THE MAGICAL PALACE Read Online Free PDF Page A

‘That came out wrong. It’s not funny. Please go on.’
    ‘Apology accepted,’ I answered. ‘I’m not a drama queen.And what happened was real …’ Feeling defensive, I stopped.
    ‘Go on,’ Andrew urged, his voice gentler.
    ‘I first heard about the legend from my mother. She had heard it from a servant whose grandmother worked for the Nizam’s family. Mother said that she was so disturbed by it that she had a Hindu priest come in and purify the house after they moved in. I thought about that story often, recreating it in my mind. Somehow, it made me feel as if I belonged to the royal family and that the palace was mine. I guess that is where I started identifying with being a prince.’
    ‘I can imagine that,’ Andrew said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
    ‘The palace, as I told you, had been mysteriously abandoned after it was built. It had taken many years to build the imposing two-storey structure and lay out the elegant gardens and orchards. So the palace was not ready for habitation for the Nizam until 1880, decades after work had begun. Begum Razia Banu, the Nizam’s mother, a tough and tenacious old lady who ruled the household with an iron hand, insisted on making the rounds of the palace to make sure it was ready for the royal family.
    ‘As a child, I could imagine the grand old dowager going from room to room, marvelling at the tall ceilings, the marble floors, the spacious portico and the delicate balustrade that ringed the open terraces upstairs. “Bahut khubsurat,” she probably said as she gave her regal approval to the beautiful work done by her minions. In my vision, Razia Banu was dressed in a glorious sharara—the floor-length ensemble worn by Muslim women—loose and shimmeringwith silk thread and sequins. Her head was covered with a fine muslin veil made by legendary weavers from Dhaka. Her fingers were wrinkled, liver spots liberally sprinkled over the parchment-like skin. Rings encrusted with precious diamonds, rubies and sapphires from the Golconda mines weighed down the fingers that firmly clasped a walking stick with a jewel-studded head in the shape of a dragon’s visage. She made her way through the royal palace that was to be her personal domain, planning every last detail of the big move. Then she came upon a bat on the floor of the upstairs bedroom. The bat lay sprawled, dead, in the centre of the mosaic pattern on the floor. She screamed dramatically, backing away. “Toba! Toba!” she said, over and over again, her hands touching each side of her face.
    ‘Her superstition ruled the day. The palace was condemned as a place of ill omen. The family packed itself into the horse-drawn carriage and left, the dowager muttering to herself that she would not allow bad luck to touch anyone in her family. I saw the handsome prince sulking as he sat facing the rear window of the carriage, his eyes brimming with tears, feeling powerless and angry, knowing that he would never be able to play in the garden and make friends with the trees and birds. Because, of course, he wanted to, just like me.
    ‘The dowager cursed the palace. “ Hum nahin rah sakte hain to yahan koi khushi se nahin rah sakta … Khandaan ke chirag ki zindagi barbad ho jayegi. ’ A short and powerful curse: “No one can be happy in this palace if I cannot live here. The life of the heir of the family which lives here will be hell.”
    ‘My mother was afraid that our family would face misfortune because of the curse.’
    ‘What a horrible thing for her to say! Such a witch,’ Andrew interjected.
    ‘Yes. Who knows why she was so evil.’ I shivered even though the fire was warm.
    ‘So what happened to the palace after she left?’
    ‘It was shuttered and left empty for many decades, and nature crept stealthily into the grounds. Wilderness and chaos continued unchecked until the Indian government took over and the palace became the Mint House.
    ‘In front of the palace that I grew up in were