‘Ram! Ram!’ Lal Bai began her own chant as the cort`ege moved forward.
When they reached the courtyard the little procession halted, held back for a moment by the wave of sound that met them. The whole city was assembled in the courtyard and on the staircases down to the river to pay a loud, grief-stricken farewell to Udai Singh. At the burning ghat below them, a torch-bearer stood by the pyre awaiting the body of the ruler. They watched as the bier passed through the elephant gate. Lal Bai’s eyes shone with excitement and longing as she caught her last glimpse of her lord, lying, regal, in ceremonial costume and garlanded with marigolds. All was ready.
Not quite all. There was one last ritual gesture to be observed before they could move onward. A footman moved forward holding out a pot of ochre. Without stopping her chant, Lal Bai put her right hand into the powder and withdrew it. To the accompaniment of an increasingly fervent chanting from the crowds of mourners who stood back in awe and respect for the determined slight figure, she solemnly went to the wall of the palace by the elephant gate and pressed her red right hand firmly on to the smooth white surface.
The first of the cannons crashed out its salute and Lal Bai began to count.