The Jasmine Throne

“She couldn’t be the person she’d been reared to be. But maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself to want a little more than what she had. Just a little.”

Priya is constantly in flux, caught between who she was trained to be and who she has become. While she knows that she can’t reclaim the life of power and violence she had as a temple child, she does allow herself to dream of enough to improve her circumstances and those of the children she feels responsible for, like Rukh. The repetition of the word “maybe” highlights her hesitance and tentative hopefulness.

“She wrapped her anger at Chandra around herself like new skin; as if she were a snake, sloughing off one body and making another.”

The imagery of a snake shedding its skin is representative of rebirth and adaptation. Stripped of the luxuries and power she once held as a princess, Malini now relies solely on her wit, anger, and resilience—just like a snake that has shed its skin, she has remade herself. Her anger becomes a new identity that acts as a defense mechanism against the psychological torment that her brother designed to break her. The complicated relationship between the siblings highlights the theme of The Complicated Nature of Family Bonds.

“Sentimentality had its place when it served a function; when it helped achieve the greater ideal of an Ahiranya free and powerful, as it had once been. But his love—no. The blood tenderness of it was nothing but weakness.”

Ashok’s perspective here presents a cold, utilitarian approach to leadership and rebellion, building on the theme of The Corrupting Influence of Power. He sees love and emotional attachment as detrimental unless they serve a greater purpose, specifically Ahiranya’s liberation. He believes that his love for his sister led him astray, so he has to put it aside before it can further jeopardize his goal.

“Santosh had made something that Vikram intended as an honorable act into a vengeance. And indeed, perhaps it was. The Ahiranyi preferred to bury their dead, after all. A rebel would not want to burn.”

Vikram tries to reconcile his personal ethical code with the emperor’s increasingly violent and uncompromising vision for Parijat’s rule of Ahiranya. Though Vikram’s intentions are honorable, they are still rooted in the empire’s ideology. By burning Meena’s body after she dies, instead of burying it according to Ahiranyi customs, Vikram asserts imperial power, forcing even death to serve as a political statement of dominance over Ahiranyi culture. This highlights the theme of The Destructive Nature of Colonialism.

“A better man would have fought valiantly for those weeping women, those men. The poet. A better man would not have been in this room—in this brothel at all. But Rao was not a better man. He was only a man with a purpose, and his work was not yet done.”

Rao’s sense of duty is primarily motivated by his need to save Malini. He makes the choice to leave the poet and the others in the salon to their deaths because he believes that his goal is more important than any one person. This choice positions him as a character who operates in the gray areas of morality, where lofty ideals must sometimes be set aside for practical outcomes.

“I know you want to find the deathless waters. No—don’t lie to me, Pri. Lie to yourself if you like, but I know you. And I know you think if you find the waters, you’ll find yourself. But, Priya, you remember as well as I do the price the waters can demand.”

For Priya, the deathless waters represent more than just the abilities they grant; they are tied to her identity, her understanding of who she once was, and the possibility of reclaiming her lost self. However, Bhumika reminds her that seeking them is dangerous because the waters exact a heavy cost. To find herself and reconnect with her old power, Priya might risk losing everything else. The repetition of the word “lie” highlights the tension between truth and Priya’s self-deception.

“I do not think you are used to being seen, are you, Priya?”

Priya has lived much of her life unnoticed, hiding her true potential and identity behind the role of a simple maidservant, but Malini truly sees her and recognizes her power. She needs Priya to help her escape and survive, but she is also trying to manipulate the relationship by playing on Priya’s desire to be valued for who she truly is.

“You don’t understand that I’m trying to protect what remains of us—of our Ahiranya. I’m fighting for survival, and you—you’re choosing to gamble what little we have on a hope that may obliterate us.”

Bhumika’s words summarize the conflict between herself and Ashok: She wants to preserve what little remains, while he wants to risk everything for an uncertain future. Unlike Ashok, who is willing to embrace violence and upheaval, Bhumika believes in safeguarding the remnants of their culture, people, and traditions, even if it means playing the political game by working within the system.

“Sometimes you must allow your pride and virtues to fall away in order to win the war.”

Malini has been imprisoned, drugged, and manipulated by those around her, and her only way out is to play the game with pragmatism rather than idealism. In her experience, holding on too tightly to pride or morality can only be a hindrance. Recognizing Priya’s potential, Malini tries to influence her with the idea that what matters most is survival. By stating that pride and virtue can “fall away,” the quote uses the metaphorical image that these qualities can be shed or discarded easily, like clothes or jewelry.

“He wants a world that can’t be forged without blood and death and sacrifice. In that way, he’s no different from the emperor.”

Bhumika draws a parallel here between Ashok and Emperor Chandra. While the men’s goals directly oppose one another, both are idealists who rely on violence to achieve their goals. They are both willing to sacrifice anyone and everyone, including their respective sisters, for their versions of a “better” future. They both exemplify The Corrupting Influence of Power.

“Ashok had tried to harm her. Her hand went to her chest. He had harmed her. The place where he had hurt her was like a burning star within her center, and she could not breathe around it.”

When Ashok harms Priya in the sangam, it’s an assault on not just a physical level but also a psychological one since it comes from someone she trusts and loves. Her brother is willing to use, manipulate, and hurt her to achieve his own ends. The wound also marks a shift in Priya’s character since it represents the shattering of her idealism. The simile of the “burning star” invokes the intensity of her pain, connecting it with the motif of fire that runs throughout the novel.

“Tears were a weapon of a kind, even if they made her fury smolder and rot and writhe inside her.”

Instead of allowing her emotions to control her, Malini learned early on to weaponize her vulnerability as a calculated strategy against her brother’s abuse and the patriarchal standards of their society. While she cannot openly defy the male-dominated structures around her, she can use the tools available to her—tears, submission, and perceived weakness—to maintain some control. However, she is angry that she must seem weak to assert herself, and the alliteration and imagery of the words “rot” and “writhe” convey this.

“Why did Malini keep insisting that she really cared? It made Priya feel raw. She wanted Malini to care for her—wanted to bask into that caring, melt into it. But the rest of her was wary. The rest of her wanted armor.”

Though Malini presents herself as caring, Priya believes that she is valuable to the princess only because she is a useful, powerful ally. However, Malini’s affection makes Priya feel “raw,” as if she is wounded, which is why she needs the metaphorical “armor” to protect herself from being vulnerable. Priya’s need for emotional armor is born from past betrayals and the harsh reality that trust often leads to hurt, as she learned with Ashok. Although Priya yearns for connection, she believes that allowing herself to become emotionally exposed is a weakness.

“You’re driven by a moral code I can’t fathom. In your own way, Priya, you’re as dangerous as Ashok.”

Here, Bhumika challenges Priya’s perception of herself. While Priya may not perceive herself as a force to be reckoned with, Bhumika does. However, the danger that Priya presents isn’t as clear as Ashok’s. The implicit question in Bhumika’s words is whether Priya will use her power for good or allow it to consume her like it did her brother.

“Whatever she was—weapon, monster, cursed or gifted—she was whole.”

Throughout the novel, Priya struggles with conflicting aspects of her identity. There are parts of herself that are dangerous and destructive, shaped by her past traumas and the choices she made. However, now that she has entered the heart of the Hirana and reached the deathless waters, Priya is no longer divided between conflicting roles or expectations. She is herself, and she feels complete.

“She knew what she felt now: power, dripping from every inch of her. Power bursting like flowers beneath the closed lids of her eyes, when she squeezed them shut and let out a ragged, joyful laugh.”

After a long period of self-doubt, trauma, and betrayal, Priya survives the deathless waters and becomes twice-born. This is a physical and spiritual rebirth, and, for the first time, Priya feels truly in control of her own destiny. However, the “ragged” laugh and the imagery of flowers bursting from her eyes—which is something associated with the later stages of the rot—show how precarious this new power is.

“There is power that is showy and fierce. And there is power grown slowly, and stronger for the time spent braiding its ancient strength.”

Unlike Ashok, whose power is aggressive, immediate, and driven by rage and violence, Bhumika understands the value of patience, nurturing, and the quiet accumulation of influence. Bhumika sees power as something organic to be nurtured, like the plants she spent years growing at her palace. The image of “braiding” indicates a patient, deliberate weaving together of strength over time. Her power is quiet but far-reaching, like the roses she tends to.

“I was trying to find…myself. After the others died, I…I think my mind tried to protect me. I forgot so much. I couldn’t use even the gifts I already had any longer.”

After the experiences that Priya endured as a temple child, she experienced a severe blow to her sense of self. This trauma led her to repress her memories and disassociate as a way to shield herself from overwhelming pain. Priya’s disconnection from her magic mirrors her disconnection from her own identity and past. By articulating her struggle to Malini, Priya takes a step toward healing.

“You can have a child, and hold that child against your own skin, and raise it. You can betray yourself and your values for that child. You can let the child escape, even though you know it should die…And that child can look at you, with fury and contempt, and leave you to die.”

Chandni’s words here emphasize the theme of The Complicated Nature of Family Bonds. She acknowledges the moral sacrifice she made by choosing to save Priya’s life, even though everything that Chandni believed in told her that Priya should be killed for the greater good. Priya’s rejection of Chandni is also symbolic of the inevitability of the conflict between personal love and duty. Chandni is left with the consequences of her actions: She is dying of the rot she once tried to prevent, and she is abandoned by the very child she tried to save.

“I’ve avoided marriage. I’ll never willingly beget children with a man. And what is more monstrous than that? To be inherently, by your nature, unable to serve your purpose? To want, simply because you want, to love simply for the sake of love?”

The idea of being “monstrous” recurs throughout the novel to describe characters who step outside the societal norms. Malini’s “monstrosity” is rooted in her refusal to accept the traditional role expected of her as a woman of royal blood: to serve, obey, and reproduce for the sake of family and political stability. Malini, however, is attracted to women and never wants to marry or bear children with a man. This is her way of rejecting societal expectations.

“If you cannot see that you must put him aside—then you are indeed not the friend I once knew. Whatever vision the nameless granted you when I took you to the gardens—the answer to what you need to do is plain.”

Rao’s exasperation stems from the fact that, in his eyes, the path forward is clear: Chandra must be overthrown, and Aditya is the only one who can do so and unite the empire. He appeals to the practical consequences of Chandra’s actions—the death of his sister, Malini’s imprisonment, political instability—arguing that these are reasons enough to act. However, Aditya remains hesitant due to his inability to reconcile his perception of fate with the reality of the empire’s needs.

“They lived willingly within an unlit pyre, the fools. She felt the knowledge close over her skull like a vise. Fire. Burning. It was lucky she did not believe in fate, because these things seemed to be following her. Waiting for her.”

Malini’s musings on the flammability of the lacquer gardens don’t just serve as foreshadowing for what happens there during the novel’s climax but also tie into her views on destiny and agency. Malini is driven by her need for control, and she is always calculating ways to survive. While she doesn’t let herself rely on fate like Rao and Aditya do, she still feels haunted by the inevitability of the fire. The sentence “She felt the knowledge close over her skull like a vise” personifies knowledge, while the simile “like a vise” stresses that this knowledge is uncomfortable because it is physically constricting and inescapable. Even as she comes up with the plan of setting the gardens on fire, Malini is uncomfortable with the violence of this plan, though she realizes its necessity.

“Maybe freedom will mean being able to protect our children instead of using them.”

Ganam, one of the rebels, reflects on the grim reality of war and rebellion. Children, like Rukh, are often forced to serve as tools in the greater struggle for liberation. While freedom and justice are worthy goals, they come at a steep price, and often the most vulnerable are the ones who bear the brunt of that cost.