A long-stemmed Zergul flower for her...
A silver goblet of Sherbet for him...
CHAPTER 10
Whether it was fear or embarrassment, the maids quickly shifted their attention towards the work that lay ahead, trying to avoid what they assumed was going to be an imminent encounter with Khan Sahib and his men.
But as they dreaded, the men had approached the garden's fences and stopped their stallions not far from it - with the businessman stationed at the centre.
'Salaam... Sahiba...' the men nodded
Heera returned the greeting with a courteous nod.
After the awkward greeting, there was a pause that was even more awkward. So, the heiress returned to whatever it was she'd been doing before the interruption, and her maids followed suit.
'Why were they pointing fingers at us and giggling?' Ibrahim whispered to his companions 'And what are they up to, in the gardens?'
Akbar let out a faint sigh 'They're planting some medicinal herbs...'
That information - coupled with the unusual scenario of witnessing a bevy of ladies flocking his master's otherwise celibate gardens - was all that was needed to set off the prankster in Azeez 'I can guess what they would've been chuckling about...' he murmured to his master, keeping his pitch low in case the ladies heard him 'They must find it funny that in less than a week... they've managed to take over the 'eminent' Khan Sahib's guest quarters... his kitchens... and currently, his gardens too!'
Not surprisingly, Sayyid and Ibrahim found it very hard to rein-in their grins at the hilarious thought. However, Akbar, who seemed immune to the young man's comic ways, didn't react to the remark.
'And, Chacha jaan would say...' Azeez continued, his mischief unchecked 'That it's high time a woman took up those jobs, around here...'
What'd started off as smiles and grins spiralled into smirks and sniggers - prompting their Sahib to eventually dart them an stony glare 'Azeez...' he cautioned quietly 'You better stop, if you don't want to be working a double shift... let's get back to the stables!'
With that statement, Akbar decided to make a move. He'd wanted to know what was being done to his garden and he'd stopped by to watch. Now that there was no other business keeping him there, he flicked Bahadur's reins to get going.
But, his trusted horse didn't charge off. It dragged its hooves on the ground slowly. It'd sensed that the 'flick' of its reins, wasn't the 'full-fledged flick' it was used to receiving from its master. It was only a 'half-hearted whip'
So, Akbar had to prompt his horse again.
And as they passed by the fence thereafter, his glances incidentally fell upon the pair of fair palms toiling away on the other side - inspecting and caring for those tender leaves with exquisite care. Palms that were graceful with whatever they handled, skillful with whatever they touched - be it 4 dams in a forest, or a few flowers in a garden.
'Are they still watching?'
'Khan Sahib is watching... but, the rest are sniggering about something!'
'Ladies...' Heera tried shushing the excited lot. For someone who was already finding it difficult to overlook the distraction and carry on with a steady hand, their narration was not helping. Yes, she was used to people staring at her when she worked her magic with the herbs and medicines - and she never minded it. But this time, it was proving a greater challenge to remain unresponsive to the kind of attention her work was drawing 'Hold the basket here, please...'
The maids did as told - though that didn't bring their hush-hush chatter to an end
'Why are they so curious?'
'Well...' Heera explained in a soft whisper, while plucking out a flower 'They're probably curious... because they might not be used to these new additions in their garden...'
'But baisa...' a lady quizzed unhappily 'Why were the men laughing at us, a few moments ago'
'I'm certain they were ridiculing us...'
'I agree...'
'And it's rude to stare, anyway!'
'True! They are all rude...'
'All right...' Heera tried dissipating their unease, her eyes still fixed on the potted herbs 'Let's finish this... and be on our way...' she handed over an array of leaves, and a few calendula flowers that she'd picked from her collection - all of which, would combine to make an excellent pain killer 'Spread out the Zergul flowers to dry... so I can extract its oil...'
But the remaining women could not dismiss the situation as magnanimously as their heiress could. Especially not after they saw the men sniggering and smirking at them. And definitely not after they'd come to the joint conclusion that they were being ridiculed.
So, the lady who received the basket of flowers let her frustrations show, unable to keep her words stifled anymore 'Baisa... why must we dry the Zergul flowers? They appear dry already... not surprising, since the soil here is harsh and unwelcoming!'
'True!' another maid quickly joined in
'In our gardens back home, flowers bloomed beautifully... can't expect the same here, can we?'
'No...'
The ladies had continued blurting one over the other to get back at the men - till their mistress shut them down with a long disapproving stare 'Please... that's enough...'
Once they'd quietened, Heera was tempted to look into what'd caused all that tension. So, holding her veil low, she finally peeped up and darted a tactful glance at the man - to find out why his precious horse was still standing there, right across the fence.
However, Akbar was a step ahead in this game.
He'd already averted the silent confrontation, by turning aside to his companions.
'Did you hear those maids?' Sayyid questioned by gritting his teeth
'That's enough!' Akbar snapped out of his lull by brusquely cutting him off with a glare. The annoyed man was in no mood to pay heed to trivial quarrels. A host of other questions - vague questions - were suddenly bothering his logical mind - like why had he ended up halting there for longer than he must have 'Come on! Let's get going...'
'But, how dare they?'
'And I don't think it's the first instance they've mocked us either...' the men continued amongst themselves
'It's obvious from their comments that they have no sense of gratitude...'
'I have a good mind to teach them a lesson...' Azeez added 'I mean... a 'gentle' lesson...'
'I don't have time for this...' Akbar dismissed the notion - he couldn't care less for their petty grievances. Instead, he glimpsed at his horse that hadn't moved more than a few inches in the past few moments. More annoyed with himself than before, he whipped the reins with force 'Come on Bahadur...'
And Bahadur immediately recognised the 'full-fledged' flick of its reins when it came. A signal that implied its master did want to leave - at once. Its hind legs sprang into action, and the duo galloped off towards the meadows, straightaway.
Soon after, Ibrahim and Sayyid dispersed and joined their Sahib too. But, not Azeez - at least, not until he'd set his 'gentle' plan into action first.
It was a short while later, when Heera dusted her hands and straightened out her skirt, prepared to return indoors. Having tidied up the area, the maids carried their belongings and baskets, stringing along behind their mistress.
Just then, the retinue heard a tiny childlike voice from somewhere nearby
'A child?' asked Dhani, puzzled 'Here?'
'There! She's there...'
'Yes... she's talking to our guards...'
As puzzled as her maids were, Heera tried observing the scenes from her veil - but she couldn't make out much. Nevertheless, she needn't have tried. Because, the very next instant, the guard had begun approaching them along with the girl - who'd evidently come to the gardens in order to meet the Parnagarh retinue.
Once brought in their presence, Heera got a better view - and realised that the girl was holding something behind her back. So when her visitor spoke nothing at first, she made a few gentle attempts to encourage her 'What is your name? What brings you here?'
'My name is...' the child began, but swallowed the rest of her words. Hastily averting the many stares being hurled at her, she glanced at the ground - one hand tightly clutching her shabby skirt, her bare feet drawing patters on the soil. She didn't say, but she was intimidated by the unfamiliar ladies - especially by the rich one standing in the centre, who hid her face behind a silk veil.
Understanding her reservations, Heera knelt on the ground and lifted the veil above her head - so she would be at eye level with the small one 'What is your name, dear?'
Awed by the heavenly face that she could now see directly, a sheepish smile emerged upon her lips 'My name is Chanda...'
'Chanda?' it took the heiress less than an instant to realise where she'd heard the name before. 'Chanda and Parvez' Was this the abandoned kid that Khan Sahib was helping out? 'Have you brought something for me?' she asked, already feeling a sense of familiarity with her little guest
'Yes Sahiba...' Chanda gradually brought it out in front. It was a single long-stemmed flower, boasting the supplest bunch of orange petals they'd ever seen.
'Is this for me, dear?' Heera nodded, impressed by what she saw 'But first... tell me... how do you know me?'
'I... I...' she stuttered softly 'I... d... don't know...'
Amused by the child's inability to explain herself, the maids decided to help her out
'Why baisa...' one lady spoke for the girl 'everyone in Aidabad, must have heard of you and your beauty by now...'
'Which is why, this girl must have come to meet you... and, she's picked out this stunning flower to present you as a gift ... is it not, my dear child?'
'Don't feel shy... you can give it to our baisa...'
'She is as lovely as the flower herself!'
Encouraged by their words, Chanda presented the bloom to the loveliest Lady of the lot - who, in turn, received it with much love too
'Thank you... and did you pick it yourself?'
'Actually, no I didn't...'
'Then?'
She began knotting her tiny fingers 'I'm bringing this from someone else... it was sent to me... to be given here...'
A wave of confusion eclipsed everyone's smiles
'Sent to you... from where?'
'By whom?'
'It's from Akbar bhaijaan...' she paused 'Well...' her voice tapered into unclear syllables 'actually, i... it's fr...from his meadows...'
'What!' a chorus of gasps and murmurs immediately echoed amongst the gathering 'From Khan Sahib?'
'From Khan Sahib?' Heera's soft grip around the stem tightened a notch, her lips briefly rendered silent by the unexpected development. It was a spell of silence brought on by disbelief - but by no means was it an unpleasant spell of silence. Was this a show of cordiality, she wondered, unbeknown to her group - or was it in appreciation of her skills?
But, while she wondered about the reasons behind such a gesture - she couldn't help feeling a coincidental thrill at having received such a token from someone as reserved as him. A certain kind of thrill that caused her beats to quicken - even if only for a fleeting moment.
The maids, on the other hand, were not so positive. Once the initial shock had worn off, gasps and murmurs had given way to angry whispers. Men did not send such tokens for a lady unless she was his bride, his betrothed or his beloved - and a Mughal merchant sending their baisa such a gift was not something they could appreciate.
'How dare he!'
'Is he trying to defame Harka baisa?'
'This cannot be good...'
'This cannot be good...'
The whisper she overheard, drew Heera away from her short reverie - sending her thoughts in another direction altogether.
'Then again...' her instincts swiftly perked up 'Why WOULD someone as reserved as him, present such a token to a relative stranger?'
No, it didn't seem like the man to do something like this, despite however civil their exchanges had been when they met. And surely, not in public.
As the true picture gradually became clearer, she guessed that the flower tucked within her fingers, couldn't have been sent by the businessman.
So, the confused lady observed it again. Closely.
'Oh my' the reality then struck her, rendering her momentarily silent - and this time, the spell of silence was not a pleasant one. The flower she was holding was a Zergul. An exceptionally large and well-blossomed Zergul. Much plusher than the ones that grew back home - because of which, she hadn't recognised it at first sight.
This could only mean one thing - all of this was an elaborate ploy, a tit-for-tat game that the men had played upon them!
'Chanda...' the Lady enquired, her 'heavenly' features now plagued by many frowns 'Did the man... or men, who gave you this... send a message too?'
'Yes...' the little girl crinkled her nose and looked up at the sky, trying to remember the words she'd been told to say 'The soil here may not be as rich as the soil in your hometown... but... but... but it is not so harsh that we can't grow our own flowers here!'
Having conveyed the message, she pandered off with a naughty giggle - as though she was just as much party to this tit-for-tat game as the perpetrator!
Battling a maze of confounding feelings, Heera stood up to face her wide-eyed maids, realising there was never a point in life she missed her chief-maid more. Because had Gauri been there, things wouldn't have gone this far.
'A stunning Zergul indeed!' she brought an end to the embarrassing stillness by indicating towards its petals, cynically using the maids' own words while doing so 'Don't you think so, ladies?'
'A... a... Zergul?' they stuttered, the crimson slowly disappearing from their cheeks - it was possibly for the first time, that the group recalled their Lady appearing as displeased, as she did then.
'Yes... and one of Khan Sahib's men has sent it... responding to those snide remarks you all passed...'
'B... but... those men sniggered at us... so we... we...' the maid who'd started it all, began justifying their actions - but lost her gusto midway and lowered her gaze in remorse. After all, she'd realised, as did everyone else - that they'd reacted impulsively.
'We should have learnt from what happened last week... from Bindiya's mistakes... but we didn't..' Heera's voice was heavy with disappointment 'I hope... at least after this occasion, you'd think twice, before you speak! If not... I shall begin tending to my work, by myself... without your assistance!'
'Y... yes baisa...' they assured her sadly - not as sad about being told off, as they were about the expressions on their mistress' face - and about the warning she'd been compelled to give them.
Later, that evening...
Pulling in a deep breath, she strived to slip into a fresh bout of meditation - but, gave up shortly thereafter. It was her third unsuccessful attempt that evening.
She couldn't believe it - the peace that'd been ruffled earlier, hadn't settled yet. After all, neither had she wronged anyone, nor had she been wronged by anyone. The petty tit-for-tat game was a dispute between her maids and his men. Then, why was 'she' left feeling so perturbed by it?
Where was her voice of reason that never allowed such silly affairs to get to her? Where was her positive spirit? Why couldn't she be the sportive 16 year old she always was? Why was a kind of 'ego' she couldn't recognise, beginning to rear its ugly head - disrupting her prayers in unprecedented ways?
'Stop!' she shook her head - for, even in that troubled state, her subconscious knew the answers to all those questions. She'd lost her sense of composure, because she was annoyed with HERSELF. Annoyed with her mind for having acted illogically. Annoyed with her heart for having briefly misbehaved. Even if only for a moment, this unfamiliar 'misbehaviour' had somehow sneaked in - and shrouded her judgement.
Because try as she might, she couldn't deny that for a little while, she'd earnestly welcomed a gift that she assumed, was from the man. From a complete stranger!
Yes, he'd saved her life. And yes, he helped abandoned children. But, what else did she know about him to begin having such anticipations at all? This was someone whom she'd barely met 4 days ago, and someone she'd never meet again 4 days later.
So, what in God's name had she been thinking? Why had she lost her sense of judgement and acted that way? Was it because her mind was eager for some distraction to escape the anguish it was suffering? Or, was life so lonely that she'd become desperate for some intelligent company after the demise of her jiji?
'Bhavani ma... please help this foolish 16 year old!' she chided herself, heaving in mild exasperation 'It's time to stop this! There are lives at stake here... I can't be losing my peace over such insignificant issues...' saying so, she opened the eyes that'd been pointlessly shut in an effort to draw her into trance. She stared at the urn in front 'Besides, it's only been 11 days since... since...'
Her words gradually floundered 'Tomorrow is the 12th day...' the stern inner voice that'd been reasoning with her whims for so long began crumbling into disarray. The first signs of a faint tremble seized her lips. Her vision became poorer with new layers of moisture blurring it. Then, in a sudden fit of impulse, she lurched forth and grabbed the urn from its holy platform, nearly losing her balance as she did so. Tomorrow would be the 12th day - the day she would submerge those ashes in the river. The day she would say her final goodbyes. How was she supposed to prepare her mind for something as gravely permanent as that?
She wept, clutching the urn tightly, along with its precious contents - remains of what was once a graceful young woman in her prime - a woman who had always been her guide and guardian, mother and friend. Probably, disheartenment and loneliness had gotten the better of her. Definitely exhaustion too. Whatever the reason, she wept like she had on that fateful day - cradling the urn like she had cradled her sister's lifeless face near her chest 'What am I going to do without you, jiji? If such a pointless issue can push me into turmoil, how am I going to take care of the bigger things in life?'
As she sobbed relentlessly, her warm breath brushed against the cold curves of the lifeless urn. Her balmy tears flooded its barren designs - as though those desperate final struggles would bring to life that dead urn 'I miss you immensely...'
Heera wasn't aware for how long she'd been lamenting that way. She wasn't aware how late it was - but it was the reassuring tones in a voice calling out to her, which managed to gently awaken her comatose spirits
'Bitiya...'
'Yes Maharaj kakasa...' Since the heiress could not let him see her in so distraught a state, she hurriedly wiped her tears dry and drew the veil over her swollen face, before turning around to glimpse at the silhouette of her visitor. From the brisk manner in which his chubby outline had stationed itself at the entrance, she was grateful the cook hadn't brought her bad tidings.
'Maharaj kakasa' she softly responded to his bow 'What is it?'
'Baisa... we have managed to find a priest locally... he is prepared to perform the final rites... tomorrow... here, at Aidabad!'
'Oh! That's good...'
After a while, Heera slowly placed the urn back on its platform.
So, it WAS time to let go. A major part of her was still overcome with crushing grief, but there was a small part of her that was beginning to find a soothing relief in the news he'd just brought. For the past 11 days, she hadn't been able to perform her sister's rites thoroughly - and it was something that'd been nagging her conscience a lot. Because, the least she could do to repay a sister who'd gifted her everything in life, was grant her soul a proper farewell.
Now that the 12th day rites would be conducted as per Rajput customs, she felt a kind of peace she hadn't felt in days. A kind of peace that managed to blanket over the worries and tears that'd been hounding her - the same sort of peace she was certain her jiji's soul would feel too!
Main haveli...
Reaching across to the rosewood table, Azeez moved the many used-and-charred oily wicks lying beside a brass lamp, before pulling out the silver pitcher. Careful not to spill even a drop of the precious liquid, he poured the four of them a drink. The sweet syrupy smell of rose rising from that Sherbet straightaway masked the whiff of dust that drifted around the unused corners of the large chamber.
'Chacha jaan!' Azeez spoke up after having taken his first sip 'Even their SHERBET tastes better than yours... and I thought Persians had perfected the art of sherbet-making centuries ago!'
'Perfect?' chipped in Ibrahim 'As long as Chacha jaan can cook something edible...we must consider ourselves fortunate!'
'You traitors!' the old man grit his teeth playfully, but was overrode by raucous encouragement from the other two friends.
'Wah...wah, Ibrahim!'
'Well said!'
For the three young men, such laughter and conversations were not unusual - after all, the haveli was a home away from their homes. For Akbar Mahmoud Khan though, these conversations would be the only sounds that would temporarily rid the chronic stillness haunting the many rooms of that haveli. These friendly conversations were what made this haveli a home - the only 'home' he ever knew.
No doubt, the group were an epitome of professionalism during the day, upholding their master-employee roles without exception. However come nightfall and after a day's hard work, those barriers were pulled down and formalities done away with. More so on those nights when the friends decided to stay back after dinner and wind down for an hour or so.
Needless to say, the prime outcome of such a gathering was sipping on copious amounts of Chacha jaan's watery sherbet, while picking on a scapegoat and pulling his leg till the late hours of the night.
Only tonight, they hadn't bothered finding a scapegoat yet - what with the delicious sherbet doing its rounds, having arrived from the kitchens of guest quarters.
'Mock me all you must...' the old man guffawed 'But, Akbar survived on my culinary skills all these years... and if anything, he's more hale-and-hearty than all of you put together! So, I must have done something right!' casually setting straight a fresh goblet, he poured some drink into it and peeked across the room, at his nephew.
As was always during such gatherings, the young man was lounging at the far end with his head buried in official sheets. Though he did have a ear out for their chatter and shook his head when the jokes got too hilarious, he never joined them in it.
So, sighing in disapproval, Chacha jaan traipsed up to the other end of the chamber with both glasses in hand 'Here' he offered him a drink
The businessman stared, his frowns wary.
'Akbar...' his voice became mellow 'Please have a sip of this... you will not regret it! This is how REAL food tastes...'
Having raised a brow, he returned to the sheet he'd been poring over - like he hadn't heard a word of it.
'Well... when you're out travelling... you do eat what's available, right?'
'When out, yes... but, when I'm in my house I eat what 'I' like to eat!'
'For 4 nights, I've been asking you to taste the food that comes from their kitchen, and you have been refusing to... but, this is only a drink... so, it shouldn't matter right?' the uncle waited with growing impatience 'Why don't you assume I was the one who made it?'
When Akbar responded to none of those pleas, Chacha set down both goblets on a table 'You are one stubborn man... but, I can be adamant too... this old man will not continue indulging himself, when his son refuses to enjoy the little pleasures in life!'
Following an extremely long pause of nothingness, the tradesman put down his scroll with a vexed sigh and picked up his goblet 'Oh! All right... have yours now!' of course, Akbar understood very well that this was merely a charade - and that the minute he turned his back, the old man would have downed two more servings of the drink. Nevertheless, he gave in - because neither could he disregard the old man, nor did he have the patience to deal with dramas of this sort.
The man's wrinkly features lit up like a thousand lamps. He was astonished, as were the three friends, by the turn of events 'Ai Khuda... thank you for this miracle!' he celebrated, while reclaiming the drink he'd given up 'Anyway...' announced chacha with an air of newfound authority 'I'm tired of cooking for you rowdy lot...' he pointed to the faces staring at him 'If only I could walk up to that group with a proposal of marriage... then, I would request for their Maharaj Sahib as part of the wedding gift!'
That quirky suggestion sent the men into another stint of laughter - with everyone simultaneously watching the Sahib, for signs of a reaction.
'If this is how you men behave after a few sips of Sherbet' Akbar remarked flatly 'I must consider it fortunate that none of you touch alcohol...'
'Tch... tch...' Chacha ignored the comment, and continued addressing his enthralled audience 'This Khan Sahib to learn to let go... to smile... don't you agree?' when that audience didn't nod, he had to prod them for an answer 'Oh, come on... speak up!'
'We'll agree ...' the fearless Azeez decided to take the bait 'but first...'
'Listen young man...' interrupted Akbar, his flat tone suddenly gaining an icy edge that forewarned them he wasn't joking 'You've already had your share of mischief this morning... so, pipe down if you don't want something coming flying at you...'
'Chacha jaan... we'll speak up...' the prankster persevered, even though he was aware of how his master was rolling up a scroll with intent to follow up on the threat 'if you assure us that your nephew wouldn't transform into a ruthless employer tomorrow morning, and penalise us at work...'
WHOOOSH!
The scroll had abruptly whizzed towards him - but like the true athlete that he was, Azeez had ducked and caught the missile with his hand. 'See... this is what I mean!' he complained playfully, while the remaining members went on to cheer his proficiency.
'That was only a warning...' Akbar mentioned with an air of nonchalance 'Hold your tongue... or next, it'll be my dagger!'
'But I haven't finished yet...' Azeez placed the scroll down 'Chacha jaan, I do have a good solution to this... Harka sahiba!'
Akbar conspicuously moved his fingers towards the hilt of his dagger, the frown between his brows deepening 'You heard me...'
But Azeez wasn't intimidated by the sight of a dagger. Neither were his friends . After all, they were a red-blooded group of men, who'd been trained by the master himself. Men who loved to live dangerously, and who considered such risky games as sport.
So not surprisingly, Azeez continued, undaunted 'My men, I've heard Harka sahiba is quite the healer... she should have a magic potion that should help our Khan Sahib lighten up...'
WHOOOSH!
The steel of a blade flashed across the room!
And the youth ducked in a blink. But in this real contest, even his quick reflexes were no match for the Sahib's
'ARRRggghhh!' he immediately winced when the blade found its mark
The businessman leaned back on his couch, calmly.
'I'd had these pearls stitched only yesterday!' Azeez moaned on watching the scattered string of jewels that the master's dagger had skilfully sliced off from the top edge of his expensive turban.
'Well, I did warn you!' quipped Akbar, hoping that would be the end of their jesting.
But how wrong was he!
For, Ibrahim insisted upon proclaiming the results next 'The match is equally poised. Akbar gets a point for his aim, as usual! And Azeez, a point for his suggestions on consulting Harka Sahiba!'
'Wah... wah...'
'Wah... wah...'
'Wah... wah...' the entire chamber erupted into another round of chuckles.
Letting out a deep breath, the exasperated merchant arose from his couch. It was apparent that he had become their scapegoat for the evening and unfortunately they weren't going to stop anytime soon. So, he grabbed his goblet and strolled towards the terrace at a far end, the serene nightly spectacle on offer, a welcome respite from the disorderliness inside.
At the terrace...
'Harka sahiba... quite the healer...' the words lingered on, although this topic was one of the reasons he'd abandoned the group. His gazes fell upon the grounds adjoining the guest quarters. And thereupon, on the neatest corner of the garden.
Despite the fact that he might have abruptly rode off from her presence that morning. Despite the fact he might not have admitted it yet - even to himself - there was little doubt that the patch of garden she'd tended to with such precision and care, was going to grow to become the most beautiful aspect of the entire haveli. Even in the sparse light of night, those saplings and flowerbeds appeared so tender and promising - as if hinting to anyone who gazed upon them, of the nature of the Sahiba who'd planted them.
He took another sip of the delicious sherbet, his mind simultaneously taking another step into this unknown chasm he'd stumbled upon. As if the repeated recollections of her words and skills weren't enough, the thoughts were beginning to ruffle other memories too. Memories so evasive that they'd somehow found their way through all his walls and masks he'd kept intact for so long. Subtle memories, which had stubbornly lodged in a far corner of his mind - that try as he might, he couldn't oust them.
His thumb unwittingly rubbed the bare spot on his ring finger. It'd been a few days since he'd stopped wearing the brown topaz. But its absence somehow reminded him of the cherished ring even more. Like how the very pair of eyes he was meant to forget, never actually got forgotten.
'Well, most days, are good... and I can use my sight to get by... on those days that are bad, I use my senses to get by...'
He recalled how those elegant earthy eyes had twinkled with such self-assurance when she'd described her abilities, a night ago. And yet, how the same 'self-assured twinkle' that set them apart, had gone missing too. Just once. When she'd gone on to reveal a sinister secret
'There have been threats to my life...'
His jaw seemed to tighten for an instant, as it had on the previous night - a fleeting reaction to the morbid reality. But, why such a response? Wasn't she supposed to be only a stranger to him? Someone he'd met barely 4 days ago, and someone he'd never meet 4 days later. Then, why the anger?
Was it because his subconscious knew her spirit was unique, too unique to allow it to be extinguished? Was it because he knew she was a noble soul - a soul so noble that it would make any man want to protect its essence from dying out, though she'd never ask for such protection herself?
He felt a strange but certain twitch in his chest - and ironically, it was that unfamiliar twitch that brought him face to face with the facts.
Abruptly dragged out of the forbidden chasm he had entered, his fingers coiled around the neck of the cup 'Cursed fires of hell!' he swore under his breath in escalating anger. Six nights in a row - and the phenomenon was only getting worse. Why was he being affected by such thoughts and sensations? That too now, at such an inopportune moment.
Even as a man in his prime, he'd always managed to walk away from women as one would walk away from a dull statue - with apathy and disinterest. If so, why was that self-restraint not serving him well at present? Why was his mind not as steady lately? Didn't it realise that the life he'd chosen was too ominous and the paths he took too dark, to afford him the luxury of such mistakes?
This lapse was unacceptable, even if only temporary.
Still reeling from the crude awakening, Akbar glimpsed into his chalice, a sense of distaste overcoming the flavours he had been enjoying until now. 'Have they mixed something in this?'
Curtly dumping the sherbet into a potted plant nearby, he slammed the chalice upon a table on his way back to relieve some of the self-rage that'd built within.
'I am done for tonight...' the man gave his friends an abrupt explanation and stormed out of the chamber rightaway.
It was as though the person who'd been sipping a drink and savouring the night's delights until a while ago, was someone else altogether.
(Glossary of terms included in post below)
See you in a week's time...
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
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