Manswar
For a brief period, the stiff warm breeze wafting through the seven massive Jali windows was the only sound audible throughout that palatial lounge. The mounting suspense was so unnerving that the ministers had even muffled their breathing - in case they missed out on the next words that were to come. After all, never before had the palace inmates witnessed such tense exchanges between their Ranasa and another royal guest.
'Maharaj Chitranjan...' Maharana turned aside, so he'd be able to hide the rising annoyance in his eyes, as he declared his decision 'We've known each other for long... our doors will always be open to Bansi... you shall enjoy our hospitality whenever you choose to visit Manswar... of course, I prefer our relationship remained this way... but for that, you must abandon all such discussions immediately' an edgy lull followed 'Besides, it is unjust to pressurise our son at this stage... he'd promised Durga Bai that he would protect her sister... but now that Durga Bai is no more, our prince will not entertain this conversation...' he shrugged 'Yes we can give the younger sister 'temporary' shelter and protection if that is what you want...' It was obvious why the king had emphasised on the word temporary.
Maharaj Chitranjan rubbed his temple as he felt the pressures escalating within. If Parnagarh's situation were not so adverse, if his godchild's life was not at stake, his regal pride would NEVER allow him to act so humble towards another man - not even a king! 'Maharana... as your equal, I am capable of caring for my daughter... you know as well as I do that I wasn't requesting the royal family of Manswar to give her 'shelter'. I was seeking an alliance...and... and... ' he'd started off with a strong comeback, but unexpectedly, he ended up faltering before the next statement 'and... and... you may not see it at first, but this alliance will... will be beneficial to everyone!'
'Really Maharaj?'
An authoritarian voice had cut through. A woman's voice.
'Beneficial to EVERYONE?'
Seated behind the sheer curtain that segregated the womenfolk from the menfolk in that formal lounge, the Rani of Manswar had been a silent, yet very displeased spectator of the proceedings throughout. But, not for any longer. Chitranjan's last statement had forced her to forgo all such protocols - and speak up against what she thought, were absurd claims to sway them in his favour. 'Beneficial to visually-challenged Harka Bai... yes... but, beneficial to our Kunwar?' she seemed to smirk from under her veil.
The old king was mentally prepared for the onslaught. In fact, he'd expected them to bring up the subject earlier 'Please understand that Heera bitiya's weak vision, is not a disability... not to her, at least. Heera is very intelligent... she manages everything independently... and she is of sound health!'
'Maharaj...' Ranisa was glad to hear the end of what was beginning to resemble another speech on the merits of his 'Heera bitiya' 'Kunwar Mahendar is our only son... the sole heir to the entire kingdom of Manswar. His wife will become chief-queen one day...'
Arising from her chair, the queen took proud strides along the line of maids as she spoke - as though it was a show of how a 'real' royal-blooded lady presented herself 'So, it is understandable that we want his bride, to be a princess... to possess wealth and status that matches ours... to come from an illustrious family...' she exhaled 'Harka bai is only a Mansabdar's daughter... that too, with a disability...'
Chitranjan stood up, his brows knitting in bafflement 'She is a Rajput, a Kshatriya! Her father held a high position at court... besides, your son was going to wed Durga bitiya, who...'
'Mahendar had forced us into accepting that alliance!' the queen took a deep breath, the air of superiority in her tone becoming more apparent 'But I do understand your problems... a few years down the line, if my son decides to marry again... maybe for the 2nd or 3rd time... and if you've still found no suitors for Harka Bai... then... we might reconsider this proposal...'
That scathing remark from the Ranisa was the last straw for a man who was already infuriated by their arrogance 'Well... now that I know, how you've been feeling about two girls who are like daughters to me...' the Maharaj withdrew, unwilling to tolerate such sarcasm any longer 'Farewell and thank you both for your 'hospitality'' It was obvious why the king had emphasised on the word 'hospitality'.
Folding his palms curtly, he turned around to leave, vowing never to step foot into that Godforsaken Kingdom again.
But, his abrupt departure was stopped by the outlines of a friendly figure who'd just emerged through the entranceway 'Maharaj...' came his polite voice as he placed a hand on the heavy shoulders of the old king - a voice that sounded soothing amidst the bitter sarcasm dripping within the four walls of that grand room 'I accept your proposal...'
'Kunwar!' the king rushed ahead to join the duo, enraged by the fact that his son was publicly opposing yet another decision of his 'You will do NO SUCH THING!'
'But, I already have... bapusa!'
'No... Mahendar...' a desperate queen walked up to her son, hoping to stop him before he'd make any further promises that would compromise their family's prestige 'Please think...'
'Maasa...' he darted her a warm glance 'I have given this plenty of thought...'
The queen tried hard to retain her composure, but a mother's despair and anger soon took over 'You have been influenced wrongly... influenced, when you were not in a normal state of mind... and I will let no such th...'
'Maasa...' he raised his palm 'please... we shall discuss this later...' having shushed his mother's cries, he turned to face their royal guest 'I accept this alliance, Maharaj... I will wed Harka Bai on the next auspicious date...'
'I will have you DISOWNED, Mahendar!' his father yelled, causing a wave of panic in the chamber by his impulsive proclamation. Maids gasped. Family members cupped their mouth in alarm. And ministers murmured worriedly amongst themselves.
But, the prince did not flinch. 'But, you will do no such thing, bapusa...'
Startled by that attitude, the Rana of Manswar squared his shoulders and pitted his wrathful face right against the calmer features of his son. With such rage was he overcome that he did not care for what an unpleasant spectacle the entire family dispute was turning into 'Are you so confident of it, because you are our only son... you think, I would NOT disown you?'
'Bapusa...' replied the Kunwar, unruffled by his father's tirade 'I am confident because I know what I am doing is right...'
A Hukkah joint...
Arching forward with his elbows resting upon his knees, he began tapping his fingers impatiently, one against the other.
It was only a few hours past sunrise. But within the beige peeling walls of that dingy area, the smoke had already formed pools of clouds in the air. Pools of clouds that aimlessly floated around. Just as aimlessly as the men who were blowing them out.
When a fresh puff of smoke came swirling in his direction, the lone man turned aside to avoid the suffocating vapours. But that only reminded him of the stifling stench of liquor looming from the furnishings scattered around.
Nevertheless, by one point, even those smells had become preferable when compared to some of the ugly sights that he was surrounded by. Sights of intoxicated men, unclean men, lazing upon faded cushions, proudly holding onto their lifeline - the Hukkah pipes. Men so intoxicated, that they possibly had no idea how long they'd been laying there. So wasted that they could not see how the beautiful lewd women doting over them, were actually taking advantage of their drunkenness and stealing from their pockets in every way they could.
'Ai Khuda' he grunted under his breath.
He despised the place like nothing else. But Akbar Mahmoud Khan was not the type to put up with anything that offended him - unless - he had a very good reason to do so, like he did now.
This Hukkah joint, which was conveniently placed at an intersection between two towns, was where his informant, Chota Faizan, had asked him to wait.
*Classified*
Getting my hands on some important information.
Past sunrise, wait for me at the Hukkah joint beside...
...was the message in the scroll that the messenger had handed him at dawn.
And apart from the fact that this meeting important because his duty called for it - he had a personal interest in it too. Faizan was supposedly bringing him vital information about a particular person - a rival, whom Akbar was becoming quite sceptical of.
So, he patiently put up with the offensive ambience, hoping that his trusted man would turn up soon.
Just then, he heard the clinking of bangles - a clinking that became increasingly audible. From the corner of his eye, he caught a lady approaching him. A slave girl.
Angling sideways, she tried taking a closer look at the man, whose face was partially hidden by the turban scarf flung across his shoulder and neck - the kind that riders wore.
Her chest heaved in near disbelief. 'Mashallah' she bit her lip temptingly. Such flawless features, upon such a rugged body - she had never seen someone like him. In fact, when she'd spotted the lone man at first, she wondered if her eyes had been deceiving her. But now that she'd got a better view, there was no doubt - he was every bit as desirable as she'd assumed he was. And since she was accustomed to coming across fat, old, ugly addicts everyday - this dashing young man made for a visibly delightful change.
If only she could lay her hand upon his taut arms once, she thought, just to see if he was real.
However, before she could come over and lean upon his shoulder, Akbar held the horse-whip up, as though he'd read her mind - giving the lady a sure sign that he did not want her crossing that barrier.
So she stopped a step away, and began playing with the hems of her veil.
'I've already told your friends...' he muttered, with his glimpses fixed upon the ground 'Not interested!'
'Then why have you been sitting here... alone... for so long Sahib?' she asked, using a tone that was as seductive as her form 'No drink in your hand... no Hukkah... who are you waiting for? Angry with your wife? Annoyed with your mistress? I'll help you forget them... at least, for a while...'
'You heard me the first time!'
When the lady refused to budge from her spot in spite of that, he pulled out his pouch and tugged open its strings. Picking out some coins from inside, he tossed them on the seat beside him 'Go buy yourself some dinner'
She gathered the money cautiously so no one else would notice, and counted the copper coins in her palms '3 dams?' 3 dams would buy her 3 dinners! Had the man just gifted her 3 dams, expecting nothing in return? This was hardly believable! 'Very gracious of you, Sahib' she said, offering him a Taslim 'But now you've made me feel guilty... for all of my faults, I am no beggar... I'm still a lady, if only you'd care to observe me once!'
The sly coyness with which she'd uttered those words, was generally capable of enticing even her toughest customers. But with THIS Sahib, she got nothing in return - neither a word, nor a reaction 'If liquor doesn't take your fancy, shall I bring you something else?' she paused 'A refreshing drink, maybe?'
His brows that had been smooth and square for so long, merged into a frown. Why was this woman, a prostitute, refusing to go away even after being offered money? Was she so desperate for some company? Or, was it something else altogether - something not-so-straightforward?
'What refreshing drink?' Akbar went on to enquire
- and the next instant, he could almost hear her smile
'We have many kinds, Sahib...' the lady hummed chirpily as she swayed her way through - till she managed to find a spot on the floor to cosy up beside his feet 'We have a special drink that we reserve for customers as exquisite as yourself... a fruit-and-rose Sherbet?'
He slowly sat up, till his back touched the wall 'A fruit-and-rose Sherbet?' Now, that was an exquisite drink. Quite expensive too - and not commonly available in places like these. However, what struck him as oddest of all was that this particular drink was his personal favourite. A flavour he generally found difficult to refuse.
'How conveniently coincidental...' the young man exhaled warily 'All right then...' he clicked a finger 'bring me one serving of it...'
Evidently elated by the instructions she'd just received, the woman scurried off to do his bidding - and was back by his side right away, a goblet of the drink perched in her hand.
'Here you go Sahib' since the man was still glimpsing down, she tried to tap his arm to grab his attention.
But, he stopped her with a sudden order instead 'Now, drink it...'
It took her a moment to understand what he'd just said. And when she'd understood his words, it took her a moment to come to terms with it 'I... I d... drink this?' she asked again, to be sure
'Yes!'
'How c... could I? Oh...' she attempted a quick comeback 'You want me to join you? I know... I can bring myself another glass of Sherbet... and...' she set the goblet upon a low table 'Why don't you start drinking this... I w... will be...back with...'
Just as she was about to proceed to get herself another glass, she found her way blocked - by the telltale horse-whip!
'You'll drink THIS glass...' he made himself clear by pointing to the goblet sitting in front - and then, finally looked up at the lady's face to gauge her reactions. Yes, her features were every bit as alluring as her voice had sounded so long. But what a pity that such beauty had been put to many-an-evil use!
'What happened? Not willing to taste it? Not even a drop?' Akbar mocked - realising from her alarmed frowns that his instincts were right.
Alas! This also meant that the information Chota Faizan was bringing him, had been found out - which is why a lady had been sent to finish Akbar off! This rivalry was turning uglier with every passing week, wasn't it?
'But, I must say...' Akbar continued aloud, gritting his teeth to curb the rage 'You ARE efficient! It was quiet... quick... and lethal... the manner in which you poisoned my drink!'
'W... what...' the lady let out a nervous giggle 'what are you implying?'
In one smooth move, Akbar stood up and had her backed against the wall. He could sense that her cunning mind was plotting a means of escape - so he got straight to the point 'Chota Faizan... he's not coming is he?'
'I have no idea who you're talking about...' in an attempt to distract the man, she did what she did best. She started running a soft finger through the locks resting over his shoulders - the musky scent of sandalwood rife within its curls 'Besides, how could you think I'd have the heart to poison someone as handsome as you?'
'Keep your filthy hands to yourself and answer me...' he whispered in a low growl 'Where is Faizan now?'
'Who, Sahib?' the lady asked, feigning innocence. She'd come prepared for this, so her pitch was steady, however her expressions could not entirely mask the fears that were evolving within - at least, not from a pair of well-trained eyes like his.
'Is. My. Informer. Dead?'
'S... sahib... I... I...' she swallowed hard - watching how his magnetic gazes had transformed into the deadliest glares she'd ever seen. Yes, she was well and truly caught 'I... I was... I... '
Akbar detected how a ghostly-white was beginning to spread across the skin on her face, neck and arms - so, his informer HAD been assassinated! 'Darned Hell!' the rising fury turned his curses hoarse, as he fisted the pillar beside her, sending an avalanche of rubble - stone, plaster and paint - cascading down to her feet.
The fracas drew the attention of a few other inmates - but only briefly. Everyone was either too high, or too occupied, to pay heed to a kind of brawl that was commonplace at such hangouts.
Taking advantage of the lull, the desperate lady tried buying time with a sob story 'I... I didn't kill Chota Faizan...' she persisted, her nimble fingers stealthily inching towards the back of her hip belt to remove the dagger that she had hidden within 'and I was forced to do this against my will... they would've ruined me otherwise...'
'Listen lady...' Akbar shut her up with apparent apathy 'you clearly know who I am... it makes no sense to even attempt drawing your weapon out.'
But, she didn't follow his wise advice and yanked the dagger out to ram it in his torso. However the very next instant, her empty palm was throbbing in pain. The weapon had shifted hands - and it'd happened so smoothly that she couldn't even make sense of how he'd gotten it off her.
With nothing left to defend herself, the cornered lady had to accept defeat - and did so graciously 'What are you waiting for, Sahib...' she asked, her lips breaking out into a sad smile 'It is better to die at your hands, than it is to die at theirs'
It was the first instance, Akbar saw a hint of truth in her eyes.
Yet, that wouldn't move the vindictive young man - not even by a bit 'I'm going to leave you alive... so you can deliver a message... tell HIM that I've been in this game for far too long, to fall prey to such ridiculous plots!'
Withdrawing from her presence, he made his swift departure from that depressing place. But not before he'd struck the goblet over with the horsewhip on his way out - sending the poisoned drink pooling onto the muddy floor, while the empty brass cup oscillated to and fro.
Certainly, he hadn't wanted some poor drunken sod drinking the poisoned sherbet by mistake. But, he'd also done it to callously remind the slave girl of the mess she'd landed herself in - a kind of 'dangerous mess' that'd be quite a challenge for her to clean up, or explain away.
Guest quarters at Aidabad...
It was about half an hour ago that the news had arrived.
'The priest is waiting for us, at the ghat' they'd said.
Since then, the palanquin bearers had parked her palanquin outside the gates. Trunks carrying the holy articles and artefacts had been set down beside it. The guards had taken their positions. And so had the maids.
Essentially; all the arrangements for the final rites had been completed, all groups ready to depart.
Yet, she continued gazing at the urn longingly- a futile bid to postpone the farewell even by a few moments, if she could.
'Go ahead...' a solemn Gauri encouraged 'We mustn't keep a Brahmin waiting...'
'But this is all that I have of her...' Heera said softly
Gauri went on to hold her mistress' face with assertive affection, her own cheeks awash with tears too 'These ashes are mortal remains... but, Durga is immortal... she's WITH you... watches over you... tell me you haven't felt it'
Heera's dulled focus moved from the urn and trailed down to her own fingers. Stopping only when it came upon the diamond ring she wore - an immortal memoir from jiji. A memoir, from which she'd been deriving both, companionship and strength lately.
'Yes, I have felt it!' the pitiful young lady nodded.
Shaking off the stupor, Heera bent down and picked up the urn, holding it protectively close to her chest 'As a child, I was the one who used to like hiding in urns and planters... now you've been hiding in here all these days, jiji... maybe it's time, you came out...' she sighed with a heavy heart. Pulling her veil low, she eventually relented to fate and gave the ladies the order 'Let's leave'
Sometime later, when Heera passed by her manager on the way out of the guest quarters, she brought her pace to a slow halt, surprising everyone with the brief interruption.
'Kakasa...' she called out
'Yes bitiya...'
'Have you brought me some news?'
'Y... yes...'Ratan kaka hesitated, taken aback by how she'd managed to guess that, especially since her current frame of mind was not at its best 'but it may not be apt to... to... discuss it now...'
'It's alright' Heera gestured 'If it is good news... please tell me... because my day...' she corrected the statement so it'd reflect the sad irony of her life 'actually, my life can do with some positivity now!'
Blinking back a compassionate tear, the man moved close, to murmur the update into her ears 'Bitiya... the first set of letters have been sent to the Rajput provinces... six letters in all... the messengers have left Aidabad.'
A rueful smile crept on her lips 'Now that IS good news, kakasa'
'Yes...'
'Once I return, we'll resume working on the rest of them...'
'We will...' he smiled back, just as ruefully.
The stables...
Having finished chomping on the treats that its master had handed out, Bahadur felt a small pat on its back that said 'Good boy... now, go rest...'
So, the stallion headed off to its stall - looking forward to dip its mouth into a pail of cool water, while lazing on a few bundles of hay.
Turning around, Akbar went on to keep an eye on his stable-yard, supervising the attendants and their managers like he did every morning. Only today, a small part of his attention was elsewhere.
'Chota Faizan...'
Though Akbar continued to glance ahead in silence with his hands behind his back, the veins on the sides of his neck had tightened -it was a mark of repressed rage. The very first lesson he'd learnt 11 years ago, was that a warrior was not allowed to grieve for one of his own in public. But Faizan was someone who'd shown a lot of promise - a boy barely 18, about the same age as Azeez. 'Azeez' his stormy eyes briefly clenched shut at the thought of informing the young chap about the tragedy, knowing it'd affect him even more then it'd affect Ibrahim or Sayyid 'Better not to tell Azeez anything for now'
Just then, the metal hinges of a gate creaked open, drawing everyone's attention to the guest-quarters in the distance. A slow procession had begun moving out, towards the large palanquin parked in front of the building. The first to exit were a retinue of guards and other male members of that group. Following them, arrived the maids - with their Lady somewhere in the midst.
The lively buzz in the stables slowed down to a drone, with many curious men trying to get a peek at the ongoing events.
Noticing the disruption being caused to his work, Akbar asked 'What is going on, out there?'
'Not sure, Sahib'
Ibrahim beckoned a Hindu stable boy 'What are they doing?'
The boy observed the sequence as best as he could 'I think that's a funeral procession, Sahib... they must be going to the ghat...'
'A funeral procession...' Akbar inadvertently recalled her words'My sister's life was brutally taken away... barely 10 days back'
The heels of his leather riding shoes, that'd been firmly rooted upon their spot for the past half an hour took a few calculated strides past his stable-men. Till his eyes could catch a glimpse of the procession for himself.
When he'd heard about it from her, a few days back, he'd felt sorry then. But witnessing the tragic scenes of a funeral, in person, was more profound.
And then he spotted her, slipping into the palanquin with two other maids.
A poignant haze softened his sharp stares. She was dressed simply. Her face was masked under a lengthy veil. And she was hidden amongst many other ladies - but he would make no mistake in recognising her. Just as he made no mistake in recognising how her personality appeared so markedly different now.
Even as a soft-spoken young lady with a stature so petite, the Sahiba exuded an air of authority during every occasion they'd met. Even when mentioning her sister's death, her attitude had always been self-assured, her manner very dignified.
Therefore, watching her in a state so crestfallen - with drooping shoulders and head bent low - was not a pleasant sight. It was a striking reminder of how vulnerable she was now. A striking reminder of the grim reality behind her seven troubling words 'There have been threats to my life.'
Akbar turned away, a faint tug toying with the hollows of his chest. A tug that was more than just plain bystander's sympathy. A tug that encompassed a confusing mix of emotions - some of which he understood, like pity, empathy and guilt. But some of which he couldn't even begin to understand.
'Quiet' he finally ordered his crowd, out of respect for the grieving party - and the entire stable-yard fell quiet - till the time the small procession passed by.
Manswar
'Lord!' picking up a silk handkerchief, he threw himself upon the velvet divan, exhausted.
Relieved to have returned to the peace and seclusion of his private quarters, Kunwar Mahendar removed the pearl chains crowding his neck and dabbed the droplets of sweat that'd beaded along the outlines of his face. Playing the role of a peacemaker was no easy task - definitely not when the warring parties were two egotistical royal-blooded men.
That dawn, the debate that'd started off on a tense note , had swiftly descended into turmoil - particularly, after his intervention. Harsh words were exchanged. The arguments had turned uglier.
It had thus taken a lot of effort and patience from his end, to diffuse the situation.
Sweat and tears were shed by both sides. Promises and vows had to be made by both kings. Half a day had passed in this fashion - before the Maharana and Ranisa of Manswar would come through. Before they would see the 'other' point of view, and surrender to the wishes of their only son - by giving their blessings for this 'political marriage' that they considered beneath them.
With a grave frown, he studied the faces of his two confidantes standing in front - his cousin, Tejraj, who seemed very pensive, and his Senapati, who was much calmer.
'That was a lot of hardwork, Kunwarsa...' the Senapati finally ceased the awkward lull
'Yes' the prince dropped his silk handkerchief on a side table 'It was a lot of hard work indeed!' following a few moments of deep contemplation, the graveness in his features lightened 'But hard work that bore fruit.'
He leaned back, majestically crossing his right leg over the left 'Everything has worked out favourably though... and I shall soon be getting what I've wanted all along...' his brow gradually rose into a proud frown, a faint smirk emerged at the corner of his lips 'Parnagarh!'
'Oh! So, NOW you wouldn't consider Harka Bai below your status?' quipped the cousin, who was evidently in no mood to celebrate 'success' of any sort with the other two 'If I recall correctly, you considered even Durga Bai your inferior...'
'Well my parents are right... they are lovely women, but they not princesses!' he shrugged 'However, today, Harka Bai is the sole owner of a land that is more precious and powerful, than status or prestige... a land that'll help me gain great authority at court... probably help me cut a deal with the Shehzaade... so... I tell myself, that I'm doing this for a greater good...'
'I agree, Kunwarsa...'
'Thank you Senapati' the Kunwar smiled, pleased that the man shared his wry sense of humour 'And apart from being the most stunning lady I've come across... Harka Bai is humble and meek... a combination that is difficult to turn down... which means, it would be easier for me to take ownership of Parnagarh with Harka by my side, than it would have ever been with Durga... so if anything, these turn-of-events have actually worked out in my favour... for which, I must thank the old man...'
'We call it a stroke of luck, Kunwarsa...' the general volunteered 'because had Maharaj Chitranjan not brought up this proposal... the plans that'd taken you months to formulate, would have gone to waste, following Durga baisa's unfortunate death!'
'And if Maharaj Chitranjan comes to know what all you've done...' Tejraj made no effort to hide his displeasure 'what sins you've committed... to achieve all this...'
'I've committed no sin. I did NOT wish for such a death upon Durga...' kicking out his folded leg, Mahendar pranced up to the men. Snaking his palm around the back of his cousin's neck, he pulled him close 'You know why I'm doing this... Parnagarh is our only means to re-establish Hindu power in court... particularly if a fanatical tyrant like the Shehzaade will be taking over the empire ... so, stop preaching and don't forget that if it weren't for my father sheltering your family, none of you would be alive today...' having spat out all that he had to, he released his victim's neck 'Now go... and let me be in peace...'
In a bid to preserve any remaining dignity and nobility that was left in him, Tejraj hastily stormed out of the premises.
The Senapati parted too, but unlike the cousin, on a more cordial note.
Once alone, the prince snapped his fingers to summon a maid 'Has she come?'
'Yes kunwarsa...'
'Send her in, then...' he ordered, returning to the comfort of his divan
In a short while, a musical voice streamed through the archway, from where the alluring silhouette of a lady sashayed through 'Hukum... you sound stressed...' she asked, drawing the curtains behind her 'Dare I say, it's because you missed me...'
Mahendar took his time to turn towards the entrance. But when he did, he did so with welcoming eyes. After all, she was his prized courtesan 'Get me a drink...'
'Yes Hukum' she saluted, only too glad to serve the Kunwar. Pouring his favourite kind of liquor, she approached the divan, with the brass goblet in hand 'Here, Hukum...'
No sooner than he'd received it, she took her spot right beside him.
With the kind of familiarity she enjoyed, she needed no indication to know what her master expected next. So, her palms began moving up to his back, working their spell by loosening the knots on his stiff muscles 'Maybe 12 days was too long for you... to abstain from the smaller pleasures in life... I know Durga baisa passed away... but...you've only been acting all along... so why not...'
He immediately broke away from the glass - holding a finger up, to stop her then and there 'Not ALL of it was an act...'
'Yes Hukum, my apologies...' she bit her lip sheepishly, realising that despite his deviously ambitious ways, the Late baisa's death was a sore spot for the prince. And would remain so always. Besides, his feudal mind-set would never allow a lowly courtesan to disrespect a brave Rajput, like Durga Bai.
Nevertheless, this was a mistake she wouldn't repeat.
'Anyhow Hukum...' she tried changing the topic to something much lighter 'I hear you will be wedding the beautiful younger sister... does that mean you'll forget me, when the new bride arrives?'
Her question compelled Mahendar to grin through the drink he was sipping 'Now THAT depends... entirely on you...'
Mannat Har Khushi Paane Ki
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