Long lived the king
Himmat Singh Gill

The Raja is Dead
Shivani Singh.
Harper Collins. Pages 254. Rs 295.

"What does it feel like, to lose everything", is a question asked of Leela, granddaughter of the now dead Raja of Sirikot, as she readies for a TV shoot of her ancestral palace now lying in ruins, and the unspoken answer just about sums up the life and times of many of the country’s princely houses that today sleep the somewhat sad and poignant slumber of a Raj era now deeply buried in a free India which has moved on to its new destiny.

Shivani Singh, a former royal herself, has woven a true-to-life tapestry of the dismal fall of many of the princely states that could not bear the cultural shock of losing everything one fine morning, and of having to live like commoners like all the rest, in an environment totally oblivious of their earlier lifestyle and grandeur. All our former royals would want to read this well written, riveting piece of fiction that rings so true.

There is murder, rumour, debauchery, eccentricity, plotting and petty revenge, in this book. Lives of ‘vas gharanis’ who entered a palace and died there in obscurity, the rajpurohits who harboured many a dark secret of the Raja or the King, the misfortune of those who were destined to carry the night soil of the privileged by birth and thanked their lucky stars that they held a profession, and the tragic tale of the off springs and the bastards who never would know their fathers, are all sketched vividly in these pages.

What comes out clearly is that many of these people lying cocooned in the four walls of their palaces were complete misfits when it came to facing the moment of truth of having to deal with and survive in a modern world where everyone had an equal opportunity to work and where competition was the name of he game. The smart among them have not only survived, but gone on to become successful businessmen, hoteliers and foreign tour operators, turning their erstwhile palaces into hotels and tourist resorts.

Along with the royalty, there are others of the present era whose motives come under Singh’s see-it-all scanner. They who suffered during the Partition would understand the line: "Why didn’t Nehru allow Jinnah to be Prime Minister, as Gandhiji said he should? Then there would be no Partition, would there?" Nehru wanted it all, and no one listened to Gandhi in any case.

Nehru’s "Socialism", the Land Ceiling Act that fragmented land holdings and killed many a farmer, and the obdurate face of the new Raj of politicians and bureaucrats that we have to deal with today, have all been canvassed very objectively and dispassionately.

The Yuvrani riding off with an obese film maker on a scooter leaving her husband behind, Baby Uncle, a character sitting on the last possession, a chair, and an attendant of the Yuvraj preparing his meal on his master’s teak wood—Teak makes good firewood. It’s like making a bonfire of matchsticks. And the food smells really good—are all remnants of an era now frozen in time. The ease with which Shivani Singh tells a tale, and an observant eye that landscapes beautifully, point to a new storyteller who has arrived.

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