King, Palace and Administration The moon behind the western mount is sinking; The eastern sun is heralded by dawn; From heaven’s twin lights, their fall and glory linking; Brave lessons of submission may be drawn.¹³ Rana Bhupsinh’s palace was situated at the centre of a sprawling garden, which was encircled by a high wall. The wall, built to resemble the ramparts of a fortress, was about ten yards high. The lime-wash on the wall had gone black in some places and was patchy in others. Masons on raised platforms were busy repairing it. A canopy of green leaves could be seen protruding over the wall. Some trees in the garden had dried up or shed their leaves; their bare brown branches grazed against the green leafy ones, as if to render them barren, too. Some mango trees were in bloom; they glistened and swayed in the morning sun. Like a white bud emerging from dense foliage, the upper stories of the palace could be seen rising from amidst this green copse. The palace was better looked after than the garden or the walls. The original palace had been a two-storied building. Bhupsinh had added two more levels to it and they were visible from the garden. The upper stories were smaller than the original two floors, with a view to giving stability to the structure. The third floor was smaller than the second floor, while the fourth was the smallest of them all. The fourth floor contained only one large bed chamber. It had been decorated in what Buddhidhan imagined to be ‘Bombay style’. The walls of the bedroom were made of small pieces of glass. Each piece was smaller than the width of two palms and was set in a rosewood frame. Some were square, some oval, while others were hexagonal in shape. Deep red curtains covered the glass walls and were kept open at some of the windows. The openings in the curtain were square or triangular in shape. Some pieces of glass were coloured and reflected the sun’s rays. The reflection dazzled the eyes of those who gazed at it even from outside the palace walls. The palace looked like a lissome Kathiawadi woman who insisted on wearing skirts and silken blouses even after girlhood was left far behind. The surrounding walls were like the block-hemming of a flared white chaniya. The trees reached beyond the walls like a blouse with red patterns and gathers that came down to meet the skirt. Their green branches and round tree tops resembled breasts straining against a tight blouse. The upper floors of the palace were like a head emerging from the torso, and the glass palace shone like two sharp, gleaming eyes. Like a piece of jewellery in the parting of a woman’s hair, a parrot came and sat atop the glass palace. The coloured glass looked like tattoos on the woman’s face. The palace, a solitary imposing figure, stood under the blazing summer sky. The procession which approached