Chapter 5: Palace Games and the First Birthday Revelation

I’d expected poison or daggers, but not to be used as a pawn in my birth mother’s struggle for favour.

The palace was a chessboard, and I a piece—sometimes treasured, sometimes discarded.

Maharani Jaya’s rival, the young Rani Qamar, was Papa’s favourite—bold, beautiful, and arrogant.

She once pinched me, laughing, “My child will be cuter than this one.”

I eyed her—horizontal line on her nose, a sign of many husbands. Dadi Sa wouldn’t approve.

Whenever Papa went to Rani Qamar’s palace, Maharani Jaya intercepted: “Tell him the princess is sick. That tramp can’t win.”

She’d have the maid unwrap me and lay me on cold marble, only satisfied when my cheeks reddened with fever.

The chill stung my skin. My cries echoed, but only the click of her bangles answered.

Ayah Radha tried to reason with her. Maharani Jaya stroked her own belly: “This child brings disaster. My father and brother are still in exile. I can’t feel close to her. Better I conceive a prince.”

She marked the calendar for her next fast, her gaze cold.

When I could crawl, frequent illness brought bumps and bruises. Sometimes they’d feed me medicine to upset my stomach, just to make Papa visit Hawa Mahal.

The ayahs would mutter, “Arrey, siyappa hi siyappa hai is mahal mein.”

Papa thought I was frail, anxiously muttering prayers, rudraksha mala clenched in his hands.

Me: small, pitiful, determined to complain to Dadi Sa at the next puja.

If I stayed like this, I’d truly become a sickly child.

I worked hard to practice speaking, and soon, my first birthday arrived.

The palace buzzed—cooks stirring kheer, musicians tuning sitars, guards polishing swords.

To show off his only child, Papa relaxed the rules—ministers joined the feast. Marigold garlands, attar perfume, and the ever-present clink of glass bangles filled the air. Chandeliers blazed, as if the city itself celebrated.

Guests arrived, eyes probing—some jealous, some sly. Maids dressed me in a red tiger cap, “Aiyyo, Pari looks like a motu sherni!”

A minister gushed, “Little princess is Lakshmi herself!”

I grinned, showing two milk teeth. Tasty praise!

Whispers trailed: “Just a girl—why such a fuss?”

“If it were a boy, he’d adopt Thakur Pratap’s son…”

Music, dance, and feasting—dholak beat and ghungroo, samosas and laddoos.

At the grabbing ceremony, the table overflowed—books, bows, makeup, bangles. The ayahs giggled, “Dekho, Pari ka kismet kya hai?”

Maharani Jaya tossed in a gold bracelet carelessly. Dadi Sa, beaming, added a South Sea pearl. The Maharaja, solemn, placed the royal seal. “Pari, come take this.”

A collective gasp—servants dropped trays, courtiers murmured, “Rajmudra for a girl?”

I waddled over, grabbed Papa’s angavastram, and announced, “Pari grabs, Papa.”

Papa, stunned, eyes full, scooped me up. “Meri pari, meri rani… sab kuch tera hai.”

While he was still emotional, I rolled up my sleeve, showing bruises.

“It hurts, Papa. Can you tell Mummy not to hit Pari anymore? Pari will be good.”

A shocked silence. A spoon clattered, an aunty gasped, two women exchanged glances.

Maharani Jaya froze. “You silly child, what are you saying?”

I squatted, squeezing out crocodile tears. “Wuwu, Pari knows she was wrong.”

Papa’s face darkened. He summoned the maids, who stammered, eyes darting. Learning I always had bruises, he flew into a rage, stripping Maharani Jaya of her keys and authority.

“If you can’t care for a child, how will you run a palace? The Maharani will reflect in Hawa Mahal.”

Dadi Sa thundered: “Announce my decree—the Maharani may not leave!”

Even the garden parrots fell silent.

Jaya tried to explain, “Your Highness, I’m slandered!”

Rani Qamar tittered, “Everyone knows Hawa Mahal’s maids are most obedient. All praise your management.”

She added, “Why not let me raise Pari?”

Papa replied, calm but cold, “That is your failure as a mother. From now, I’ll raise Pari myself.”

The assembly buzzed, Rani Qamar smirking. Papa carried me away, his sherwani sweeping the marble.

From his arms, I peeked at my mother—her tears finally real, pride gone, the ruby missing from her nath. She’d already begun to lose everything.