Ancient Voices Paper

I am betrayed by nature,
But I am more the victim of custom and circumstance.

I have much, but possess nothing.
I have no children to prove to the world my value.

I am Lakshmi, but I yield no fruit, no grain.

My lord's fields are barren, his orchards empty.
He will seek other fields to cultivate.

I am alone.

October 6, 1862
I am weary of this life. Though lavish and opulent, it is routine and
suffocating. I am consumed in my jealousy and feel that even as a
Maharani, wife of Maharaj Atma Hasan, I have no worth.

The Maharaj’s affections toward me have changed drastically since the
day of our wedding- the most splendid event that Jaipur has ever seen.
I was only 22 years old and wore a saree of a rich red pigment and
gold embroidery. My black hair was tightly pulled back and decorated
with fresh Chameli flower. Being the daughter of a Maharaj, I was
picked for my status rather than my beauty. My husband’s father was
intent on finding a princess accustomed to royal life and pleased to be
uniting his power with that of my father’s. Nevertheless, I was
beautiful on that day. The Maharaj’s infatuation with me on my wedding
day made me feel powerful and delicate at the same time. I remember
his strong gaze upon me and the crinkle of his nose as he smiled. I
remember after the ceremony, he whispered to me, “Indira, I am so lucky
to have such a beautiful bride.”

My first years of marriage were splendid. I had achieved a fair
amount of authority in my husband’s diplomatic and foreign affairs. I
had a knack for solving little disputes among the provinces and enjoyed
doing so. Once a month, I would travel to see my parents, each time
bringing them frivolous but luxurious little gifts from the palace. I
saw envy in the eyes of my sisters for they knew what a blessing it was
to have your whole life in place at such a young age. I had little to worry
about and lived each day freely and extravagantly.

I am now 25 years old and of no use to my husband because I am
sterile. Because the Maharaj must have an heir, he will soon search
for a new wife. I spend my days secluded, in strict purdah. I am only
allowed to converse with women and can rarely see even my beloved
brothers. Growing up, I never found a passion or a skill to pursue. I
was catered to, knowing that my great purpose would be to marry a
Maharaj and bear his heir. But this is now impossible. Instead I shall have
to return to live under my shamed parents. I will be no more than a
burden, a purposeless daughter

October 7,1862
Grief, boredom and frustration consume me. The Maharaj has given me
the finest gold jewelry, rose gardens, precious gems and anything else
that I have desired. However, those frivolous things mean little to me
if I do not have his love to accompany them. My fruitless existence
must shame him. I see his unhappiness in his frequent call for
concubines. As a Maharani, I will accept what my life has turned
into, but I crave his attention and devotion. I had planned to die
with my husband after a long life by committing sati, self- immolation
on my husband’s pyre. But now we grow apart, and his attentions
wander to others.
As I wander aimlessly around the palace, I avoid the thought of dying
alone. I avoid the thought of living alone without love, affection, or
esteem.
* * *
October 9, 1862
This evening, my despair has driven me to madness. I was in the
sleeping quarters when dinner was announced by a young servant girl.
Her sympathetic glance made me feel vulnerable, powerless and, worst
of all, inferior to her. It was then that I saw the Maharaj’s prized
dagger displayed in his cabinet. After excusing the servant girl, I
studied its gold case decorated with diamond cut rubies. It was
beckoning me and tempting me. Perhaps there was a way in which to end
my sorrows and grief. I ran my fingers across its cold surface.
Then, without thinking, I removed the dagger from its case and pointed
it toward my bosom. I held the dagger for a long moment in confusion.
Then, very faintly, I heard the song of a nightingale, so simple, so
pure, so fulfilled in and of itself. Instead of beckoning me into the
night, the bird’s song made me understand that my happiness and sense
of fulfillment must come from within, and that taking my life would
accomplish nothing. I suddenly felt liberated from my frustration, and
finally came to understand that the acceptance I had so long desired
from my husband and the achievement of the expectations put upon me by
society would not bring me contentment. I resolve that I will, in some
other fashion, work to attain ease and fulfillment.