Chapter 1: Birth Under the Shadow of Fate

I counted on my fingers, troubled. If only I could swap fates as easily as Dadi Sa swaps temple prasad, I’d have picked a quieter destiny. But here I was, stuck as the background daughter in a group-pampering palace saga.

As my senses flickered awake, I felt warmth all around me—a heaviness pressing on my tiny body, but also a strange comfort, as if the air itself vibrated with whispered mantras. The scent of jasmine oil and a hint of turmeric clung to the air, wrapping me like the old silk sarees Dadi Sa stored for auspicious days.

What’s going on? Why does it feel like I’m floating in a steaming lota?

A metallic clang rang out, sharp and urgent—like someone had banged a copper lota on the stone floor. Here, that sound meant only one thing: panic.

“Rani Sahiba, bas thoda aur! The little one will come soon!”

The voices were thick with Rajasthani lilt—women’s cries rising, layered with incense smoke and hurried slokas. The old dai, bangles clattering, barked at shivering maids.

“Jaya ji, himmat rakho. Give us this child, and your family’s mistakes will be forgiven.”

“Even… if it’s a stillbirth, at least let us see the child…”

The air buzzed with anxious voices.

Somewhere, the metallic ring of a trishul and the chime of temple bells—Dadi Sa must be at her prayers, muttering to Kuldevi. Overhead, the creaky fan groaned, as if it too was impatient for my arrival.

I tried to open my eyes, but pain pressed on my head and a woman’s cries split the air.

Hands grabbed my feet.

My breath thinned. Desperate to survive, I pushed against the pressure with all my strength.

At last, the world blazed white.

For a heartbeat, I saw a ceiling of painted peacocks and marigolds as my tiny body emerged into the world—blinded by harsh light, surrounded by frantic whispers.

“It’s a princess!” The midwife’s shout cracked with hope, then terror. “No breath!”

Everyone shrank and knelt, not daring to meet the eyes of the black-sherwani-clad man gleaming with gold embroidery.

The tension was so thick, you could slice it with a chakku. Even the old watchman at the door mumbled, “Ram naam satya hai…” as if it were a funeral, not a birth.

I was limp, unable to open my eyes, just aware of someone lifting me.

Sandalwood and agarbatti swirled around me. I held my faint breath. The one before me withdrew shaking hands and staggered, voice breaking:

“Take the princess… Let her rest with our ancestors. Bhagwan give her peace.”

On the bed, the beautiful woman’s face drained of all colour—her glass bangles snapped as she clutched her chest, vermillion smeared in a mix of sweat and tears.

Dadi Sa rushed over, eyes rolling back as she collapsed, beating her chest: “Hai re bhagwan, my precious granddaughter! Why do you test our Rajput blood like this?”

Her wail echoed down the cool marble corridors. Servants pressed hands to their mouths; others whispered that even the stars were cursed tonight.

In the midst of this, the old dai, voice hoarse, muttered a half-prayer, half-curse under her breath, and a young maid, hiding in the shadows, nervously fingered her mangalsutra for luck.