Rebel Queen (27 page)

“But we’ve come from Jhansi. Who else has come all that way?” I said.

Still, there was nothing to do except wait. So over the next few days, we passed the time walking the wet streets of London, admiring the beautifully decorated shops and large Christmas wreaths on wooden doors of houses. One day we walked to the famous Hyde Park. The next day we made our way to Regent Street. We attracted attention wherever we went. Beneath our cloaks, it was impossible to tell we weren’t dressed like Englishmen, but the color of our skin stood out, and also our jewelry. Jhalkari and I were still wearing our nose rings. Arjun still had on his pair of gold hoops.

By the third day, we had all grown very anxious. What if the
queen called on us in two months? Or if she didn’t care that we had come at all? But as we sat down to dinner in the common dining room alongside Major Wilkes and several hotel guests, a very well-dressed messenger arrived.

“From Buckingham Palace,” he announced to the room, and everyone held their breath. Then he unfolded the letter he was carrying and read it aloud.

We were being summoned to court the next day and were to be there at twelve o’clock!

We all let out a cheer. Even the other hotel guests smiled. By six the next morning we were already awake and starting to prepare. Major Wilkes had warned us to adopt Western dress. “The men must put on black suits and white ties, and the women need to dress as proper ladies.” When I had questioned what he meant by “proper ladies,” his cheeks had turned red. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but your waist—I’m afraid that no one has ever seen that body part in the queen’s chambers.”

That might have been true, but we ignored his advice and dressed as we had always intended—in silk saris and kurtas. Jhalkari braided my hair, then I did the same for her, and we both decorated our braids with golden choti, a series of long flowers wrought in twenty-four-karat gold and embellished with rubies and emeralds. When we were finished, we stood in front of the mirror and admired ourselves.

“I don’t even recognize us,” Jhalkari whispered.

It was true. We were a vision of gold and silk, Jhalkari in a sari of red and gold, myself in patterned yellow and purple. Strings of pearls glittered from our necks, and ruby earrings matched our ruby nose rings and thick ruby bracelets. Gold and ruby bells tinkled musically from our ankles. It was a measure of the rani’s trust that she had lent such jewels to us. Truthfully, none of it seemed
real. Not our clothes, or our jewels, or the ornately carved mirror hanging from the paneled wall of our hotel.

Outside, waiting in the hall for Major Wilkes, Arjun and the other guards were all dressed as magnificently as maharajas, in gilded kurtas, heavy gold earrings, and elaborate pagris. If you have never seen a pagri, it is a turban adorned with a heavily jeweled sarpech, meant to resemble Krishna’s peacock feather. I gasped when I saw him. He was what Jane Austen would have imagined as “dashing.” None of us were dressed in our heavy cloaks, as apparently, this was not done when meeting the queen. We would have to brave the cold in our thin kurtas and silks.

“You look stunning,” Arjun said to Jhalkari and me.

“As do you,” Jhalkari complimented him.

I gave him a brief smile, but I still couldn’t forget what he’d told Jhalkari on the ship. It had hurt more than I imagined it could, and there was no reason for it. He had never made me any promises of love. We shared books. That was all. I was the one who had daydreamed about something more, something lasting.

When Major Wilkes appeared, he frowned at our attire but held his tongue, and we were taken to the carriages. Our second view of Buckingham Palace was no less impressive than the first. We rolled up to the gates, and I tried to quiet my nerves as the major spoke with the guards. Their accents were difficult to understand, but they all seemed to be laughing, which seemed to be a good sign. Then the gates were thrown open to us and suddenly, we were inside.

Servants opened our carriage doors, and faces pressed against the tall windows of the palace, their owners straining to get a better view. And as we entered the plush halls of the queen’s residence, everyone stopped to stare. The servants and the courtiers watched us as we went. We were all too busy looking at the furnishings to
take much notice. We passed beneath endless chandeliers into an empty drawing room where a servant instructed us to have seats on the plush velvet chairs. Everywhere we looked were rich carpets, carved banisters, and gilded wall hangings.

“We wait here until we’re formally summoned into Her Majesty’s Presence Chamber,” Major Wilkes said.

We’d arrived more than an hour early. Finally, at twelve in the afternoon, a very tall man who looked tremendously grave announced to the room, “Her Majesty, The Queen invites you to meet with her in Her Majesty’s Presence Chamber.”

All of us rose, feeling as nervous as convicts about to be summoned before a judge. I squeezed Jhalkari’s hand and she squeezed back. I made a small prayer to Ganesh, the remover of obstacles. “Please just let this go smoothly,” I begged him.

Chapter Twenty-One

W
e approached the throne just as we would approach the rani’s in Jhansi, and when we reached the dais, we bowed our heads and folded our hands in respectful gestures of namaste. We were standing in pairs, Jhalkari and I first, followed by Arjun and a guard named Manoj, then the rest of the guards. And I can only imagine how we looked to Queen Victoria at that moment: barefooted and dressed in elaborate silks in the dead of winter, wearing nose rings and adorned with peacock feathers.

“I have never seen the like,” Queen Victoria said as she rose from her throne, descending three velvet steps to stand before us. She was a small woman, with round cheeks and a very plump figure. Her husband remained seated.

“You are one of the queen’s female warriors?” she asked me.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She was staring at me, as if she found this hard to believe. “You are able to protect her as well as these men standing behind you?”

“I believe so.”

“How?”

“By using my weapons. And if necessary, my words. Today, my words are all that I have, and I am here to ask that you protect the rani’s kingdom.”

The queen turned to her husband, then back to me. “You speak English quite well.”

“I learned from my father, who was a soldier in Burma with the Company.”

She looked at Jhalkari, then back at the men who stood behind us. I knew they were averting their gazes, on account of her very low dress. “I want to speak with you and this other woman alone,” she said.

“I’m afraid she does not speak English, Your Majesty. The man behind me is the captain of the rani’s guards, and he speaks English as well as I do.”

“Everyone else, then, is dismissed,” she announced.

I explained her command to Jhalkari, who led the guards back out the way they’d come.

The queen called for two chairs, and Arjun and I waited side by side while they were fetched. He looked at me, and there was a deep respect in his eyes. When the chairs arrived, we were seated beneath Their Majesties. They both took several moments to look us over. Then the queen shook her head again and said, “Extraordinary. Do all the women in India dress as you are?”

“Yes. But with fewer jewels,” I said.

“And the men?” Prince Albert wanted to know. His voice was thickly accented; I knew his first language was German.

“I am wearing a traditional kurta,” Arjun said. “This is what we wear on great occasions.”

“You are also well spoken. I’m exceptionally pleased that the rani has sent you. How did you like the journey to London?”

I glanced at Arjun to see which one of us should speak first. He nodded toward me, and I said, “Your Majesty has a beautiful country, particularly the churches.”

“And what did you like best?” she asked Arjun.

“The rolling hills spotted with sheep.”

The queen smiled. “And now you have come to see me.”

“Yes. We have come on behalf of Rani Lakshmibai,” I said, “who is looking to have the throne of Jhansi restored.”

The queen nodded heavily. “Tell me about her. What does she look like? How many children does she have?”

I found it difficult to believe that the Queen of all of England didn’t know these things, since we had learned nearly all there was to learn about her, from her birthday in May to her third child’s name.

But Arjun began, “The rani is extremely beautiful. She had one child, who died before his first birthday, and has adopted another.”

This interested the queen. “Why? Was her husband incapable of more children?”

I glanced at Arjun, and we were both struck dumb.

“I’ve heard rumors he dressed in women’s clothes.”

So she
had
heard about Jhansi. “Yes,” I admitted.

She gave a triumphant look to the prince.

“The people of Jhansi fear living under Company rule,” I said, guiding the conversation back to the rani. “They wish to keep their customs and way of life. If Her Majesty would agree to help another queen in need, it would mean a great deal to our people.”

The queen said, “Come to dinner tonight. All of you. And after, you will have an answer.”

We bowed and prepared ourselves to leave, when suddenly she said, “Wait! I have something I want to show you.” She was smiling like a child. Next to her, the prince frowned. “Bout,” she said.

Then he smiled, too, and a servant was summoned and instructed to bring Bout.

Arjun and I exchanged a quick glance. Was it a type of food? But when the man returned, he was leading a massive canine by a leash.

“Bout!” the prince called, and the enormous dog went bounding toward him. The queen laughed as the canine made its way up the dais. I believed this was a very good sign.

“A Tibetan mastiff. A gift from Lord Harding, my governor-general of India,” the queen said. “Are all dogs this giant in India?” she asked. “Lord Harding tells me tales that are difficult to believe; that everything in India is abundant—the spices, the palaces, the gods.”

“I’m afraid he is exaggerating, Your Majesty.”

Prince Albert buried his face in the dog’s coat and patted its back.

“Well then, we look forward to seeing you tonight,” the queen said, and it was clear we were dismissed. She was cooing the mastiff’s name as we left.

W
e left the Presence Chamber and each hall we passed through was more lavish than the last. Great stone fireplaces burned rich cedar wood that perfumed the halls, but no smoke was filling the rooms, as would have happened back home. Somehow, it was sucked up into the air. The mirrors we passed were hung with garlands of fresh evergreen, and everywhere, there were bright sprigs of holly, part of their Christmas traditions.

At last we rejoined the others in a large hall. Yet another great fire was burning and everyone was warming themselves next to the smokeless flames. “What happened?” Jhalkari asked.

“She said we must all come for dinner and that an answer would be given afterward.”

“Is this good or bad news?”

“I don’t know.” What would be expected of us at dinner? Only two of us spoke English, and most of the guardsmen had yet to master the use of a knife and fork.

A man in a handsome black suit arrived to announce that our rooms were ready.

“We have no rooms here,” Arjun explained. “We are staying at Brown’s Hotel.”

“That may be, but the queen is allowing you to stay the afternoon, and expects you will want to change for dinner.”

“We haven’t brought any changes of clothes,” Arjun said. “They’re all at the hotel.”

The man looked down his long nose at us and sighed. “Your trunks will be fetched, then brought back to the hotel when you’re finished with them.”

“Do the cooks understand that Indians never eat meat?” Arjun asked.

“They have been appraised of all possible situations,” the black-suit answered. “Including the possibility that our guests have never dined at a table on chairs.”

I passed an angry look at Arjun, who said in Marathi, “Not now. We’re so close.”

We followed black-suit through another series of halls into a wing of the palace reserved for guests. We passed a large window and saw white flakes falling from the sky. Jhalkari was the first to rush to the window, then the rest of us followed.

“What is it?” Jhalkari exclaimed.

Black-suit gave a second heavy sigh, as if this day was turning
out to be the most trying of his career. “Snow. It’s what happens when it’s very, very cold.”

I translated, and we all stood and watched the snow for a while, until black-suit cleared his throat and said, “You may behold the wonder of snow from your rooms, if it pleases you, for the next two hours.”

The rooms were as grand as the palace itself, with vast windows overlooking a garden, and mahogany furniture pressed up against blue and gold walls. Although there were rooms for each of us, the men all sat with Arjun in his chamber, and Jhalkari stayed with me. We sat in a pair of blue velvet chairs and watched the snow falling, like thin wisps of lace, from the gray and black sky.

After some time, Jhalkari leaned forward and asked, “What was she like?” She had lowered her voice, even though she had spoken in Marathi.

“Polite. Reserved. Intelligent, like the rani.”

“She’s the largest woman I’ve ever seen. Her chin: there are two of them!”

“Jhalkari!” I scolded her, then giggled.

“I wish we could take the snow home, so everyone could see.”

We looked out over the strange, unfamiliar landscape. “I have a positive feeling about this,” I said. “Why would the queen ask us to dinner unless it was to relay good news?”

D
espite the opulence I’d seen all day, it was nothing compared to the lavishness of that evening in Buckingham Palace.

More black-suited men with white lapels had arrived to deliver our trunks, and we dressed in fresh clothes. Jhalkari chose a sari trimmed in gold and stitched with golden leaves. She wore the
same rubies on her neck and wrists, but changed her ruby tikka, which trailed from the center of her hair down the middle of her forehead, to one of emerald and gold. For myself, I decided on a sari of rich purple bordered by elaborate silver paisleys. The rani had given me a set of rare violet sapphires to match.

I believe we all have images of ourselves in our heads, but they’re rarely the images other people have of us. Whenever I imagine myself, for example, I am twelve years old, dressed in the rough cotton angarkha that my father sold two of his carvings to obtain. But in this moment, when I saw myself in the glass, it was as if I were seeing myself for the very first time. I placed the sapphire tikka in the center of my hair. The jewels dipped onto my forehead and a large violet sapphire hung between my brows. The sapphire nose ring completed the picture.

“You’re as beautiful as the rani,” Jhalkari said. “And definitely more beautiful than Queen Victoria.”

I laughed, but Jhalkari was serious.

“It’s a shame you became a Durgavasi. I don’t mean that as an insult,” she said quickly. “Sometimes, I think it’s a shame I became one as well.”

“You married,” I reminded her.

“But there will never be any children,” she said quietly.

I looked at myself in the mirror, with gold gleaming from my neck and across my fingers. “We came here with a purpose,” I reminded her. “If we succeed, imagine how life in Jhansi will change. The rani might reward us and our families in ways we can’t imagine.”

“Perhaps,” Jhalkari said. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window. “Do you really think this queen is going to restore the throne of Jhansi to the rani?”

“Of course. Don’t you?” I had to believe it to be true.

“No. I believe what my husband does: if she had wanted to do it, she would have already done so.”

The same black-suited man who’d brought us to our rooms arrived to escort us to the dining hall. Jhalkari and I waited in the hall while he knocked, without success, on several doors. We knew all the men were in Arjun’s room, but we kept this to ourselves, so we could watch him heave heavy sigh after sigh. Finally he knocked on the very last door, and Arjun emerged with the other guards. He was dressed in a kurta of silver and white, with silver churidars and silver juti. When his eyes found mine, they traveled first to my neck, then to the folds of my sari, and finally to my eyes. He said softly, “Sita.”

“This way,” the black-suit said before I could respond.

We followed him down a series of gaslit halls to the dining room, where another black-suited man announced our arrival. Inside, three cut-glass chandeliers presided over a long mahogany table the length of the rani’s audience chamber in the Panch Mahal. Perhaps it was the light reflecting in the mirrors, or maybe it was the special ornamentation for Christmas, but nothing had ever looked so beautiful to me. Everything was red, and silver, and gold. A handsome damask linen spread across the table, which was filled nearly to bursting with glittering crystal and china. Next to every plate were multiples of silver cutlery: two spoons, four forks, two knives. And the glasses were so wide that a person could place a fist inside of them. The room was already half-filled with guests, and I noticed that there were as many women as men.