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I was getting sick of this narrative about me where everyone thought I was nothing more than a pretty playboy royal with no substance. I might not have faced the hardships that Dheer had faced, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a vision.
“Kirori Ji, we do our best to provide education, healthcare, clean water and rations to the villages around Jadhwal through the family trust, but the local land mafia has formed a nexus to strangle any development in the region because they need safe channels to expand their arms and drugs smuggling. If that happens, our villagers will be homeless with nowhere to go because the mafia will drive them away and grab their lands,” I explained.
“I understand what you’re saying, Hukum. But you’re trying to mix true philanthropy with politics. You might know a lot about the former with all your fancy new fundraising efforts, but you know nothing about politics,” he pointed out. “It’s a completely different game, and a dirty one at that.”
“I’ll learn,” I replied grimly. “And I won’t be starting at the bottom. I intend to start right at the top.”
“You mean you want a party ticket?”
I shook my head and smiled.
“Aim higher, Kirori Ji,” I drawled.
He sat upright and set his cup on the table with shaky hands.
“You don’t mean…”
“I want to be Chief Minister,” I replied.
CHAPTER 3
ISHA
We gave Dadi Sa a splendid send-off with a grand state funeral that she totally didn’t deserve.
“Why are you smiling so much? It’s a funeral,” hissed Diya at one point, during the public viewing that was being held in Trikhera stadium.
I knew it was wrong but I couldn’t help it.
“That woman devoted the past thirty years of her life to making me miserable. Now she’s gone, I’m free and there’s nothing she can do about it,” I murmured, as the head of the Rajputana Princes’ Association shed a few crocodile tears about Dadi Sa’s many sacrifices for the displaced royal families who lost their land and fortunes after the government grabbed their palaces and treasuries.
As if!
Dadi Sa always avoided poor royals like the plague because she was afraid they’d ask to live rent-free in one of our lesser palaces. The only sacrifice she’d ever made on their behalf was when she’d picked Ma, who came from an impoverished but ancient royal family, as her son’s bride. And that was only because she knew she could keep my poor, docile mother under her thumb.
Still, who was I to grudge her her fifteen minutes of posthumous fame? I stifled a yawn and put on a more sombre expression, as I waited for them to get on with the most important part of the program. The actual cremation. I wanted to make sure Dadi Sa had finally and completely left our lives for good.
“You look constipated,” said Diya.
“I need a drink,” I said desperately. “How long until cocktail hour?”
“You will not party on the day we cremate your grandmother, Isha Shekhawat,” she said severely.
“If that is not a reason to party, I don’t know what is,” I argued. “You’re just being a cranky-pants because you can’t drink.”
“Nimbu paani?” asked a smooth voice and Diya cheered up as her brother came up to us holding two glasses of lemonade, one with a yellow straw and one with a red one.
He gave her the one with the yellow straw and to my surprise, offered me the one with the red.
“Enjoy,” said Veer meaningfully and I looked up at him in suspicion.
“It better not be poisoned,” I warned.
He sputtered in outrage.
“Sensitive much?” I asked with a sly smile, as I grabbed the glass before he could change his mind.
“Why is your bestie mean girl-ing me?” he demanded of Diya.
