1875
Prince of Wales visits India. Telephone.
Dada:
I was five when I first heard of Sayaji Gaekwad, the wonderful boy of twelve who was being made King in Baroda. I heard someone say- "no older than Dhoomil, and a king already". Dhoomilkaka looked unhappy, he was a bit slow at studies, and the adults used this as an opportunity to make endless fun of him. Everyone was in awe of the young boy who had become King.. They would tell stories of the coronation, how the carpets were deep enough to drown a child in, the jewels brighter than the sun, the magician who fell off the palace wall while performing and even his body disappeared, the acrobats who had twisted themselves into footballs and confused the players..and the British of course. Always the British, especially when they talked of Baroda.
Neelkanth repeats: Br- i- tish
Dada:
the British had deposed Malhar Rao, the rightful Maratha king, packed him off from the throne peremptorily. I still say, so what if he was debauched, so what if he slept with every woman who came his way and even those who did not?
Sarasvati bai looks daggers at him.
Dada: The point is, he was the king. What business did they have throwing him out?
And got Gopalrao on the throne. That was Sayaji's name, when they brought him in.
Sarasvati bai: Gopalrao. (smiles) not very different from my Govind, was it?
Babaraya:But his name was Dhundi then
Dada: You are almost Gopalrao's age when he became king, Babaraya
Babaraya looks with open eyes, not sure what to do.
Neelkanth: He is much younger than me.
Sarasvati: Yes, my Shivshambhu, everyone is much younger than you.
Dada:
Sayaji was a successor of the first Gaekwad of Baroda, but from a left handed marriage.. where the bridegroom, agreeing or choosing to marry a woman of lower social status, catches her right hand with his left one in the marriage ceremony, to keep a certain class difference alive. She and her children will not have any succession rights.
They will say about him that he holds firm to this unexpected right hand offered to him, leaps proudly onto the royal horse, is more of a king than any of his predecessors could ever be.
Sarasvatibai:
But for now, there is a young boy of twelve going through a bewildering array of very bright ceremonies to announce his ascension.. The ceremonies will lead him into a palace and over the next few years, through a school within that palace where he is the sole student. Advisers of different hues, trainers in different disciplines will stretch the walls of his mind, transforming it, transforming him, till he feels the walls will not hold.
And then those large stretches of time, when he senses he has been left alone, to be bowed and saluted to, while they do the ruling.
Dada:
The days of the Doctrine of Lapse are over, but not in spirit. A young child is being groomed by various forces- a British authority wanting a friendly, subservient ruler, and within the palace, those who think differently, who resent the authoritarian deposal of Malhar rao, or then, those who tread a liminal middle path. Being a ruler is a balancing act in these times, Sayaji must learn to be a nimble acrobat.
Dada:
Sayaji will have to wait till 1881 when he is given full ruling powers, till then he is under a Council or Regency. Till then he has time, to feel the walls of his new home,
Sarasvati bai:
to feel the distance from his previous home,
Dada:
to look carefully at the many marvellous objects that have travelled from different corners of the world. To touch its lattices, caress the caryatids, and play games upon its cool smooth floors, and marvel when he realises that kings can get such palaces made on order..
Babaraya is nodding sleepily, and Prabhakar, Mandakini has fallen into a peaceful slumber at Dada's feet.
Tanjore Madhava Rao, mentor to Ravi Varma, moves to Baroda. He has had many differences with the current ruler and is suspected of being friendly with the critics of the ruler. However, he will return to Travancore again, in time to sort of difficulties in Ravi Varma's life.
Saraswati:
After a rowdy day of battling his friends in the mud, Dhundi lies on the cot in the verandah at night and stares at a sky that is larger than anything else he can see. In the quiet, he waits for sounds that he could hear once. Sounds from another world. ( she holds on to her stomach as she talks)
He listens for those sounds, his open eyes staring at the sky seem to anticipate them. His eyes still have the presence of that other world in them, the other sky that he has come from. His eyes are like pieces of night sky, a restless moon shifts beneath their stillness.
