(I will provide the historical context in a later bonus chapter.)

  "But why not swordsmanship, Aniruddha bhaiya?" Kamayani protested.

  "Because-"

  She persisted, "Alka knows how to wield a sword! Why must I be excluded?"

  Alakananda chuckled. Was her cousin jealous?

  Closing in on her cousin, she tapped her shoulder and teased her, saying, "I thought you preferred doing womanly things, Kammu."

  "I was in the wrong, Alka. These few days have made me realise that in this world, one can survive only if one does what the man does," Kamayani retorted.

  Alakananda wanted to respond, but her mouth refused to cooperate. What is this? Kammu is besting me?!

  "Hence, I shall-YEOWCH!"

  A loud thud sounded through the barracks.

  The Crown Prince had given his beloved cousin a token of love.

  "What was that for, bhaiya?" Kamayani cried out, rubbing the area on her scalp where Aniruddha had smacked her.

  "Look, Kammu. I couldn't care less for womanly and manly things-"

  "That is because you're a man," quipped Alakananda, but a cold glance from her brother silenced her.

  He continued, "What matters to me is your safety. You're more likely to get injured training with the sword than the bow and arrow. I can't have the only daughter of the Emperor die on me, can I?"

  Kamayani grimaced at that remark. She retorted, "Bhaiya, how many times will I have to remind you to stop reminding me that I am the Emperor's daughter?"

  "Fine, fine! I will call you Kammu, okay?"

  "Okay!" Kamayani nodded.

  "Now, now; I need to attend to official duties. Alakananda here will teach you how to use the bow and arrow. To ensure that you're not bored, I've even brought Dwijendra!"

  Kamayani's eyes sparkled at the mention of the name.

  "Dwijendra? Where is he?"

  A feeble, fidgety voice replied, "I—I am here, Your Highness..."

  Dwijendra emerged from behind the Crown Prince and bowed in front of the two princesses.

  "Uff, Aniruddha! You forced him to come with you, didn't you?"

  "Same thing, Alka~" cried out the Crown Prince as he scurried away.

  Alaknanda sighed. So even you know, brother?

  Turning to her cousin, she said, "Come, Kammu; let us shoot arrows today!"

  Kamayani smiled and took her cousin's hand. The two started walking, Dwijendra staying close behind. After what seemed like an eternity, the two princesses arrived at the archers' section, where a tall, slender, long-haired man greeted them.

  "Kammu, meet Bholenathji. He is my teacher!"

  Kamayani looked at the tall man standing in front of him. She could only make out his pointy nose, for almost the entirety of his face was covered by his bushy beard and long, overflowing tresses. She thought she spotted a scar near his forehead, but it could very well have been her imagination.

  "G—greetings, Bholenathji. I-I am Kamayani, Alaknanda's cousin."

  Bholenath grinned. "Who does not know you, princess? You are the only daughter of the Emperor of Aryavarta!"

  Alakananda sensed Kamayani's tempers flaring up, so she hastedly sought Bholenath's permission to start the session. When he nodded in response, Alaknanda caught her cousin's hand and pushed her inside an enclosure.

  She called out to Dwijendra.

  "Dwijendra ji, where are you?"

  "I-I am here, princess!"

  "Oh! Were you looking at the archers?"

  Dwijendra blushed. "Yes, my princess. The suddenness of their movements, their precision and concentration—it attracts me so much!"

  “Is it their movements you are attracted to, or the man behind them, Dwijendra Ji?”

  Dwijendra turned as red as a beetroot. "I am not inclined that way, princess! How could you suggest such a thing? The law of Manu—"

  "Spare me that nonsense, friend. The law of Manu does not envisage a woman wielding weapons. And yet, here I am. Now will you please stand behind your beloved Kamayani?"

  Dwijendra bobbed his head in response, dumbfounded.

  Alaknanda quickly entered the enclosure she had pushed Kamayani into. She saw her cousin eyeing the quivers curiously.

  "A—are these used to shoot people?" Kamayani asked.

  "No, Kammu. They're blunt as hell. I doubt these will even kill animals. They're meant for target practice."

  "Oh." was the reply.

  "Now," shouted Alka, "pay close attention to what I do!"

  Alka plucked out an arrow from one of the quivers lying on the floor. Placing it on the bowstring, she took her stance and pulled the string, closing her left eye.

  "Keep your knees relaxed. Your shoulders too—they mustn't be tightened. Now, look at my palm."

  Kamayani looked at Alaknanda's palm. Three of her fingers were curled up into a hook-like position and held the taut string.

  "Look at the extent to which I have pulled the string. It must not exceed the corner of your smile."

  Kamayani nodded in agreement.

  "Also, keep the arrow aligned with the target."

  "And, Alka?"

  "And most importantly, focus on the target, not the bow."

  Saying thus, Alaknanda released the arrow. It whizzed through the air, veering slightly to the left before piercing the target board a few centimetres off the bull's-eye.

  "Now, cousin," began the princess, "Just imitate me!"

  It was easier said than done, however. Kamayani had never wielded any weapon in her life. Her legs were shaking, her arms were trembling, and her entire body convulsed as though she had a spasm. She couldn't even hold the bow properly. Sometimes the arrow would slip from her hands; sometimes she pulled the bowstring too tightly, causing it to recoil violently; sometimes her giddy gait caused the bow itself to fall onto the floor.

  Not to mention her anxiety. Oh, boy was she perspiring profusely! Her bodice seemed to stick to her skin.

  Alakananda, disappointed, opened her mouth to shout at her, but before she could do so, Dwijendra popped from behind and placed his right arm around the princess's shoulder.

  "Huh?" she squealed.

  "It's going to be alright, princesssss," Dwijendra murmured into Kamayani's ears.

  Her shoulders straightened at his sibilant voice.

  At his beckoning, she relaxed her knees and pulled the bowstring until her face. She closed her left eye and looked at the target board in front of her.

  Concentrate, Kamayani. Look only at the target, Kamayani. Just as she said.

  The bull's-eye is red. And round. It looks cute.

  Huh? Oh! That's the sound of an arrow piercing wood. I forgot that other people were practising too!

  Hey! Kamayani, you need to focus! B..but! Dwijendra! H—he's too close!

  The bull's-eye! It's red. And round. And c—Huh?! Why is it changing shape? Whence is this beard forming? Huh?! F-FATH—

  Kamayani released the bowstring abruptly, causing the arrow to whoosh through the air, but it veered rapidly to the left, whizzing past the target board.

  It was a miss, but only in the eyes of the beholders.

  ***

  Diwan-i-Aam*, Royal Palace, Bhopal.

  "You may enter, Tukoji."

  "Most certainly, Rājmāta."

  Tukoji surrendered his sword to the guards standing beside the door of the Diwan-i-Aam, took off his boots, and walked into the chamber. He was offered paan* by a female attendant, but he respectfully declined.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  The Queen Mother sat comfortably on a cushioned chair, and two women, whose ghoonghats ran all the way to their necks, began fanning her. She beckoned Tukoji to take his seat, and he obliged.

  The Queen Mother began, "So the Maratha Confederacy seeks a marital alliance with us?"

  "Yes, mother," replied Tukoji.

  "Why so?" she questioned, "Was the mutual defence pact not enough? As you may already be aware, the said pact has caused the King a great deal of trouble."

  "Blood is thicker than water, Queen Mother."

  Rajani Devi chuckled. "So you wish to entrap us, Tukoji?"

  Tukoji smiled. No wonder she is regarded as the most powerful woman in the kingdom.

  "You are mistaken, mother," he responded. "If we enter into this alliance, your kingdom isn't going to be the only one with an obligation to defend. Our forces will be bound to defend your kingdom, too. After all, one can abandon anyone but one's own blood in times of calamity."

  He took a pause, rubbed his moustache, and continued, "I assume you are aware of the situation up North?"

  "I am, Tukoji."

  "If that is so," he added, "then I believe that this is a win-win situation for both of us. We gain an ally in the North, and you gain protection from invasion, in addition to the terms agreed upon in the defence pac-."

  "Forgive me for saying this, Tukoji," the Queen Mother burst out,"but this reminds me of my own marriage."

  Tukoji was puzzled. "Pardon?"

  "N... nevermind, Tukoji. Let us get back to discussing the important thing. Whom does the Peshwa desire?"

  "Ranisahib never said that Shrimant Peshwa had anything in particular to offer..."

  The Queen Mother quipped, "The Peshwa is a child*, Tukoji. How can he offer anything?"

  Before Tukoji could respond, she added, "This brings me to the question—whom exactly will my brethren marry? The Peshwa is a child. I don't think you will marry a child to a woman twice or even thrice his age. The children of Peshwa Bajirao are growing old."

  "Nana Phadn*-I mean, the regency council has decided that Ghanshyam Rao* should remarry."

  The Queen Mother stared at Tukoji and signalled the two women beside her to stop fanning. "Ghanshyam Rao? The youngest one?"

  "Yes, Your Highness."

  "But why? Why him?" she queried.

  "The Peshwa is a child, Your Highness. He doesn't have any legitimate heirs to serve as a fallback. What if, God forbid, something happens to him?"

  "Why, you can always pass the throne to Raghun-"

  No sooner had the name "Raghunath" been uttered by the Queen Mother than Tukoji snapped back, "We would rather a woman become the Peshwa than allow a traitor or his descendants to besmirch the throne."*

  "My apologies, Tukoji Holkar," said the Queen, glancing upon the story floor beneath her, clearly embarrassed at her suggestion.

  "No worries, mother."

  "So," she began, after regaining composure, "What does the regency want?"

  "According to what Ahilyabaiji told me, the regency wants Crown Prince Aniruddha to marry Ghanshyam Rao's fourteen-year-old daughter. In turn, he will marry Princess Alaknanda."

  "W-what?!" blurted out the old lady.

  "Pardon, o queen? Is something the matter?"

  "Surely you must be jesting, general. Alaknanda's-"

  "An illegitimate child? We are aware of that."

  "If so, then why?-"

  Tukoji smiled. "Because politics, Queen Mother. Considering the stakes, such considerations are piddling. Besides, if I am not mistaken, the Princess's mother was a brahmin lady, was she not?"

  "Is he out of his mind? " One of the two women mumbled to the other.

  The Queen Mother, clutching the handrest of her chair, replied, "Yes."

  The grin of satisfaction that formed on Tukoji's visage made the Queen Mother gulp. I just lied. I lied to Tukoji Holkar, of all people.

  "What about the Scindias, Tukoji?" she inquired.

  "The Scindias want a princess, Your Highness."

  "Oh? Really? Are they willing to undergo an anuloma marriage?"

  "Not at all!"

  "Then?"

  "They want the hand of a Kshatriya princess, Your Highness."

  "But we have no pureblooded Kshatriya women in our househ-"

  "But you do," remarked Tukoji.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You do have pureblooded Kshatriya women in your household, Rani."

  "Who? Are they referring to me? I am a grandmother, you see. I'm not a lascivious woman!"

  Tukoji smiled even more. He stated, "We are referring to the other Kshatrani in the household."

  "Who is it, Holkar Sahib?!"

  Tukoji twisted his moustache and commented, "Why, I thought you already knew! It is Her Imperial Highness Kamayani, the only daughter of Emperor Avinash."

  ***

  Bhesoda village, 37 km north of Bhopal

  Same day

  "Bundela Sahib, our horses seem tired," said Laxman, peeking at his horse, whose gait had slowed and started to resemble a baby tiptoing. His otherwise boisterous and ever-so-neighing horse had reduced to a whimpering little puppy, and almost the same could be said of the others.

  Rameswar Bundela peered at the blue sky above. The sun was directly overhead and glaring. His jama was drenched in his sweat, and he could feel perspiration trickling down his trousers. I have grown old, he thought.

  He could also hear the grunts and sighs of his subordinates.

  "We have been walking for days," Bundela mumbled to himself. "It wouldn't hurt to tie the horses and take a rest."

  Turning to Laxman, he said, "Very well, Laxman. Tell the others to halt here. You shall come with me to look for a village or a settlement where we can spend the night."

  "Yes, my lord!" squeaked a relieved Laxman.

  After arranging for the horses of his peers to graze on the fields and assuring them that they would soon find a place to rest, Laxman fastened his sword to his cummerbund and walked over to where his superior, Rameswar, was standing.

  "Shall we go, my lord?" he asked.

  Rameswar nodded.

  As they walked a few paces on the muddied road, Laxman spotted a bare-chested man running after a bunch of kids. Hiding his sword underneath his jama, he tapped on his superior's shoulder and pointed in the direction of the man.

  "I think we should ask him, Bundela Sahib."

  "But what should we tell him?" Bundela wondered. "We can't tell them we are the Empire's soldiers, can we?"

  Laxman bobbed his head. He's right. The people despise us. Man, if only the Emperor hadn't issued that firman...

  Rameswar came up with an idea. "We can tell them we deal in weapons."

  "Traders, my lord?' asked Laxman.

  "Yes, yes! Traders! We will tell the villagers we are traders headed for Jhansi."

  "Neat, my master. Shall I tell the men?"

  "No," said the Bundela. "I shall inform them. Dehatiyo se raabta karein"

  Laxman nodded and ran toward the man. He was amused by the fact that the Bundela had spoken Hindustani instead of the Bundeli and Awadhi he was used to.

  ***

  "Excuse me?" bellowed the Queen Mother. "Do you even realise what you are saying?!"

  "Your Highn-"

  "So this was what you had always wanted?" she interrupted. "This was Nana Phadnavis's plan all along! Kill two birds with a single stone, eh?"

  "Queen Mother, please do not misunderst-"

  "Do not fool me, Tukoji Holkar. I have seen seventy-five summers."

  "Y..yes, Your Highness."

  Rajani Devi beckoned her attendants to start fanning her again. Turning to her side, she uttered, "The alliance with the Peshwa may proceed. It is not as if I have any choice in this regard. But tell Mahadaji Shinde* that if he wishes to marry Princess Kamayani into his household, he will have to ask the Emperor himself. I will not let him add to my hot-headed son's tribulations."

  Pausing for a moment, she added, "As it is, her presence following the fiasco with the imperial envoy is nothing more than a liability."

  ***

  The outskirts of Lucknow, a few days later.

  "How far is Lucknow, my lord?" asked the Governor, as he held the reins of his horse tightly.

  Asghar, having just mounted a horse prepared for him after the long journey from Sultanpur to Lucknow, pulled sharply at the reins. The animal reared, and the cavalry surrounding him instantly raised their muskets. He gestured at them to lower their weapons.

  Without looking in the direction of the Governor, he replied, "We have already crossed Barabanki. I reckon we need to cover a little more than ten miles before we reach the city."

  The Governor sighed. A week must have passed since his retinue left Sultanpur. Unlike Asghar, who covered most of the journey from Sultanpur onwards in a canopied horse-drawn carriage, the Governor had to travel on horseback. The road from Jaunpur was cruel: broken, uneven, and waterlogged, with tall grass swallowing its edges. The Marwadi horses, who made up most of the Governor's cavalry, struggled over the terrain, slowing to a cautious trot. Progress was halting. Again and again, they were forced to stop—sometimes to rest the animals, sometimes to feed them.

  This often bred trouble.

  Given how abysmal the financial situation of the Empire was, villagers, who were at least burdened by relentless revenue extraction and had mouths to feed, were not so eager to allow unfriendly horses to trample their fields. The soldiers, war-hardened, did not react favourably and often beat the villagers into submission, sometimes even setting fire to their crops.

  More than once, the Governor had to step in, physically at times, to prevent the soldiers from carrying out massacres. Firstly, he didn't want to be viewed as an enemy of the people; secondly, he had recently accepted infantry soldiers from the Koeri community; if his troops carried out killings, the Koeri soldiers could rebel and thwart all that he had planned.

  "We are fighting for them, soldiers!" he would shout. "We have come to free them!"

  The peasant soldiers, on account of being drawn mostly from the non-martial castes, formed the extreme rear of the forces. Armed with knives, spears and arrows—the upper-caste soldiers would not permit them to carry muskets—they moved in a rectangular formation in groups of fifty. Each such infantry platoon was headed by a Kshatriya horseman who carried a musket on his shoulder.

  Immediately ahead were British soldiers on horseback, carrying flintlock muskets and light artillery. The artillery was carefully placed on wooden planks, pulled by oxen, and guarded by archers stationed both outside and within the roughly square formation of British troops. James, tasked by the Governor to lead the British delegation, raised the insignia of the British East India Company. His fellow Englishmen eyed it nostalgically; the last time they had unfurled the flag of Great Britain on Indian soil was during the reign of Avaneesh, when they had egged on the principality of Bundelkhand to revolt against the Empire.

  James commented to himself, "I was a boy of twelve back then. If only the Emperor had not returned..."

  The mustard fields that lined the shoddy highway en route to Lucknow glistened in the bright afternoon sun. Not a lot of people were in sight. Only a few men, armed with sticks and knives, guarded the fields. Their eyes looked at the massive entourage of soldiers with a hint of suspicion, and they whispered amongst themselves in Awadhi, "Are these the forces of the ghaazi?"

  One of them replied, "It seems so!"

  As the entourage went ahead of them, a few of them noticed the several platoons of Koeri soldiers guarding the rear. Surprised, two of the guards, holding tightly to their clubs, approached one of the commanding officers of the platoon and started walking alongside him.

  A burly old man, adjusting his janeu and twisting his moustache, started, "Officer?"

  The horseman glanced at the farmer with the corner of his eye and noticed the janeu. Rearing up his horse, he said, "What is it?"

  "Officer, are these-"

  "They are Koeris."

  "Koeris?!"

  The officer sighed. He alighted from his horse and turned towards the peasants, who were staring at him, unwilling to believe the words that he had just uttered. Adjusting his flintlock musket, he said, "It is the firmaan of the nawab. I cannot do anything about it."

  This perplexed the villages even more. "Surely," began one of the peasants, "you must be jesting, officer-"

  "I am not," came the curt reply.

  "Is it true, then," the burly man inquired, "that the Nawab has permitted those outside the Thakur caste to bear arms?"

  "Yes."

  The villagers gasped. This was unprecedented. They had to inform the village priest.

  As they hurried away, the horseman sighed again. "Do you think," he murmured to himself, "that I am happy leading these Kushwahas?"

  About half an hour later, the infantry platoons at the front spotted a watchtower on the horizon. They raised yellow flags to signal the troops behind them, and through a chain of signals, the news reached Asghar, who instructed the mahouts behind him to raise the standard of Awadh and brandish their swords.

  The gunmen on the watchtower noticed familiar insignia fluttering in the wind in the distance and quickly informed their superior, who asked for binoculars. When he saw the sheen of the talwars, he was sure that the Commander-in-Chief had returned.

  "Unfurl the yellow flags!" he shouted, and yellow flags draped the verandahs of the watchtowers.

  "Yellow! We see yellow!" cried out the mahouts.

  The Governor, whose horse had ambled to preserve strength, heard the cries of the mahouts and reckoned that they had reached the fort.

  "Finally." He mumbled.

  *Diwan-i-Aam: The Diwan-i-Am (Hall of Public Audience) is a 17th-century Mughal structure, notably in Delhi’s Red Fort and Agra Fort, built by Shah Jahan for kings to meet the general public, hear grievances, and hold council. In this situation, it serves the same purpose.

  paan: betel leaves