Page 103 of A King's Oath
“What’s next? You’ll say you are the princess of this Mewad!”
Avantika laughed. If he thought it was a joke, she wasn’t liable to clarify.
“Van Cleef & Arpels mein kya karti hai, Raje?[50]” Hukum asked, sitting back with one leg over the other, eyes on the fieldthat was being readied. The players were in their respective tents, blips in the distance from here.
“Main yahan unki Brand Visual Strategist hoon, Hukum. Ek hafta hua aaye.[51]”
“Badhai ho aapko. Vishwa Baisa se aapki chitrakari ki bohot prashansa suni hai.[52]”
“Dhanywad, Hukum[53],” she nodded, eyes on the blips and horses moving around. Unlike her royal peers, she wasn’t a stranger to Hindi. With her upbringing in the heart of Madhya Pradesh, and her family switching between English and pure Hindi, she could hold her own. But this was a tosser. Giriraj Hukum speaking like an elite MP professor of Hindi.
“Hum aise hi polo matches par milte hai.[54]”
She chuckled.
“Samarth naamak ek Kunwar bhi sada upasthit hote hai.[55]”
Her chuckle died.
“Hukum, aisa nahi hai…[56]” she turned to him, only to be cut off by his tiny smile. He nodded at the centre of the field and her attention veered. There he was. The common denominator of her and Hukum’s meetings, except for polo. He was riding slowly around the circle of players gathered there, the umpire making their way to them to throw the ball. Avantika wondered why he was riding around restlessly until she noted his eyes searching their VIP stand. They ran the length of the first row and stilled on her. Even from this distance, she knew he had been looking for her. The way his head stopped moving.
Long bamboo mallet in hand, patent blue helmet clasped, strong muscular legs in stirrups and one stately hand on his waist — HH Samarth Sinh Solanki looked like the cavalry charge he was.
He was playing Number 1 now, she noted when he nodded inconspicuously and turned to mix into the group gathered around the umpire.
“Trois, deux, un…”
The umpire threw the ball in the cluster of horses and jockeys and then it was like a time-lapse of wind and hooves. Avantika had seen enough polo matches, more than her fair share with Samarth as her sole focus. And yet, they all paled in comparison to this one. Maybe because those were school-level tournaments. This was the French Open, one of the toughest there was in the world.
At one point Samarth rode past her like the wind itself. So close to the edge of the field, his mallet swinging like it was nothing but another gust of wind, the ball flicking off like it was made of paper.
“Come on!” He cried out as he neared the goalpost.
“Come on!” She pounced to her feet, clapping. “Come on! Come on!”
The rival team’s Number 4 came close to him — closer, closer, closer. He was on the wrong side and tried to push Samarth.
“Noooo!”
Samarth ducked, his horse ducked too. How, she didn’t understand. But his horse ducked, braced and leapt just as he swung his mallet in a complete arc and there the ball went. Through the two posts.
“And HH Sam steals the first goal for his team!” The commentator announced. “That’s 1-0.”
“Come ooon!” Samarth had turned his horse in a jiffy and was riding back, fist up, his team catching up with him with thatsame war cry. Avantika remembered that being his school war cry too. He zoomed across her and she realised how close she was to the edge when Hukum pulled her back.
“The wind these boys bring can knock even me off,” he laughed, back to English.
“I had forgotten how thrilling this is.” Avantika sat back down.
“You a groupie for that prince, huh?” Ivor elbowed her. That’s when she remembered that she had brought plus one. Avantika flushed.
“My cousin used to play at home. And we had a team in school…”
“Bugger off. You were hot for that Sam just now. What’s the story?”
“No story, Ivor. We just know each other through school and… family connections.”
“Sach mein?[57]” Hukum piped in from her other side.
