Chapter 2: The Cost of Defiance

On the day of the Maharani’s ceremony, Maharani Priya declared she no longer wished to live.

The palace buzzed with activity—servants hurried about, brass plates clanged, and the generator sputtered in protest against a power cut. Sweat trickled down my back as the generator sputtered, its grumble barely drowning out the distant chanting from the temple ghat. Yet inside her chambers, the Maharani was bent on self-destruction. She hurled herself at walls, threatened to leap into the palace pond, refused all food and water—tormenting herself until she was utterly spent.

The Raja, desperate, rushed to her side after each durbar, gripping her hand, his eyes red with worry.

The scent of attar lingered on his kurta as he pleaded, "There are eighty servants in Surya Mahal. If you refuse even a morsel, ten of your people will face the stick. Tomorrow, it will be twenty. Think before you make me do this."

At those words, the Maharani broke down in tears.

Her sobbing was muffled by the silk of her saree as she buried her face in her hands. She bit her lower lip, refusing to look at the Raja, her pride battling with despair. A single tear slid down her beautiful, unfocused eyes—utterly hopeless, utterly shattered.

"The thing I regret most in this life is loving you."

With that, she resolutely knocked the steaming bowl of dal from my hands.

The bowl clattered to the floor, yellow dal splattering across the paisley patterns of the carpet. A hush fell, the spicy aroma replaced by a heavy tension.

"Raghav, don’t threaten me with others’ lives. You’re not worthy."

The Raja’s fury was cold. He repeated, "Good!" three times, then pointed at a palace servant by the door.

"Drag them out. Beat them."

When the Raja said ten, not one would be spared. The last to be dragged away was Chutki, who had been serving chai by my side.

Chutki’s bangles jingled with fear as she was pulled away. She shook like a leaf, her face streaked with tears of terror, crying out in despair and agony.

"My lady, please take a bite. I’m Chutki, I’ve served you since we were children—please, save me!"

Her words were barely audible over the commotion, but their desperation pierced my heart like a knife.

"My lady, I once took a blow for you when I was little!"

She pressed her palms together, trembling. "I touched your feet every morning, Didi, don’t let them take me!"

Maharani Priya sobbed even harder, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

The servants in the hall exchanged glances, silently pleading for mercy. The monsoon clouds outside rumbled as if the sky itself wept for them.

"Your Highness, are you satisfied? You punish my closest maid, leave me all alone—are you satisfied? Can I die now?"

The Raja was silent for a long time.

His face was stone, but his knuckles whitened as he clenched the armrest. Outside the hall, the dull thuds of wooden sticks striking backs and hips could be heard, mixed with the servants’ intermittent pleas.

Even then, they did not give up, crying and begging the Raja for mercy, and begging the Maharani to save them.

Their wails mingled with the evening azaan from the old city, a chorus of agony haunting the palace walls. I kept my head down, back pressed tightly to the curtain post, my legs trembling beneath my saree.

In that moment, I suddenly recalled something the Maharani had once said.

She’d said: "In my palace, there are no true servants—everyone is equal. If you’re ever unhappy, come tell me anytime."

Her words now echoed like a cruel joke, empty and distant, as I listened to the suffering outside.