Rebel Queen by Michelle Moran Page B

carried her toward Raju, who sniffed her and gave a giant sneeze.
    “He likes you!” Shivaji said. “Horses only sneeze on little girls they like.”
    Anuja laughed. She reached and patted his muzzle. “His fur tickles.”
    “It’s called hair. And I think he’s saying he’d like you to climb on his back.”
    He slid Anuja into the saddle, holding her there while she giggled. It made me feel ashamed that I had been terrified of the prospect of doing the same thing only a few moments earlier. Then a sudden shriek made us all turn.
    “Do you have any idea what the neighbors will say if she breaks her neck like this? What sort of family allows a girl on a horse?” Grandmother’s voice was shrill. She hurried into the courtyard without any juti on herself.
    Shivaji gathered Anuja into his arms and set her down.
    “Get into that house!” Grandmother screamed. Anuja ran back inside, then Grandmother turned her gaze on me. “There will be no dinner for either of you tonight.”
    “It was my fault,” Shivaji said.
    “It is her fault!” Grandmother pointed at me. “The one who plans to ride around Jhansi like an uncovered whore, with her hair streaming behind her and a sword in her belt!” Other women might have stomped back across the courtyard. But Grandmother glided away like a ghost, with just as much care or tenderness for the living.
    I approached the horse slowly. Shivaji said the horse was wearing an English saddle, and I shouldn’t be scared, but no creature had ever looked so frightening to me. I found it difficult to concentrate. I glanced across the courtyard and saw Avani, who had come out to wash our linens in a bucket on the steps.
    “Your mind is wandering.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    He folded his arms across his chest. Then his voice grew very low, although the only person who could have possibly heard us was our maid. “Tell me, Sita. Who will support this family when your father is too old to work?”
    “Me.”
    “And you alone. You must become a member of the Durga Dal. Your father saved my life twice in Burma and I owe him this.”
    My father had never told me this story. I wanted to question Shivaji further, but his look was firm.
    It took three attempts before I successfully mounted Raju. But I did it, and I felt immense gratitude when the lesson was done and he hadn’t thrown me from his back.

    T hat evening, after Father was served hot tahari in his room, my sister and I were instructed to leave the kitchen. Anuja stared at the pot of rice and potatoes, inhaling the warm scents of garlic and peas. “But I’m hungry.”
    Grandmother’s smile was as thin and sharp as the curve of myscimitar. “You should have thought about that before following your sister onto that dirty animal today.”
    Anuja didn’t understand. “But why?” My little Anu’s voice sounded so small.
    I nudged her in the direction of my room. “We’ll read,” I said with a cheerfulness I didn’t feel. “Food for the mind instead of the stomach.” When we got inside, I took The Brothers Grimm from my shelf; a treasure Father had given me for my tenth birthday, telling me it had come all the way from Jhansi.
    “ Cinderella or Snow White ?” I asked.
    “Rapunze l !”
    I read the story, hoping my sister would fall asleep and forget about her hunger, but just as her eyes began to close and her lashes brushed against her cheeks, Grandmother swung open the door. She was carrying a tray with a lidded bowl.
    “Tahari!” my sister said, and ran to Dadi-ji, throwing her arms around her legs.
    “Get off!”
    My sister immediately backed away. It wasn’t tahari. The bowl was too small.
    “Stand.”
    We did as we were told. Then Grandmother lifted the cover and began to spoon salt from the bowl onto the floor.
    “Kneel.” When neither of us moved, she threatened, “Lift up your kurtas and kneel or I will fetch the stick!”
    I lifted my kurta first, showing Anu how to obey, and pressed my knees into the salt.