Chapter 6: Shifting Pieces

Eldest Sister entered the palace for a year; the following year, Second Sister’s marriage was arranged. When the golden jasmine bloomed, Mother took Second Sister’s hand and said gently, "The Singh family may not be illustrious, but they possess true military merit and a clean family name—they will not treat you poorly."

Her words were both comfort and command, a mother’s reassurance hiding the finality of a verdict. As she spoke, the clatter of Mother’s bangles and the sharp scent of chai filled the air, underscoring the finality of the moment.

The title of Cavalry Commandant sounds like a third-rank noble, but in truth is only an empty title. Second Sister’s face lost its usual smile. She blurted out, losing composure: "Is this… Consort Priya’s idea?"

The slip in her tone was shocking; in our family, such bluntness was rare. I saw Mother’s jaw tighten.

Mother replied sternly, "Consort Priya serves deep within the palace—how could she concern herself with such trifles?"

Her voice was steel wrapped in silk. Mother’s authority was never to be questioned in front of the daughters.

"Then… did Papa change his plans? What about Prince Rajiv…"

The mention of Prince Rajiv, once a dream, now sounded childish. Mother’s gaze was icy, and Second Sister shrank back.

Mother’s eyes turned cold. "What has it to do with Prince Rajiv? Since the Kapoor family has produced a consort, we must know to avoid suspicion."

The lesson was clear: the family’s honour was always to be above personal ambition. In that instant, the future shifted for Second Sister, and she knew it.

Second Sister’s face turned ashen, finally understanding Father’s true intention. Balance at court is not about pleasing both sides, but about making a decisive wager at the right moment. However favoured Prince Rajiv may be, he is but a pawn in the President’s hand. The truly wise stake all on the sure winner. This move was to show the President: the Kapoor family’s daughters would rather marry into a nominal title than be tainted by the struggle for succession.

The wisdom of our family was always to survive, even if it meant sacrificing one’s own desires. Second Sister’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first.

Second Sister was still unwilling, stumbling as she asked, "Since Papa has chosen loyalty to the President, why still maintain ties with the Prince of Rajpur’s household?"

The question was risky, but the desperation behind it was obvious. We all knew that in Lucknow society, appearances were everything.

Mother slowly turned the pair of pure gold bangles on her wrist. "Silly child, attending parties and flower viewings is simply the norm among influential families. When Prince Rajiv hosts a party, all the elite attend. If the Kapoor residence does not go, it would appear deliberate."

The world of the powerful is built on subtlety. The true meaning is always hidden beneath layers of etiquette, like the saffron in a bowl of kheer.

Faced with Mother’s nearly frank hint, Second Sister suddenly understood. What Papa said years ago about intensifying Eldest Sister’s education was merely bait, to see which daughter was more suited to enter the palace. What Papa wished to observe was, in the face of power and temptation, who could keep to her place, and who could hide her sharpness. Eldest Sister’s infatuation and Second Sister’s scheming had long been seen through by those eyes seasoned in bureaucracy.

No move in the Kapoor house went unseen. It was a lesson we all learned early: nothing escapes the notice of the head of the family.

"Eldest Sister lost her virtue; if anyone should enter the palace, it should be me."

Her voice broke, the old confidence now replaced by pleading. The stakes had never been higher for her.

Mother picked up a teacup and sipped, then answered, "There are three kinds of intelligence in this world: the lowest is scheming endlessly, the middle is hiding one’s light, the highest is making others think you are not clever at all."

Mother’s words fell like pearls on marble. In our family, the art of appearing simple was the greatest weapon of all.

At this, Second Sister’s body trembled uncontrollably. I hurried forward to support her, pressing lightly on her wrist. "Sister is happily confused? Why not thank Mother quickly?"

I tried to ease her shame with a joke, but my own hands were cold. Even the servants in the corridor stood a little straighter, sensing the tension.

Second Sister looked at me deeply. Though her eyes brimmed with unwillingness, now all turned to gloom. Papa had long seen that her cleverness was too sharp. If she entered the palace, she would inevitably act on her own. But Eldest Sister, though seemingly naive, understood timing best. What Papa and the President wanted was never the most outstanding one, but the most suitable piece.

Our fates were being decided over cups of chai and the turning of golden bangles. I saw the moment Second Sister surrendered, her pride ebbing away.

After everyone had left, Mother kept me behind. She picked up a Jaipur blue pottery cup, the curling tea smoke and her gentle brows tinged with scrutiny. "Do you think your mother is cruel?"

The question caught me off guard. For a moment, I saw the woman behind the mask—a mother, weary and burdened, not just a manager of destinies.

I lowered my eyes, gazing at the silver embroidery on my kurta, then looked up at the carefully pruned gulmohar outside the window. "All things in the world come at a price. No matter how gorgeous the lotus, without the gardener’s shears, it is but a wildflower by the roadside."

My words surprised me, their wisdom echoing something I must have overheard from elders. Mother’s lips curved in a rare smile.

Mother nodded, her eyes full of approval. "Exactly. Though you are young, your mind is clear; this is your strength." She paused, her tone cooling. "Yet as a daughter, your heart is rather cold."

Her words stung, but I could not disagree. In our house, love and calculation were always intertwined.