A dark skinned beauty has been crowned maharani and has taken her place beside her husband who is seated beneath the royal umbrella and the chatur changi with its golden disc emblazoned on the black ostrich feathers. Of all his wives it will be she who will rule the zenana.
It is her name that is to be immortalized in legend by the people of the land. The man who has made her queen will lose his identity to a series of historical blunders.
In her veins runs the proud blood of the Chauhans.
Chauhan clans from the north to the south of India rush to claim her as their own. The great Hamir Sank Chauhan, of the island known today as Sri Lanka, claims her as his daughter. But when the poet Malik Mohammad sits down to write the Padmavat he writes her down as the daughter of King Gandharv Sen and Queen Champavati.
But in the distant corner of the desert, a man who once had been king, knows deep down in his heart that this is the daughter that had been born to Jam Kanwar, his Chauhani queen.
It has to be Lotus Blossom; she would be all of sixteen now; no longer a blossom; rather a flower in full bloom.
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