Chapter 1: The Art of Slacking, Royal Edition

So I immediately started slacking off.

Instead of poring over dusty bahi-khaatas or conducting serious darbars, I let myself go—singing old Kishore Kumar numbers and dancing with the palace staff as if it was my cousin’s sangeet, nights blending into days with the beats of the dhol. I sampled every vice this royal life offered—mango lassi with a shot of rum, too many late-night paan sessions, gambling with the wazirs till the rooster crowed.

Determined to embody the ultimate foolish ruler till the very end.

If anyone saw me sprawled in the gardens, feet propped up on a bronze elephant, humming old filmi songs, they’d think—this Raja’s reign won’t last the year. Even the peacocks in the courtyard looked more dignified than me sometimes.

But then, the ministers started shouting, "His Highness is truly wise!"

One day, the Diwan practically declared, “What vision! Maharaja has grasped the essence of true governance!” The whole durbar echoed with agreement, and I nearly choked on my ladoo.

Only then did I realise—something was off.

Wait, how did all the provinces submit and every neighbouring state come to pay respects?

The Nawab of Junagarh sent a silver elephant. The Maharani of Gwalior came herself, veiled and smiling, bearing saffron sweets and a subtle warning in her eyes. The English Resident, pale as usual, bowed extra low.