Chapter 6: The Wedding Games

The two queens of the harem argued for days with no winner.

The palace corridors echoed with their raised voices—sometimes dignified, sometimes shrill. Even the parrots in the gardens seemed to fall silent, sensing the tension.

Father Maharaja, unable to stand the commotion, decreed that I would marry a cousin from the Rajmata’s family.

He summoned the court scribe and announced his decision. The Ranis were silenced, if only for a moment.

Rani Meera stormed out in a fury, her silver anklets jingling, even the guard dogs cowering behind the pillars.

The Maharani, delighted to see Rani Meera’s plan fail, forgot her own candidate was rejected and held three days of feasts—maids and staff in high spirits.

The palace kitchen produced laddoos and jalebis in record numbers. Even the gardeners got extra sweets. Gossip flowed as freely as the sharbat.

When the attendant came to announce the decree, Kunal Sharma spat his chai ten feet:

I had never seen him so shocked. The chai left a perfect brown arc across the mosaic, and the attendant nearly slipped.

“What, it’s her?”

Kunal’s voice rose an octave, earning a sharp look from the old butler.

I was still annoyed at his lack of composure, but he shook his head and commented:

He leaned closer, dropping his voice: “Beautiful, but soulless. Beware, Arjun.”

Thanks to Kunal Sharma’s family’s matchmaking adventures, I also knew a bit about the girl.

I’d heard the Sharma family discuss her qualities at length, comparing her to a diamond locked away in a dusty box.

She’s the eldest daughter of Thakur Pratap, the only daughter of the late first wife, a thorn in her stepmother’s side.

Her story was the kind that made palace aunties tut-tut with pity—motherless, always overshadowed by her stepmother’s children.

Since childhood, unloved by father or mother, she lived with her grandparents and became reserved.

She learned to blend into the background, moving silently through her days. Even her laughter was rare—a soft, quick thing, like a passing breeze.

I thought, maybe she’ll be happy with someone as invisible as me. Maybe we can share the same corner of the palace without disturbing each other.

What’s wrong with that? A quiet girl is nice.

I imagined peaceful evenings—her reading by the window, me napping, harmony for all.

Maa Sa is gentle; if a shrew came to bully her, how could I stand it?

Maa Sa is too soft-hearted for palace politics. I need a wife who won’t bring trouble to her door.

For once, I agreed with Father Maharaja’s choice. Perhaps this time, fate would be kind.

Not only do I think so—Maa Sa thinks so too.

She said, “Beta, girls raised by the Rajmata’s kin are bound to be good at heart.” She smiled, polishing the silver plate for engagement sweets.

But her reasoning is simple—like attracts like. She trusts the Rajmata more than any horoscope.

She even opened her jewellery box, picked out her most precious bangles, and sent them to the Thakur’s mansion as congratulations.

Those bangles had been in our family for three generations, passed quietly from one gentle woman to the next.

After the engagement was settled, mother and son went to thank Father Maharaja.

We wore our best silk, offered our respects, and received his blessings. For once, I felt like a real prince.

Father Maharaja, unusually, granted us seats and spoke with us for a long while.

He asked after our health, reminisced about old times, even joked about my childhood mischief—something he’d never done before.

He said, you are cautious, do not fight or compete, and that is good.

His tone was approving—almost gentle. For a moment, I saw not the king, but a tired father relieved to see at least one son not plotting his downfall.

Now that you’re getting married, you’re an adult; living your own life well is more important than anything.

He placed his hand on my shoulder—a rare gesture. “Find your peace, Arjun. That is the real test.”

Listening to Father Maharaja’s earnest advice, I could only think:

Perhaps he regrets the palace games, perhaps he wishes for a different life for me. I understood, in that moment, that he was letting me go, freeing me from the chains of competition.

Parents who love their children plan far ahead for them.

Maa Sa squeezed my hand, her eyes shining. For the first time, I felt like my life was finally my own.

After that, I attended both my brothers’ wedding feasts in turn.

The palace came alive with colours, music, and jasmine. The entire city was invited—no one would call the Maharaja stingy with his sons’ weddings.

Eldest Brother was made Yuvraj Rohan, Second Brother Yuvraj Ishaan, both married with great pomp.

The baraat wound its way past the old neem tree, drums thumping, neighbours leaning out from their jharokhas to catch a glimpse of the royal procession. The elephants wore brocade, musicians played all night, and the streets were lined with lanterns from palace to city gates. Fireworks burst into the sky, lighting up the guests’ faces.

I stood at the back, clutching my sherbet, secretly counting diamond necklaces. I almost lost track after fifty.

Kunal Sharma covered my mouth, whispering:

He nudged me, “Arrey, Arjun! Control yourself! If the guests see you, they’ll think you’re here to loot the gifts.”

“Hold it in, swallow your drool. I know you love money, but at least try to keep your dignity.”

He grinned, knowing I’d pawn my sword for one of those emerald bangles.

I nodded furiously, one nod for each jewel spotted.

It became a little joke between us.

Time flowed like water through a crack, and finally it was my turn to get married.

Suddenly, the tailors measured me for sherwanis, and the kitchen buzzed with laddoo plans.

Before the wedding, I was granted the title Prince Arjun and given a prince’s bungalow.

The announcement was read in the courtyard, and the palace band played as Maa Sa and I inspected our new domain.

Though not as extravagant as my brothers’, it wasn’t shabby—at least better than what Father Maharaja had back in his day.

The new bungalow had a view of the old mango orchard, rooms filled with sunlight and birdsong. It was a palace by any other name.

Well, what can you do? Dadaji had so many sons, but Father Maharaja only has three.

Even the old guard at the gate joked it’s easier to manage three princes than thirty.

At least until the Crown Prince is decided, things won’t be too lopsided—got to avoid giving people something to gossip about.

Palace politics never sleep—if there’s even a hint of favouritism, the city would know by sunset.

I received the royal edict and brought Maa Sa to inspect the bungalow.

She entered, sprinkled a pinch of rice at the threshold and whispered a prayer for sukh-shanti—a traditional housewarming touch. We walked through every room, her sari rustling softly over the marble floors.

The residence had carved doors, marble floors, winding corridors, a lotus pond, and a small garden.

Maa Sa admired the jharokhas, the shade of the neem tree in the courtyard, and the gentle trickle of the pond’s water.

She ran her fingers over polished wood, checking for dust, and smiled in approval.

She pressed the edge of her pallu to her eyes, trying to hide her emotions from the attendants. “Arjun, you have your own home now,” she whispered.

After walking the whole place, my legs were numb, but she wasn’t tired at all.

She moved from room to room, never slowing down, stopping only to rearrange the marigold garlands at the door.

When everyone was gone, Maa Sa turned her back, quietly praying to the clouds:

She looked up at the sky, her voice trembling with gratitude, “Ma, Arjun is getting married. You can rest easy in heaven!”

I knew Maa Sa was missing my nani.

She rarely spoke of her own mother, but in moments like this, her silence said everything. She gazed at the fading light, lips moving in silent prayer.

She and the Thakur’s daughter were both children who lost their mothers early, suffered much coldness, sat on many cold benches, ate many cold meals, and only now have seen their hardships come to an end.

Maybe that’s why she believed our fates were intertwined—two lonely souls finally finding a home.

With all my heart, I promised myself I would never let my wife or Maa Sa feel unloved again.

Even if I never become Maharaja, I will make sure my small kingdom is filled with kindness.