HBAS Chat corner - Page 67

It'd been long since they managed to gain entry into the haveli. In fact, as soon as the guards had locked up after their routine morning rounds, the two spies had made their way in. But it had taken them a good while thereon, to comb through the many rooms leading up to the main bedchambers. Scouring through every furniture, every corner, in search of the Farmaan was time consuming. Moreover, all this had to be done keeping their heads low, their feet quiet and their voices hush.

There were still 30 odd rooms they hadn't even set foot in. Progress was slow. Slower than he would like. And they didn't have plenty of time left. At most, a couple of hours - before the maids would return to sweep the floors, water the plants and light the lamps in the Goddess' shrine.

So wasting not a moment further, the young man moved ahead stealthily to tackle the next bedchamber, following the clues and trusting his instincts as he continued his search of that elusive document.

Every trick uncanny, she may have tried

Every nook and cranny, she may have spied..

The poem played in his head over and over, his eyes keenly scouring through the fresh set of scenes that surrounded him now.

A majestic desk at one end, a lavish dressing area at the other.. Pieces of grand furniture dotted all throughout, with a sweeping terrace far beyond. It was one of most sophisticated chambers in this mansion - and yet there was a certain warmth about the elements in it, almost like it was the hearth of the haveli. All throughout this empty mansion were the invisible footprints that the Sahiba had left behind in some form or another. But no place were those imprints more noticeable than it was in here.

This was HER personal chamber.

Drawing in a lung-full of air, Akbar stepped into her room - treading upon the very paths where the chirpy sounds of her anklets used to echo until not too long ago.

'I'd hide inside planters, trunks and urns... she'd act like she could never find me... and I would sing this poem to tease her!'

He observed the man who'd brought up the query - the Sahib's eyes were still fixed on his work, but his lips had uncurled into a straight line, almost like he was clamping down on distressing emotions 'Why...' asked Azeez 'should I dislike him?'

'Dislike?' Akbar scoffed 'I'm just a bit sceptical about this Kunwar... and his intentions...'

'What intentions?'

'I learnt last evening that...' he exhaled sharply 'that he is going to be wedded to Harka Sahiba...'

'Oh!' Azeez' eyes widened as the facts dawned upon him. Harka Sahiba was going to get married to him? That was sudden. No wonder the Sahib had been so unlike himself. 'But, why are you so sceptical about this Kunwar's intentions?'

'Of what I've heard, the Kunwar was positively smitten by Durga Sahiba... barely 4 weeks since she's passed and preparations are underway for him to get married to the younger sister? Doesn't that seem odd?'

'But what if it was Maharaj Chitranjan who'd pleaded with him?' Azeez tried to put across other logical perspectives 'What if the Kunwar is doing it only to protect Parnagarhis?'

...

Closing his eyes for a prolonged moment as he swallowed a very bitter pill, Akbar finally opened his eyelids - his gazes falling upon the planter with the large blossom of roses in it. Having poked and prodded into all the remaining urns lining that wall, this was the only pot he hadn't searched so far. He had kept putting it off, since it felt cruel to disturb a tender bloom that'd been nurtured with such care.

But, it had to be done.

'We have about an hour left, before the maids are meant to return... if we don't find the Farmaan now... shall I come back in the night to...'

'No...' Dismissing the suggestion by a flick of his palm, Akbar continued to take brisk strides along the empty hallways, past many-a-stately room 'we can't do this at night... the security outside the haveli increases after sunset... besides, we'd need to use a lamp to find our way around... which might attract attention... if we don't find the Farmaan today, we'll return tomorrow...'

'Maybe the Farmaan is not in this haveli at all... we've searched all the important rooms, haven't we? The library, the reception rooms, their bed chambers, the cellars, the shrines...' Azeez paused 'Shall I look in the shrines again?'

Slowed in his tracks, Akbar peeped up for a better view.

The small ripples in his brows immediately evened out when he saw what it was that'd managed to grab his attention, his features blanketed by a thin sheath of amazement.

It was a large set of twin paintings, impressive replicas of the two sisters that hung majestically on a wall.

Durga Sahiba... A 17 year old noblewoman, who'd lived by her principles - and sacrificed her life protecting them. The 'Ustaad' in him could relate to those rare qualities. So he did what he would do, when he met any other great warrior. Bringing his palm up to his forehead, Akbar bent forth to offer Late Durga Sahiba an 'Adab'.

After a solemn spell, he shifted his focus towards the second portrait...

With none around watching or judging him, the grimness came off straightaway - his gazes rife with both, fascination and dejection.

Charm. Finesse. Radiance. Vibrancy - they were reminders. Reminders of what she'd brought into his life, and elements she had taken away with her when she left. As though the numerous other reminders in Parnagarh weren't troubling-enough already, this unexpected meeting with her painting had to happen!

His gazes then trailed to the flushed cheeks and soft lips that'd begun stirring up memories too. Memories of those bewitchingly feminine smiles - an addicting sight that he'd stolen many glimpses of, in the stable-yard.

Whelmed by an inexplicable sense of belonging, Akbar moved closer, his hand meandering up towards her profile. However, he stopped mid-air and curled his fist into a ball, preventing his fingers from yielding to temptation.

But attraction was a strong drug - and Akbar hadn't found the antidote to fight its effects. Eventually, his palm found its way up to her face, so that his thumb could lightly graze her cheek.

'Yes, it's real!' The simmering impulses returned. Impulses just like the ones he'd experienced when he'd actually touched her face, in the canal. The only difference was that he hadn't been in his senses then, but he was in his senses now - well aware of what he was doing. Well aware of the invisible hold she had on him. A 'hold' from which his resolve to break free was weakening further with every passing day.