That night air was heavy and it smelled like of jasmine with a mix of the smoke from our beedis.

Miss Violet Sinclair sat on an old jute mat. She was an English writer who had come from London to find stories that were too scandalous for her own books.

She sat with her legs crossed. Because of the heat, she had pulled her cotton dress up to her knees. Her legs were pale in the moonlight.

I had written her a secret letter three months ago. I wrote it in the dark library using a pen I had stolen from a desk. I knew she was the only person who would understand the things I had seen inside the palace.

I knew her because I had read a couple of her books already, which were hidden in a red box by the queen herself.

Miss Violet Sinclair answered my letter quickly. She took the train to Rajgarh. Now we were sitting together, hidden behind the high stone wall of the fort.

Miss Violet took a puff of the beedi. She coughed once, then she laughed and wiped her lips with her hand. She looked at me.

“Sanjay, you promised me the filthiest true story in India,” she said. “Do not make me wait.”

I lit my own beedi. I looked at the fort. I thought about how much I had seen while I was working there as a servant.

“But before we start, Sanjay, I want to know how you learned the language, I mean the English language? Because as far as I know, the person from the lower cast is not allowed to learn the English right in the palace?”

“Memsaab, I learned English the way a thief learns how to enter a house,” I said.

“What!, how?”

“I went to the palace library every night after everyone else was asleep.”

“Well that is daring, no one noticed?”, she asked.

“I hid in the shadows”

“I mean the librarian did not care?”, she asked.

.”The old munshi was a careless man. He left books lying on the floor. I picked them up and read them.”

“Brave boy you are sanjay”, she smiled and took puffs from her beedi.

I took another drag of the beedi. The heat of the smoke felt good in my chest.

“I read everything I could find. I read Shakespeare and the holy books from diffrent religions.”

“Oh, that is quite impressive, and as far as I remember, you also wrote to me about the books Maharani used to read, like the erotic novels?”

“Yes, I also found the books the Maharani kept locked in a red box. They were dirty novels from Europe.”

“Umm hmm”

“I taught myself by the light of a small lantern”, I continued, “A low-caste servant boy like me was not supposed to touch English letters. But I did it. Now I speak the language better than the tutor who teaches the royal children.”

Miss Violet smiled at me. She leaned closer. “Clever boy,” she said. “Now go on and tell me about the story for which I’m here, Sanjay. I can’t wait any longer, i’ll not disturb you inbetwen i’ll just listen to your every word and take notes.”

So I started the most amazing and fascinating story, which I witnessed while I was working as a servant in the palace.

“It started in 1937,” I said. “I was nineteen years old. That summer, the palace hosted a big polo match between Rajgarh and Jodhpur. It was a very hot day.”

The sun was a white disk in the sky. It was the day of the final match between Rajgarh and Jodhpur. The polo grounds were dusty, I stood near the edge of the field with a brass water pot.

My job was to stay out of the way but be ready if a thirsty horse or a groom needed water.

The Maharaja Saheb was forty years old. He was a strong man with a thick neck and heavy shoulders.

He rode a tall Australian horse named Rocket. He wore white breeches and a silk turban. He looked powerful on the horse. He was a man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted.

I looked at the royal pavilion. Rani Meera Devi sat in the front. She was twenty-four years old. She was wearing a red silk sari. The fabric was thin and It clung to the curves of her waist and hips.

She wore a heavy necklace of pearls. The pearls rested in the deep valley between her full breasts. Every time she breathed, the pearls moved against her skin.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She did not look at the other ladies. She watched the field with steady eyes.

The game was fast. The horses thundered past the pavilion. The sound of their hooves was like a drum beating in the ground.

The score was equal in the last chukker.

Maharaja was determined to win. He galloped across the field. He held his mallet high in the air. He was shouting at his teammates.

Then just then it happened. I saw it from the sidelines. As the Maharaja leaned over to hit the ball, his saddle slipped sideways!

It slid completely under the horse’s belly. Rocket felt the saddle slip and panicked. The horse reared up on its hind legs.

The Maharaja was a good rider, but he had no balance without the saddle. He flew through the air. He looked like a bird for a second before he hit the hard ground. He landed flat on his back! The ground hit him hard.

There was a loud crack. It sounded like a dry branch snapping or a gun going off in the distance. Then there was total silence. No one moved. The Maharaja lay still in the dust. His turban had fallen off. His eyes were open, but he did not get up.”

“Then? then what happned Sanjay?”, Miss Sinclair asked me.

I continued.

“Then the shouting started. Guards and grooms ran onto the grass. I stayed where I was with my water pot.

I saw the Rani stand up in the pavilion. She did not scream.

She just watched as they lifted the Maharaja onto a wooden stretcher. His legs hung limp, like the cloth of a wet sari. They carried him away to the palace.

Later, there were whispers in the stables. People said the girth strap had been loosened by two holes in the morning. No one knew who did it. Many people still wonder when they remember why Rani was so silent when the accident happened.

Doctors arrived by the next evening. Some came from Bombay in fast cars. Two came all the way from London the comming week.

They stayed in the guest wing for three weeks. They used metal tools and spoke in low voices. I carried basins of hot water and clean towels to the door of the royal bedroom. I stood in the hallway and listened.

The news broke slowly. The Maharaja would live, but he was broken!”

“Oh my god, broken! What do you mean broken, Sanjay?”, Miss Sinclair asked, even though she said she would not interrupt the story; she was not able to hold back her reactions.

“The crack I had heard was his spine. The doctors said he would never walk again. He was finished from the waist down. He would spend the rest of his life in a wodden wheelchair with rubber wheels which they bought from London after four weeks”

“I feel sorry for King”, Miss Sinclair said.

“Wait until you hear next thing, which is worse”, I said to her.

“What worst can happen?”, She asked.

I continued,, “there was a deeper shame that the palace staff whispered about in the kitchens. The injury had taken his manhood. He had no feeling in his legs, and he had no hardness in his cock. It would never rise again. He was a king who could no longer rule his own bed.”

“Oh my…”, she said with eyes wide open.

“Yes, madam,” I continued, the Maharaja changed. He stopped shouting. He sat by the window in his wheelchair and stared at the stone walls.

He spent his days reading books and looking at the garden. He did not want to see anyone. He became a shadow in his own palace.

Rani Meera Devi was very young. She was twenty-four and her body was at its peak. Every night, I carried large brass pots of water to the zenana for her bath.

The walls of the women’s quarters had thin wooden windows in some places. I could hear her. Her bed was always near the window, and windows were closed and covered with thin wooden small doors, but I was able to hear every small detail and sound where I put my ears on the wooden frame.

Every time I listened, I could hear. She was crying. It was a soft, wet sound that went on for hours.

One day, I stood in the dark corridor with the heavy water pots. I thought about her red silk saris and the way her pearls moved when she breathed.

Hearing her cry made my own heart ache with a strange kind of pity. She was a young woman tied to a man who was now not able to even walk. She was beautiful, she was rich, and she was completely alone.”

I stopped just to drink some water, “Do you need water miss Sinclair ?”

“No I’m good Sanjay, what happned next?”

I continued, “then, after two months, the crying stopped.”

“Crying stopoed?”

“Yes”

“What do you mean stopped?”, She asked.

I continued, “she no longer cried at night when I brought the water. Instead, she became very still. She stopped wearing the bright red silk saris and the heavy pearls that made her look like a bride.