Page 88 of Trapped By the Maharaja
Her heart thudded.Why are we here?
Before she could ask, Ram was already on his feet. He reached for her hand, steadying her as they stepped out into the swirl of dust and sound of drumbeats and trumpets.
Almost at once, a wave of villagers surged toward them. She stiffened instinctively, nerves coiling tight due to the recent attack. But Ram’s hand on her lower back remained firm and steady. His touch told her there wasn’t any danger.
“Welcome! Maharaja! Maharani!” the voices rose as flower petals rained down on them.
Village elders stepped forward, their palms pressed together in respect. Two of them lifted garlands of fresh flowers and carefully placed them over Ram’s broad shoulders, then over hers.
She forced a smile and bowed her head with palms pressed together in acknowledgment, even as her heart pounded with the sheer intensity of it all.
Ram and she were led through the crowd toward a raised dais. Suchitra Devi and Ram’s brothers were already seated there. But at the center of the dais, two large carved seats had been left empty.
Ram led her up the dais and greeted his mother and nodded at his brothers before sitting in the center seat. Sanjana forced a small smile at Suchitra Devi and Ram’s brothers and sat inthe second chair, feeling like an imposter under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes.
Suchitra Devi rose. As soon as her gaze swept the crowd, the drums and the chatter quietened.
She gave a regal nod. “Maharaja, Ram Devara and Maharani Sanjana Devara.”
As soon as the announcement was made, the crowd erupted in loud cheers while the air filled with the sounds of drums and trumpets.
Hundreds of voices shouted Maharani Sanjana, but she felt like an imposter.
I am not a Maharani, and I don’t belong here.
Even as her mind screamed those words, her heart raced when she felt Ram’s hand gripping hers on the armrest. The possessive hold reminded her she was bound to him, whether or not she belonged in his royal world.
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The celebrations began with dances with folk music. Sanjana enjoyed watching them. Each performance was gripping and dazzling. Dancers in traditional clothes spun across, their anklets ringing in rhythm with the drums. The air vibrated with energy as the drums thrummed.
It was late afternoon when the dance performances ended. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.
The village head stepped forward, raising his voice over the music. “And now, the traditional bull race!”
The crowd erupted in cheers, the sound nearly deafening. Men surged forward, the excited buzz sweeping like wildfire. Sanjana hadn’t witnessed a bull race in person, but she knew it was a dangerous spectacle where men raced bulls to show their strength and courage.
Just as she hoped the race wouldn’t turn into a gory spectacle, Ram rose smoothly from his seat.
She watched him walking towards the race, most likely to begin the event or give encouragement to the racers before the event began.
But as she watched, he disappeared behind the line of villagers, swallowed by the chaos of the preparations.
Moments later, the crowd parted, and Sanjana’s breath caught in her throat.
Ram stepped forward again, but he was transformed. His regal sherwani was gone, replaced by a simple, loose dhoti tied at his hips. His broad, tanned, muscular chest gleamed under the sun, slick with a faint sheen of oil. The sight of him, so raw and untamed among the villagers, sent a hot flush racing through her body.
But as soon as she saw him nearing a large, angry-looking bull, her pulse spiked with panic.
She turned to Suchitra Devi. “What is Ram doing?” she asked urgently.
The queen didn’t move, her face carved into perfect composure. “All Devara maharajas participate in the bull race,” she replied. “It is tradition.”
Before Sanjana could respond, a large brass bell clanged, its heavy tone echoing across the spacious ground.
The bulls charged forward.
Each animal was massive, with their horns adorned with garlands, their nostrils flaring as handlers released them into the track. Riders leapt onto their backs, gripping tight as the animals thundered across the dusty stretch of land. The crowd roared with every surge, every fall.
