Chapter 4: The Price of Affection

Papa and Mummy always said I looked timid as a sparrow, but was bold to the extreme inside. Before entering the palace, they gave me plenty of gold and jewels, so that if I needed help, I could spend freely. Our family was not short of money. Even if I was unfavoured, I lived comfortably in the palace.

I had my own room with painted ceilings and a stack of letters from home. Every week, Papa sent a little money order and a loving warning: “Don’t act out, beti, but never let anyone walk over you.” Mummy’s voice echoed: “If all else fails, use your gold—don’t let them say our daughter went hungry.”

But once fed and clothed, desires arise, and I gradually developed feelings for Arjun, this little attendant. Who let him be so unbearably handsome? I generously spent money to help Arjun build connections and brought him food—sometimes a tiffin of poha, sometimes laddoos.

I remember watching his face light up at the sight of home-cooked poha, the way his eyes lingered on the laddoos, as if tasting sweetness for the first time. Small pleasures—shared between two who knew what it was to be overlooked.

Perhaps because of my spending, from then on, I never saw him sweating under the blazing sun on outdoor duties. Nor did I see his hands and feet cracked by winter’s wind.

But unexpectedly, my good intentions made the other attendants jealous, and they set him up to be punished before His Highness. It was a flogging.

The memory still makes me shiver—the whip cracks echoing down the stone corridor, the blood seeping through his kurta. The other attendants looked away, pretending not to see.

At present, his body had not a single spot unscathed, yet he turned to gently comfort me, “This servant is fine.” I felt even more guilty.

My voice broke as I tried to apologise, but he just smiled, brushing off the pain as if it was nothing. My throat ached from holding back tears.

My eyes reddened, my heart softened, and words escaped my lips before I could think.

“Arjun, why don’t you follow me?”

The sentence spilled out unbidden, heavy with more meaning than before. My heart thudded so loudly, I feared he would hear it over the hush of the empty corridor.

As soon as I spoke, I was stunned. Because this time, by ‘follow,’ I didn’t mean simply serving in my quarters, but… The kind that must be kept hidden from all eyes. ‘Follow.’ My cheeks instantly flushed, and I was filled with regret. Did he catch my meaning? This was a beheading offence; I shouldn’t have been so reckless. Appreciating a flower doesn’t mean you must pluck it. I kept admonishing myself, but then saw the bloodied Arjun devoutly kneeling at my feet, humbly and tenderly cupping my delicate foot, placing it gently to his lips for a kiss. The embroidery of my jutti brushed his cheek, and the faint scent of rose attar lingered on my skin.

“This servant begs Your Ladyship to love me…”

Though I wore embroidered juttis, the skin on the top of my foot burned, as if something had taken root.

“Then you must behave from now on.”

After speaking, I fled quickly.

As I hurried away, dupatta fluttering behind me, I felt the eyes of a thousand ancestors watching—some disapproving, some perhaps secretly cheering. My heart pounded so loudly, I almost tripped on the steps.