‘Nailpur isn’t Jaipur, nor is it any of the other well-known and well-established tourist destinations of Rajasthan. Nailpur is a poor state, its people uneducated, its palaces crumbling. It is my duty to lift my people from that poverty. The days when the maharaja class could live a life of luxury whilst their people endured poverty are not something that can be tolerated any more. And just as it is my duty to lift my people from that poverty so it is also my duty to live amongst them. Your duty as my wife and the mother of my children will be to live with me. So if you were hoping to live in Mumbai—’
‘I am not.’ Sophia stopped him, too cast down to feel like telling him that as a girl she had read everything she could about Rajasthan in general and Nailpur in particular simply because then she had seen it as a part of him and she had wanted to know every thing she could about him.
He couldn’t allow this marriage to turn out like his first, Ash thought. No matter what either of them felt, this marriage would endure and not just for the sake of his pride. Only a son brought up to understand and value their family history and the history of their people could truly take his place when the time came.
A royal bride with royal blood was something that his people with their conventional outlook on life, and their belief in the old feudal codes of family and marriage, would expect. He knew that. He had always known it.
A royal bride whose royalty would satisfy the traditional desires of his people.
And a woman whose sensuality would satisfy the desire she aroused in him in a way that his first marriage had denied him?
As always, whenever he thought about the failure and disappointment of his first marriage, guilt gripped him. Must the whole of his life be shadowed by the mistakes he had made then? Nasreen had died because of those mistakes, Ash reminded himself.
The truth was that he had married expecting to give and find love within that marriage and when he had found that love could not be forced by either of them he had retreated from Nasreen. He had allowed her to live her own life because of his own anger and disappointment, because of the blow to his pride of the reality of their marriage, and his discovery that no amount of willpower on his part could ignite the love he had been so arrogantly sure they would share. Because of that Nasreen had died. He could never allow himself to forget that.
Where Sophia was concerned things were different. There could and would be no emotional complications. It was safer that way.
The plane had started to lose height, and below them in the silvery light from the moon and the stars Sophia could see acres of plastic tunnelling of the kind used to grow crops. Turning to Ash, who had been working on his computer throughout the flight, she said curiously, ‘I thought this area was too dry for crops and that was why the people were poor and nomadic?’
‘It is, but the experts I commissioned discovered an underground river that we’ve been able to tap into via bore holes and this has allowed us to begin cultivating crops. The people are used to traditional ways and it isn’t always easy persuading them to accept new technology. However, I intend to persist. Our water supply is a precious resource, so in addition to educating the people about modern methods of cultivation we also want to educate them to use this resource wisely. The reason I commissioned experts to look into the possibility of an underground source of water was because I’d seen paintings of my great-great-grandfather’s indoor bathing pool—it no longer exists but obviously the water had to come from somewhere, and fortunately my guesswork proved to be correct.’
The seat-belt light flashed. Sophia had been relieved to discover that the steward on this flight was not the same one who had been on their previous flight, and she was even more thankful when the plane came to a standstill and the door was opened to see that there were no photographers waiting for them, merely a small group of officials.
Ash had telephoned ahead to his Royal Council to tell them of his marriage, and duly introduced Sophia to them once they had left the plane. As a royal daughter she was well versed in the formality of such things and Ash could see the looks of relief and approval on the faces of his officials as they welcomed her. She had surprised him with her knowledge about the area, he admitted as they were ushered into the waiting limousine, the crest of his ancestors on its door and on the pennant flag flying from the bonnet. Ritual and the preservation of tradition were very important to his senior officials, many of whom could remember not just his parents but also his grandparents before the terrible monsoon floods in the area in which they had been staying had swept them away to their deaths.
Their car left the modern highway which had sped them from the airport through agricultural land and towards the walled city, whose main gate was flanked by huge stone tigers, similar to those in the car’s family crest they were now driving. Sophia held her breath. She wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting. She’d read of the fabled cities of Rajasthan but there had been very little information about Nailpur, other than a description of its architecture as being typically Rajput in its beauty and richness.
Now, though, as they emerged from the gate in the wall, despite the fact that it was late at night, Sophia could see how busy the city was, the narrow street barely wide enough for the limousine flanked by impressive-looking stone buildings, their narrow windows shuttered and sightless. Up ahead of them the street opened out into a busy square thronged with people. Motorcyclists, often carrying several passengers, eased their way past camels adorned with colourful tassels and enamelled jewellery, their awkward progress accompanied by the stately elegance of the women who accompanied them, the colours and intricate embroidery of their traditional clothing captivating Sophia as she leaned closer to the car window to see them.
Despite the lateness of the hour, the steps to some of the elegant buildings enclosing the square were filled with merchants selling their wares, rich spices, colourful flowers, a joyful display of enamelled bangles. Instead of saris or salwar kameez, the women in the square were wearing brilliantly coloured gathered skirts with tightly fitting blouses, one end of the veils they were wearing tucked into their waistbands then taken over the right shoulder to cover their heads.
Sophia looked as entranced as a child, Ash realised as he glanced at her and saw the way she was leaning towards the window as though anxious not to miss anything. Nasreen had disliked the traditionalism of Nailpur. She had rarely worn Indian dress, preferring Western couture outfits. The sari she had been wearing when she had died had been the cause of a row between them. He had asked her to wear it to a formal event to which they’d been invited earlier in the day in honour of the women of Nailpur who had so lovingly made the beautiful sari for her as a wedding gift. Wearing it had killed her as much as her reckless driving had. He had made her wear it. He had killed her. The old guilt sat within him, a cold leaden weight from which there was no escape even if he had been prepared to allow himself it.
They crossed the square, their progress the subject of curious but discreet attention from Ash’s subjects, and then they were going down another narrow cobbled roadway, with women sitting outside doorways attending to cooking pots whilst children played around them. The road widened out, the buildings either side of it becoming larger and far more intricately adorned with filigree balconies and impressive doorways, and then they were in another square and in front of them was the palace flanked on either side by imposing buildings of a similar stature.
As someone who had grown up in a royal palace, Sophia had not expected to be overwhelmed by Nailpur’s, but when they had been welcomed into it by a guard of men in traditional dress with huge Rajasthani turbans, she had been unable to stop herself from turning to Ash and commenting, slightly awed, ‘How impressive they look and so very fierce. Far more so than my father’s uniformed guard. Their turbans are gorgeous.’
‘Rajasthan’s warriors are known for their ferocity in battle and their loyalty to their leaders. As for their turbans, their style and colour indicates the wearer’s status,’ Ash informed Sophia. ‘That is why these men—members of what was once the Royal Guard—are wearing scarlet