The Maharani

Mr. E. Patry made a portrait of me in Paris in December of 1907. I was few months pregnant, waiting my son.

My parents were delighted and Victoria, who now spoke French very well, told me she was courting, an American named Jorge Winans. I was very pleased indeed for her and though what coincidence that the two sisters had fallen in love with foreign men…from so far away.

We set sail from Marseille. After almost two months’ voyage I arrived in Bombay with my lady in waiting, 40 trunks and an Andalusian damsel. Some days before the Christmas of 1907 we were in India.

My only worry was imagining what it was that I had to do when I saw the Prince again as I was very nervous.

On reaching Kapurthala, I took a deep breath and came back down to earth. I was about to become The Spanish Maharani.

His Highness said:”Look to your right and you will see the dome of the palace that will be our residence. It is a copy of Versailles”. “Have you built it for me?”, I asked; he smiled: ” I never imagined that a woman so beautiful would be the first to live here, but now I know it was destined to be you”.

The Rajah explained to me that, as a result of previous matrimonies, he had had four sons and one daughter. Their mothers are the Ranis , four women that, since the Prince fell in love with me, have not had any sort of relation to the Rajah and they lived confined in the harem.

My bridal gown was brought to me, and as I was dying of curiosity, I observed as the package was opened. Everyone sung praise at the gown but I could not see what way the gown was worn , as it was only one whole piece of pink fabric. Mind you it was embroidered with gold and silver. I then became very sad and started sobbing. I cried so much that my lady in waiting had to come and console me. She explained that in India white is the colour of death and mourning; that the colour of luck is cherry red and that happiness is represented with silver and gold. But I was not in the mood for explanations. All my life I had dreamed of getting married with a beautiful white dress, like the Queens of Spain.

On said day I was awakened, bathed and combed, they began to dress me in the attire and newly-wed jewels. It was completely dark.

When they finished and I saw myself in the mirror I thought it was a dream. When my lady in waiting saw me she said “Oh my, how beautiful you look, Miss, you look like a virgin!”, those words were comforting.

As the sun rose  the Rajah arrived dressed up in his best attire. It was the first time I saw him armed with his Sikh suit.

Shortly after the foreign Rani was known as Prem Kaur of Kapurthala.

My son was born in the month of April. The birth was difficult and both our lives were feared for. I did not stop praying to my Virgin of  Victory pleading she deliver me from a terrible ending. I promised her a ceremonial robe if she helped me. Everything was resolved happily and the boy was named Ajit Singh.

So, little by little, I became accustomed to my new life.

Hunts, banquets, parties and receptions, those were my occupations.

Summers were spent in the palace in the mountains with my son and we travelled to Europe twice a year.

Eighteen years I spent as the favourite wife of a Maharajah whose fortune would make any of the European royal families pale faced, Lord of life and death in the small kingdom of Karpurthala.