Information

Maharaja
Legacy Name: Maharaja

The Common RA-001
Owner: Melissa

Age: 10 years, 3 days

Born: April 21st, 2014

Adopted: 5 years, 2 weeks, 5 days ago

Adopted: April 6th, 2019

Statistics

• Level: 1
   
• Strength: 17
   
• Defense: 13
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 0
   
• Books Read: 0
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Unemployed

turned glade on 4/22/14 thanksUser not found: frisky!

by GlaceLeau

Every cup has it's story.

Dr. Chambal was the first man in India to attract English royalty to his wedding. Granted, the pale woman in the frilly cream gown was something like fifty-seventh in line for the throne. In the eyes of his beautiful bride, the presence of Miss Delphine Croft was an accomplishment to be subtly rubbed in the faces of girls who once taunted her for wearing sarongs that her sisters had outgrown. Her skill as a pianist had earned her respect and admiration, bringing listeners from as far away as Chennai to the sultry heart of New Delhi. She could only smile when that same skill lured in a husband. Adhira Batra eagerly became Adhira Chambal, wearing her flowing red bridal gown with pride.

Maharaja loved to look at the red leather photo album that contained the wedding photos of her parents. This was the only way she could see them every day. Mama was always giving concerts for some foreign ambassador who had been informed of her skill. When Papa was not prescribing cures for wealthy clients he was lecturing to youths intent on learning the culture of Europe so they could someday build a wealthy clientele of their own.

Her needs were always seen to by the servants. She thought nothing of ordering them about and screaming for attention after she'd had a nightmare. It was nothing to her that they had children and sleep patterns of their own. Much like the teak-paneled furniture in her bedroom, they were there to serve a purpose.

She raised a fuss when her Amah brought her to school for the first time. She'd been excited to put on her favorite orange sarong, insisting her Amah secure a tiger lily in her hair. She took one look at the other children, some of them actually playing in the dirt, and demanded to be taken home.

"This is the best school in New Delhi, Miss. You'll learn all sorts of wonderful skills and even how to play music. Not every little girl is fortunate enough to get into a private school, you know."

She hated when her Amah took on that mothering tone. She began to wail, a sure way to get what she wanted, but for once the trick didn't work. Her Amah was under strict orders to see to it she made it through her first school day. Dr. Chambal was disappointed that his first born was a girl. He did not have to live with an uneducated brat.

Maharaja turned up her nose at invitations to play. She could hardly enjoy the activities of such commoners. The other children came to ignore her in time, only increasing her convictions. She must be better than that troupe of silly monkeys.

She found great comfort in afternoon tea. Her mother was always getting gifts of exotic blends that would sit on a shelf for years. Her father preferred coffee and her mother drank only green tea, refusing to even try new flavors. Maharaja allowed her tongue to explore the world from the safety of a gilded teacup. She even had tea parties sometimes, at least until the company of stuffed elephants began to make her feel foolish.

She learned to read and write, forming graceful letters as she took a liking to calligraphy. She marveled at the stars, her knowledge of astronomy just keeping ahead of her fascination for geometry. She mastered the Basuri, being given the gift of a flute for her tenth birthday, one that had been hand-carved by a poor person. (Dr. Chambal had the decency not to call them untouchables in front of his daughter.)

There were other lessons to learn, ones that were not described in a classroom. She learned the pain of becoming a woman and the ache of watching the commoners snuggling in any available corner, loving each other with the ferocity of youth. She had looked down on the boys of her class for so long that their eyes slid right past her. When she made a wish on her seventeenth birthday, burning a stick of incense to the god of love as an added precaution, she didn't really expect it to come true.

She met him on the street corner one day after the final bell had rung. He didn't look like much at first. Over one shoulder was a stained pack that had seen much use. The other hand clutched a violin case. His eyes widened as he took in the fiery sarong that accented her skin so well. She'd worn a ruby button that day on a whim and this was where his eyes came to rest. His voice was a musical murmur when he spoke.

"You look like the princess in one of those stories, the ones where a mischievous monkey causes all sorts of trouble and it is the princess who must set the world right."

She should have turned away. She had once watched from a distance as a tiger stalked a young gazelle, gasping in horror when the strike came. This man likely didn't have a rupee to his name, but there was no doubt in her mind he was a tiger. The man had Tiger Eyes, hypnotic and cunning. She could not look away.

She knew she should protest when he put a hand against the small of her back and escorted her to a bus going the opposite direction from her villa. She tried to protest when he took her by the hand. She even considered flagging down the bus that was slowly trundling back toward the city proper. His warm tongue in her mouth distracted her just long enough to lose sight of many things.

He did not take her to bed that night. He wanted their love to blossom slowly, like a new flower opening to greet the sun for the first time. Each time he saw her, he introduced her to new definitions of what it means to be human.

Five magical weeks were the best of her life before the tiger decided to pounce at last. She awoke in a small hut, covered with sweat and feeling ashamed. He had left her in the night, seeking some new rare flower to caress. She never did learn his name.

The other girls had seen the way she hurried to greet the grungy stranger at the small bus stop just one block from school. They sneered when she went there for three days, standing alone until it began to get dark then going home with her head hanging low. They would whisper and giggle when she passed them in the halls, making it a point to give her plenty of room. Who knows what kind of diseases the spoils of a vagabound might carry? They were thrilled to see the princess brought down from her mighty throne at last.

The signs of her changing body were gradual. It was not until her flat middle began to curve out that she flat out refused to return to school.

Her shame was unbearable. It was so fortunate that Papa and Mama were both attending international meetings and would not be back until later in the year. Could she deliver the child and be rid of it by then? She shuddered at the thought of other options, quickly brushing that train of thought aside.

Perhaps some very small part of her hoped that Tiger Eyes would tire of his prowling and come seeking her but this was foolish. Everybody knows that tigers eat their young.

Maharaja went to her secret place, an empty space between her small bedroom and the kitchen where she had once kept her diary and snuck away to eat the second cookie she'd stolen when Cook's back was turned. It was a fitting place for secrets.

For five days she really thought she could succeed. Then Savita found her crying.

Savita was twenty-two, just five years older than the mistress she had so often been forced to clean up after. She had seen all of Maharaja's worst moods, including a total meltdown tantrum, but never had she seen the household princess vulnerable. She took Maharaja by the hand, shaking her head at the state of the girl's wrinkled sarong.

She didn't even have to ask what was wrong as Maharaja rose to her full height.

"Come with me, Mistress. I know exactly what you need."

The female servants were accustomed to gathering in the kitchen at this time of day. Not one of them wore a sneer as Maharaja began to tell her story. They were, in fact, very nice and they knew exactly what her favorite blend of tea was. They'd prepared it often enough.

An older woman clucked her tongue and shook her head. "You are a lucky one, Young Miss. You have a brain between those ears and you'll be able to use it. That little one will have a fighting chance in life. I was two years younger than you when my Rachit was born. I was lucky not to end up in the fields, breaking my back while he starved." She nodded knowingly.

Maharaja's attention was caught by the hand that reached over to pour her another cup. She gasped at the blotchy red mark on the woman's skin.

It was obvious the birthmark had never been bleached or treated. How anybody could live with such a blemish was a wonder. The woman laughed at the direction of her gaze.

"My man calls it his special kissing place."

Maharaja blinked and stared. "But...but how can you live with such a mark?" She didn't yet have the shame to blush though she did lower her gaze. She had to look up when the woman laughed again.

"Any woman who wants to frown at me for the look of my skin should take care to look within. She may find there is a bad spirit lurking deep inside that is much uglier than this little spot."

The servants became like the sister she had never had in the coming months. They knitted little hats and socks, going on about the joys of being a mother for the first time. Savita was the only one of the group with only one child and she badgered her husband constantly about this fact. She liked to wink at Maharaja, saying if they were lucky, her second would be crawling after the Little Prince and learning from his noble ways. From the curves of her body, all of the servants were convinced Mahraja's child would be a boy. It took Maharaja a while to return her new friend's ready smile.

They formed a protective circle around Maharaja for the birth, reassuring her that bad spirits would not even get a view of this precious child.

Khuram entered the world roaring like the tiger he'd been named for. It took mere seconds for the bond of love to form. Maharaja knew that she could never give up her son but the thought of facing her father was no longer so terrible. She had shed her princess cloak for one that had been woven by peasant hands, stained with common sweat, and patterned with the stripes of a tiger.

Story by Pureflower

"As the only child of an esteemed doctor and a celebrated pianist, Maharaja was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. But her parents were busy and distant, and she grew up as isolated as a princess in a tower. She never really learned to connect with people. Maharaja was one of the wealthiest students at her private school, and this extra distinction made her feel even more lonely and lost. Her only defensive mechanism was to wrap herself up in the idea that she must be superior to the others. It was as if she were in a tower of her own construction all the time, no matter how many people were around her...for Maharaja did not consider them to be her peers.

But when someone has been so alone for so long, the walls she builds around herself can begin to grow brittle. And that means that the person who finally breaks through might do so by chance rather than by merit. Unfortunately, this is what happened to Maharaja when she was seventeen years old.

She met him on a street corner one day, the travel-worn young man with the pack and the violin. He called out to her, low and sweet, and she came to him even though she had been taught that his kind wasn’t fit to so much as speak to hers. It didn’t matter. Maharaja was inexorably drawn to him by the kind of sparking chemical ties that drive people out of their minds with passion. She was in love.

And perhaps he loved her too. But if he did it was a fleeting and absent love, the kind of love a wanderer has for a place that he briefly calls “home” before moving on. Only five beautiful weeks later he was gone, and Maharaja was heartbroken.

She learned very quickly what it was like to be looked down upon. The other girls whispered and pointed and skirted around her in groups in the halls, and that was before anyone (or Maharaja herself) knew that she was pregnant. When she did figure it out, she stopped going to school entirely. Neither of her parents were in the country. She lived between her bedroom and the kitchen for about a week, until one of the maids became concerned and finally confronted her. Maharaja had never interacted with the household help much before, but now she broke down and told them everything, and she was indescribably grateful when they welcomed her into their lives like a comforting group of aunts and sisters.

Maharaja’s new friends were the kinds of people that she had never been able to empathize with before: ordinary people. Not all of them had finished school, and one of them had never learned to read or write properly. Another had a birthmark on her hand that had never been bleached or treated. When Maharaja asked why, the woman laughed and said that it didn’t really matter, didn’t it? Maharaja supposed that it didn’t, when she thought about it. Slowly, the girl was learning that the perfection that she had been raised to expect didn’t really exist in the real world—and that perhaps that wasn’t such a frightening thing.

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