Page 42 of Trapped By the Maharaja
The assistant looked at Suchitra Devi. “Shall I send word that you're to be delayed for the gala—?”
“No,” Devi said, already turning.
Devi knew her mother did not extend idle invitations. The last four times Devi’s mother had summoned her was to tell Devi which maharaja she was to marry. And as an obedient daughter who was taught from a young age to follow the royal decree, Devi had never questioned her mother.
But Devi knew that day’s summons wasn’t going to be an announcement of yet another royal alliance.
Devi reached the palace wing where her mother’s quarters were located.
The guards posted outside stood to attention and opened them at her approach.
“Your Highness,” they greeted.
Devi inclined her head and stepped inside.
She recalled the previous meeting that was charged with anger and disapproval.
Devi’s mother sat in the same posture she always had with her back straight, chin lifted and her face unreadable. As always, she was dressed in a formal saree despite no public appearances.
Next to her sat Pandit Kashinath, the family’s longtime astrologer.
Devi was surprised.
She hadn’t seen him in years, though he had once presided over every significant event in her life—from the naming of her children to the memorial prayers of her late husband.
Now he sat cross-legged in Rani Vasundara Devi’s private chamber, saffron robes dimmed with time, eyes still as sharp as ever. Without a word, Devi moved forward, touching both their feet, before lowering herself onto the cushioned seat across from them.
Neither of them smiled.
The Rajmata broke the silence. “Panditji came to see me this morning.” Her voice was as crisp as ever without a tremor to betray age. “He had news. Urgent enough to arrive uninvited.”
The astrologer nodded solemnly. “Forgive the haste, Your Highness. But this matter cannot wait.”
His eyes fixed on Devi with worry. “I was performing the lunar ritual alignments for the Devara heirs. As I do each month.”
He paused.
“And I saw something troubling. Your oldest son Ram Devara’s chart has turned.”
A stillness settled over the room like the hush before a monsoon storm.
Devi didn’t move. She simply listened.
“Until now,” Pandit Kashinath continued, “his chart has always been strong. Balanced. Protected by ancestral forces. But this morning, the energy shifted. Violently. Suddenly. As though something sacred was disrupted.”
He inhaled slowly. “The planetary guards around him have weakened. His house of protection has cracked. If he continues on this path, he walks into danger. A fall. Possibly irreversible.”
Devi’s nails pressed faintly into her palms, hidden beneath folds of silk. But still, her face remained unreadable.
“I have brought rituals,” the astrologer said. “Protective prayers, purification offerings. But I must be honest. The remedies alone will not be enough. Something in his life must change. Or be removed.”
He stood with effort, gathering his beads and pouch. Then he bowed slightly.
“I have done my duty. The rest I’ll leave it up to you and God.”
The old man left, leaving long, loaded silence. The moment the doors closed behind him, Devi’s mother looked at her.
Rani Vasundara Devi’s expression didn’t falter, but her voice carried ice. “We both know what changed in Ram’s life.”
