I cannot help but worry when I read your letters. You sound so distant and unlike your spirited self.
It cannot be easy to be away from your childhood home at a time like this. I wish I could provide you with the solace that your sister would have, but we both know that she was a singular soul. For now, I can only give you this. I hope her memory brings you the comfort that it has for me as we strive to make Ullal the place that she believed it could become.
Your brother,
Nikith
My hand trembled as I reached for the package. In it was Ektha’s cream shawl?—the one that Nikith had gifted to her on the day of her engagement. I’d seen it when the letter first arrived and had been about to take it out of the package when I’d caught the scent of her favored sandalwood incense. It had brought back memories of Ektha, so I’d pushed it away with tear-rimmed eyes.
But now I was ready. I pulled it from its wrapping and ran my fingers reverently over its silver embroidery. Sticks of incense fell out as I unfolded it, and I put them aside. It didn’t stop the scent from cocooning me as I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders.
It filled me with warmth. It wasn’t an embrace from her, but this was as near as I could get. So I held it close.
Eventually, I returned my attention to the papers filled with endless rows of numbers and figures. Information about imports, exports, counts of the goods, profits for the entire nation?—it was all there. Tallying was complicated, to say the least. It consumed all my attention, and I lost track of time.
A bang at the door broke me free of my numerical trance.
“I have a message for the rani!” Vishwajeet’s voice rang out from the halls.
Nallini peeked out of the room she shared with Parushi, but I signaled for her to stay there. Whatever Vishwajeet wanted to say could wait until I met with the raja.
There was another bang, this one louder than the last. Before I could respond, Vishwajeet gave his orders. “Don’t just stand there! Open it.”
The door swung open, bouncing off the walls, and Vishwajeet swept in. He cocked his chin up so he could look down into the room. I was sitting directly in front of where he stood, and I stared in shock, papers still hanging in midair as he approached me.
“You have no right?—” I began.
Vishwajeet stopped directly in front of me and leaned down. He lowered a pointed finger in front of my face, bending my papers as he came within a thumb’s width of my nose. “Let me make something very clear: I have every right. I am the arm of the raja, like my father before me, and you will listen to the message he has sent you.”
His eyes were so close to mine that it was impossible to focus on them. I could see the pores on his nose, and his breath smelled like fennel and the remains of his breakfast. It was a relief in many ways when he stepped back.
The two soldiers that came in with Vishwajeet stood at the door, and they were looking away pointedly. I doubted they would respond to any orders that didn’t come from Vishwajeet himself, so asking them to remove him would do no good.
Nor would sitting and sulking like a spoiled child.
I put my papers down and smoothed them, erasing the fold he’d created. I wasn’t about to rush on his account. Then I scooted back on the sofa, ignoring the soft, peacock blue cushions behind me and keeping my back straight as a board. My uncle had taught me that posture has its own power, and a change in it was a language unto itself.
Vishwajeet took a seat in the heavy wood chair across from me, making a show of leaning back and getting comfortable in my space. He put his hands firmly on top of the carved elephants that decorated the chair’s arms.
“Good. I have your attention.” Without his usual simpering, sycophantic smile, it was easier to see the coldness in Vishwajeet’s eyes; like coals doused in water, without a trace of flame left within. “You may have gotten away with your antics in your little kingdom, but they will not be tolerated here. You are the rani of Banghervari, and it is time for you to take that role more seriously. Your job is to carry yourself with grace, beauty, and decorum as you provide this kingdom with an heir. Preferably silently.”
“Does the raja know you’re here?” I placed a hand on my stomach and looked up at Vishwajeet coolly. I made sure my next sentence was spoken without any emotion. “This situation is quite distressing, and the raja doesn’t like it when anything upsets me.”
“He knows.” Vishwajeet’s eyes snapped with satisfaction. “We’ve spoken at length, and by the time we finished, he agreed that there was no need for you two to meet. He has decided to make a deal with the Porcugi. Banghervari and Ullal will pay the tithes, and the Porcugi will protect us at sea. It is done.”
A fire exploded inside of me. Its flames sneaked up my neck and toward my cheeks. The air between us crackled with our unspoken shouts, but I refused to succumb to his goading. I refused to play into his ideas about women in their emotions. I refused to lose Ullal.
“As the arm of the raja, you may certainly speak for him, and he may speak for Banghervari.” I leaned forward and tapped on the papers in front of me. “But I speak for Ullal. It was in our marriage agreement. And I say that Ullal will pay no tithes.”
“He is the raja.” Vishwajeet played with the green tassel on his pillow, flipping it back and forth. “He is second to none, and no piece of paper is stronger than the union of your marriage. The raja, in his divine wisdom, has decided the best course for our nations, and we will all follow his will.”
I sat up straight as I made a note to reach out to Nikith later. My brother-in-law would need to find a way to enforce the agreements he’d negotiated. But for now, arguing about the rights of the raja would get me nowhere. It was time to appeal to Vishwajeet’s more self-serving interests.
“How can you say this is the best course?” I asked him. “We can’t live our whole lives indebted to the Porcugi. They’ll keep taking more, leaving less and less for us and our people. They’re not asking for payment; they’re demanding a bribe.”
“Did you not see enough pain after the battle? Enough suffering? How many of our people need to die before their lives are worth the price? We should be thankful we have something to offer them?—it’s the only thing that might spare us.”
“If we give away our crops, they’ll never be done with us,” I countered. “What will stop the Porcugi from asking for more and more until we have nothing left?”
