In Rajgarh they used to say:
"The kingdom rests upon two moons —
one of tranquillity,
and one of command."
Those moons were not in the sky.
They walked the marbled corridors of the palace:
Rajkumari Charumati, daughter of Maharani Lalima Devi, the Queen Consort
Rajkumari Mrinalini, daughter of Maharani Aishvarya Devi, the Queen Regent
Born of different wombs,
raised beneath the same palace ceiling,
they reflected two different lights upon the world.
The Moon of Compassion — Rajkumari Charumati
Charumati moved through the palace gardens like a quiet breeze stirring fallen flowers.
Her beauty was not the thunderclap beauty of dancers or actresses;
it was like the soft glow of a diya in a temple corner — small, warm, unassumingly holy.
She had inherited her mother Lalima's gentleness,
and the delicate hands of someone who preferred prayer beads to jewels.
Yet beneath that softness lived resolve —
the kind that does not roarbut endures.
She visited the palace infirmary, spoke with wounded sepoys,
brought sweets for the children of servants,
and bowed to elders with such humility that even the hard-hearted softened.
One afternoon she knelt beside a soldier with a bandaged shoulder.
"You fought bravely," she said, her voice like sandalwood smoke."For whom shall I place your offering in the temple — your mother? Your wife?"
He stared at her as if he had glimpsed the Goddess Herself.
"For my land, Rajkumari," he whispered. "Offer prayers for my land."
Her eyes shone.
She realised then
that while her father ruled a kingdom,
her people longed for a nation.
And the whisper of freedom brushed her like the far sound of the sea.
The Moon of Authority — Rajkumari Mrinalini
If Charumati was incense,
Mrinalini was steel hidden beneath silk.
She had her mother Aishvarya Devi's gaze:
steady,
assessing,
measured with frightening precision.
Court tutors learned to fear her questions.
British missionaries learned to dread her smiles.
She rode horses in the early dawn,
shot arrows with unerring accuracy,
and debated scholars as though she had been born in a library.
When she spoke, men twice her age listened.
Where Charumati prayed for wounded soldiers,
Mrinalini asked:
"Why are they wounded at all,
and who profits from their blood?"
She did not raise her voice.
She did not need to.
She believed a princess was not an ornament,
but a pillar.
And pillars carry weight.
Sisters Not By Blood — But By Destiny
The palace whispered often:
"The princesses are as the two moons —
one waxing, one waning;
one calming the ocean,
one stirring it."
They were not enemies.
Nor were they entirely at peace.
Their love was braided with rivalry,
their rivalry braided with admiration.
Charumati softened Mrinalini's iron.
Mrinalini sharpened Charumati's courage.
They met one evening upon the palace terrace, silver light bathing the marble balustrades.
Below them the palace slept,
save for distant guards and temple bells.
Above them hung the two crescent moons of that particular rare night.
Charumati laughed softly.
"See, Didi, the sky smiles upon us twice."
Mrinalini did not look at the sky.
She was staring at the British fort lights glimmering far beyond the palace hills.
"They build railways not for our benefit," she said quietly, "but to carry away our wealth faster."
Charumati clasped her hand.
"You think of war even beneath twin moons."
"I think of fate," Mrinalini answered.
"And what do you see?" Charumati whispered.
"I see that one day one of us will pray in temples…and the other will stand upon battlements."
Charumati's heart trembled.
She did not ask which she would be.
Two Mothers — Two Paths
The daughters mirrored their queens.
Lalima Devi, Queen Consort —soft-voiced,
devotional,
fearful of omens,
yet capable of fierce sacrifice when pressed.
She raised Charumati in fragrance of jasmine and sound of mantras,
believing the world healed more with kindness than cudgels.
When Charumati read poetry,
Lalima smiled.
When she stitched garlands,
Lalima blessed her.
When she touched the feet of elders,
Lalima's heart glowed.
She prayed:
"May my daughter always be gentle,
even in a world sharpened by iron."
Aishvarya Devi, Queen Regent —commanding,
disciplined,
born not just to adorn the throne but to preserve it.
She raised Mrinalini as if shaping a future regent.
When Mrinalini quoted scripture,
Aishvarya asked her to interpret it for politics.
When she learned swordplay,
Aishvarya improved her stance.
When she cried as a child,
Aishvarya said:
"A queen does not weep in public.
Save tears for the gods.
Give the world commands."
Between these two mothers,
a kingdom found balance —
until fate began to shift weight upon one side.
Yuvrani Anushka Devi — Watching the Moons
From the shadowed archway,
another woman watched them.
Yuvrani Anushka DeviCrown Princess of RajgarhBengal-bornwrapped in velvet silk and quiet calculation.
Her sindoor burned bright as spilled blood.
Her eyes gave nothing away.
She watched the two princesses speaking beneath the moons.
She smiled.
But it was not the smile of affection.
It was the smile of onemeasuring the chessboard.
"Two moons," she murmured to herself.
"One blessing the people…and one blessing the throne."
Sometimes it is conquered
by understanding
who in the palace prays
and who in the palace plots.
Rumours in the Zenana
Servants whisper.
Courtyards listen.
Curtains have ears.
The zenana hummed with rumours like flies.
"The Rajkumari Mrinalini will one day rule beside her mother—"
"No, no — Charumati will win the people's heart first—"
"Hush! The British Resident seeks to take the princes abroad—"
"And that Bengali Yuvrani — her eyes are dangerous—"
Anushka passed by them gracefully,
pretending not to hear,
pretending not to think.
But she was always thinking.
For while others saw princesses as jewels,
she saw potential threats to legitimacy.
The people loved Charumati.
Ministers respected Mrinalini.
Neither must remain free to become rallying flags later.
But not yet.
Seeds are cut only when ripe.
The Night of Twin Prophecies
That night an old court astrologer was summoned,
grey-bearded,
turbaned,
eyes clouded yet strangely clear.
He cast shells,
stars,
holy ash.
He looked at the charts of both princesses.
His hands trembled.
"What do you see?" asked Maharani Lalima softly.
He bowed, sweating.
"I see shadow crossing moonlight," he whispered.
"For which?" asked Aishvarya evenly.
"Both."
The queens exchanged a glance —
one of dread,
one of grim acceptance.
He spoke again.
"One of your daughters shall hold aloft the hearts of the people.
The other shall carry fire across kingdoms.
Both… will walk through blood."
Charumati shivered.
Mrinalini did not.
She simply folded the words away as one might fold a weapon into silk.
The Benefactor stood behind the curtains
and heard everything.
He closed his eyes with satisfaction.
Fate, it seemed, to have walked beside him.
Sisters Beneath Destiny
On the palace balcony later that night,
the two princesses stood side by side.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Finally Charumati whispered:
"If one of us must burn…I hope it is me."
Mrinalini turned sharply.
"Never say such things."
Charumati smiled sadly.
"You are needed for the throne. I am only…"
"You are the heart of Rajgarh," Mrinalini interrupted.
Charumati laughed softly.
"And you, Didi, are its sword."
They embraced.
Moonlight bathed them both,
silver upon skin,
soft upon silk.
Far away,
The Benefactor watched
not with envynot with lovebut with decision.
The moons would wane.
The throne would rise.
Freedom would come —
but not as the poets would write it.
It would come
in the name of Dharmapuriya,
forged from two kingdoms,
born not only of justice—
but also of the ruthless will of one person
who had never intended to remain only in the Shadows.
And the daughters of the two moons
walked back into the palace,
unaware of how deeply their fates
were already tied
to a ruler yet to reveal thyselves fully…