her anklets no longer sang as she walked.

When she reached out to touch my face, I saw several horrifying whip marks on her wrist. She hurriedly pulled down her sleeve.

The sight of those red, swollen marks made my heart clench. She tried to tuck her hand away, but I saw the blood seeping through the thin cloth.

She held me tightly, tears of relief streaming down her face.

Her sobs were muffled against my hair, her grip almost painful. For the first time, I felt taller than her, as if she were shrinking with sorrow.

"Ananya, he promised not to kill you, to spare our lives."

Her tears soaked my shoulder. I lowered my head to look at her arm; the blood had already seeped through her sleeve, staining her saree.

I could not look away from the stains. Even now, the sight of red on white makes me think of her.

Later, I understood what my sister had done.

She had torn off her own clothes, nearly naked, and folded her hands and bowed low before Raghav Singh, her forehead nearly touching the marble, as if begging the gods themselves.

"I, Princess Meera, Meera Rathore, have long admired the great king."

She shrank in on herself, her long hair cascading over her skin—like a jasmine flower weeping in the rain, pitiful and moving.

The whole court watched in silence, some with hidden smirks, others with pity. Only the old palace priest looked away, muttering a prayer under his breath.

"Now that the deposed king is dead, I am willing to offer myself to comfort the king's heart."

My sister had long known Raghav Singh’s nature. She also knew that, as a princess of our house, surrendering herself would surely arouse his interest.

As expected, Raghav Singh laughed heartily.

"I have long heard of Princess Meera's fame. I did not expect her to be so understanding. Since the princess is so gracious, I shall gladly accept."

He lifted my sister into his arms and strode into the inner hall.

The old court musician’s sitar fell silent as he passed, the notes unfinished, echoing the fate of our family.

From then on, there was no longer the talented and beautiful Princess Meera in the world—only Lady Meera in the new ruler's harem.

Her veena lay untouched in the music room, strings gathering dust. The poet who once wrote songs for her left Lucknow and was never seen again.

My sister sent me out of Lucknow, to be raised by a wealthy family in Rajpur.

She gave me a last embrace, stuffing a small bag of jewels and a gold-stitched handkerchief into my hands. Her words were rushed, as if she feared the guards might overhear.

On the day we parted, she choked with sobs as she spoke to me:

"Ananya, if one day I can protect you, I will bring you back to my side. If that day never comes, then forget about me."

Her burning tears fell on my shoulder.

"Ananya, you must live well."

Her hands lingered on my cheeks, wiping away tears I didn’t know I’d shed. I nodded, my throat tight, the word ‘haan’ stuck behind my teeth.

I understood my sister's intention. She would rather endure the pain of separation than let me remain in Lucknow at the mercy of others. She wanted me to live, even if it meant a final farewell.

As the tonga rattled away from the palace, I kept looking back through the dust, memorising the silhouette of her standing at the gate until she was nothing but a blur in the morning light.

As the tonga wheels creaked over the cobblestones, I clutched Didi’s handkerchief and prayed quietly to Ma Durga for courage.