So here I go again rambling....
Its not a modern day story so if you are in mood for some historical fluff read on.
Humera Chhaya - Part 1
The vast dry desert stretched out into far horizons like a golden sheet beaten into intricate patterns. The sun high in a cloudless sky bore down its fierce rays onto every miniscule living and inate objects below.
Under this cruel canopy two warriors, an older warrior with weather beaten face and the scars gleamed on the golden brown skin, the long hair having come loose from the intense duel. The younger warrior, a version of the older one, proud bearing, long silky black hair and the body smooth not yet marred by the scars of battles. The two men were into a world of their own, in the realms which only the proud warriors, the descendents of Agnikula, or 'Fire Born' would understand. The lineage was as old as time said to be borne out of the sacrificial fires of Mt Abu. The descendents followed the traditions of laying down their life to protect the kingdom of their maharajah.
Rivulets of sweat poured off the face and body of the two men as the talwars and dhalas flashed in dazzling display of intricate artform. The sand flew and swirled as the men's feet danced their dangerous dance. A lonely figure sat under the shade of a canopy arranged by pushing four spears in the sand and throwing a cloth over it. The petite girl girl sat still, dressed in the bright pink and green embroidered ghagra choli, the odhni half covering her face and the heavy silver jewellery on her hands and feet seemed overly large on her. Beside her sat two clay matkis holding water. She sat patiently watching the two men fight. This had become a habit since the day she had been carried to in a dulhan jodha to the house of her husband.
The memory was a distant haze to a mere child. Even now though she was several years older, she was still the innocent now as back then. The performed her duties religiously as thought by her maa. The rising of early to bathe, then going out to fetch water, helping with the chores and finally following the men going to their training ground, carrying the matkis of water on her head.
"Betiyaan…" The deep voice rumbled as the feet stopped their madness and the hands stilled.
The girl stood up and picked up the matki and brought to the older man. He took the matki and poured some down on his face, washing the sweat off the face. Then taking a long drink of cool water from the matki he passed it to the younger man. Following the same ritual as the father, the young man once done handed the matki back to the girl. The girl walked back to under the shade and just watched silently as the two men discussed the strategies of the sword fight.
At last the men stopped and took rest. The younger one walked up to where the girl was sitting and told her, "Jaao." The girl picked up the empty matkis and walked away without a word. He watched her go, her small figure trudging through the hot sand. He wiped down his body with the cloth that had hung over as canopy. He sheathed his sword and slung it over his shoulders and then pulling out the spears, he put them over his shoulders and walked over to where his father was sitting in a meditation pose. "Pitaji meh ghar janhwa."
Without waiting for acknowledgement he set off in the same direction as the girl.
Anshulabai waited for her daughter-in-law, son and husband to return home. The girl would soon come carrying the empty matkis and will be followed by her son, Vijayant Tejas. The father, Ajitrai would not return home till late, almost when the sun sank low on the horizon. Their small home was the largest house in the scattered group of dwellings in their small village. The ancestral home was ancient and had withstood the ravages of time. Inside the bare walls were covered with colourful embroidered cloths and pots of flowers filled nooks and crannies. Couple of roped bed were strewn with embroidered quilt and cushions.
The ornate wooden door opened and her daughter-in-law, Isita came in and putting the matki's down in a corner. She washed her feets and hands before coming to Anshulabai, she sat at her feet and said, "Maa!" Anshulabai caressed her head and asked, "Vij aata hai?"
"Jee." Chhaya answered in her usual monosyllable way. "Chaal jaa aur Kaveri ko bola khana taiyaar karna."
Chhaya jumped up and ran towards the back of the house where the kitchen was and went up to the maid Kaveri who busy cooking. Repeating Anshulabai's message Chhaya came back out. Both of them waited for Vij to come. Chhaya in her childish way sat swinging her legs until Anshulabai smacked her lightly, "kitne baar bola aisa nahi karna."
Chhaya did not say anything but sat still. Vij came bearing the spears and his sword. He dropped the spears in a corner and strode into the house to put away his sword. Coming back out he walked to where the matkis filled with water were and picking one up emptied it all over him to rinse the sand off. Walking back in the house, he returned having changed his clothes. He lay down on the bed and put his head in the lap of his mother. Anshulabai caressed his head, "Bahut thaks gaya."
"Hmmm…thoda sa. Pitaji jab thakte nahin tab taak mujhe bhi chutkara nahi milta."
"Hain tere pitaji ko thaak nahi lagta. Per beta jab dushman ke samne ghada ho tab tujhe jo tere pitaji ne shikaya woh sab kuch kaam ayega."
Anshulabai asked, "Pitaji ne aur kuch baate nahi ki?"
Jai looked at her and shrugged his shoulders, "Naa maa. Kya kuch baat hai?"
"Jab tere pitaji ko theek lagega tabh woh tujhe batayega. Chaal kaal tum Chhaya ko Manari leijana, mela hai. Thoda khush ho jayegi.'
Jai winced and looked with wide eyes at his mother, "Mei kyun isse leijau. Mujhe acha nahi lagta iske saath ghoomna."
Anshulabai laughed at his son's remark. "Arre pagla, thodi choti hai iss liye tu aisa bola. Abhi jawan hojane de phir mei dekhungi, kaun kiske piche ghoomta hai."
She looked at the face of her son, a youth in a man's body. Not yet eighteen, Viyant was her second borne, the older Balveer had died two years earlier due to illness. If Balveer was alive than Chhaya would have been betrothed to him. But a promise made was a promise kept and after Balveer's death and so on his sixteenth birthday Vijayant and Chhaya were married. Anshulabai had great faith in the family pandit who had told her there were great deeds written for Vijayant and Chhaya would be his good luck charm. Her quiet strength would push Vijayant to great heights. Yes, Vijayant would definitely be great warrior like his father…the Agni in him was just starting to kindle.
The long trek to Manari in the heat tired Chhaya out but she didn't complain and tried to keep up with Vij's long stride. The mela at the end of the gaon was full of colourful tents, music and melieu of brightly dressed people. Loud talk and laughter filled the air. Chhaya just watched curiously at everything around her. Watched camel racing, girls dancing. twirling with matkis on their head, a snake charmer showing his skills fascinated her as she watched with awe at the cobra swaying with the tune. There were stalls selling bangles and silver jewellery and colourful clothes. She eyes a bright yellow and green sari with the embroidered with birds and flowers in colourful thread. Vij caught her looking at it, "Do you like something?" he asked. Chhaya nodded her head and pointed at the yellow sari. Vij bartered with the vendor and got the sari packed in a package and handed it to her.
It was while they were stood in a shade just resting when Vij, was hailed by another young man slightly older than him. Vij looked up and saw Suchir grinning at him. Suchir also trained with his father and the two boys often duelled together to practice. Seeing Chhaya with him, he asked, "Chutki ki saath aaya…chal usse Phulwa ki paas thodi der chod de phir tu aur me ghoom ati hai. Suna hai Banwaribabu kuch nayi cheez laya hai."
Vij looked at Chhaya, "Par issko Phulwa ki saath?"
Suchir laughed, "Arre kuch nahi hoga. Woh isspe nazar rakhegi na."
Vij stood up and asked Chhaya to follow them. At one of the tent a young woman sat outside selling her pottery ware. Suchir told her to keep an eye on Chhaya whilst they just went away for a while. Phulwa just waved him off and asked Chhaya to come and sit by her. She offered Chhaya some water and roasted channa to eat. She made small talk with Chhaya who tended to answer mostly in with few words.
Banwaribabu ki cheez turned out to be two females with curves in all the right places. His tent was packed with men ogling as the two women swayed and moved their body to the music. The short skirt and even shorter choli showed a lot of flesh, which had the men whistling and shouting vulgar comments. Vij and Suchir sat down and watched the women dancing. The two of them whispered and nudged each other as the couple of the men aroused joined the women in the dancing. After a while the music stopped, the women stopped dancing and went out of the tent and the audience hollered at the end of the entertainment trooped out of the tent. Vij and Suchir made their way back to where Chhaya was sitting with Phulwa. Chhaya had actually fallen asleep, tired from heat and the walking. Suchir winked at Vij and asked him to stay and watch the tent while he went off with Phulwa.
Vij looked at Chhaya sleeping curled up on the floor. Her odhni had fallen off her face and he studied her features. The small upturned nose with a nose ring on one side, the long eyelashes and she had the traditional dot markings on her face. He sighed wondering if she would develop curves, her body turn into the kind men lusted after. Some of his friends who were older than him and engaged in conjugal love already had children. He had heard their vulgar talks at times and shrugged of their teasing sometimes. He had no desire to engage in marital bliss as yet. Like his father he had more passion for the art of fighting.
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A year later, Vij and his father stood inside the courtyard as Anshulabai did tikka on their forehead and then arti praying for their safe return home.. Chhaya, draped in the yellow green sari watched the whole ritual silently. The men were going away as they had been called by the maharajah to defend the land from the assault by the Mugals who had invaded the country. Today Ajitrai was leaving with every warrior that he had trained around his village. The women looked proud as the men gathered at the edge of the village preparing to leave. How long they would be gone for no one knew, it did not matter…every men lived for the day when they could serve the ruler of their land.
Chhaya followed the men as they left. She walked alongside several other young women who walked some distance from the village and then stood until the men were a mere speck in the far off desert land. Vij had turned around several times to look back at the women following. He could see Chhaya…not easily missed in the yellow green sari he had bought for her at the mela last year.
On the banks of Chambal river, the city of Chandravati lay with background of the Aravali hills. Vij who had never ventured much outside was awed by the grand havelis, fort and the just the number of people in one area. The markets bustled with traders, hawkers and local people. The whole atmosphere was completely alien to him. His father knew where to head and soon they found themselves on the outskirts where warriors from all around the land were gathering. They had to set up their own tents for their stay along with arranging their cooking of their own food and other necessary services.
Vij, set up that he would share with his father and Suchir. There was nothing much to do but wait for his father's orders. His father had left to see the Maharaj's appointed generals. A few days of idle wait followed. Vij and Suchir explored the city, walking past ornate havelis, mandirs and the bazaars. Outside the city they would go and swim in the river and explore the arid hillsides.
Eventually the orders came to march towards the border of the kingdom where there were rumours of marauding bands of outsiders trying to make foray into the land. The grueling march took two weeks. The heat, the dust and the lack of sleep had tired the men out and the sight of the camps at the border was welcomed. But the respite was short lived as groups of men had to be readies to be scattered along the border. The nighttime skirmishes had become bolder and the invaders blinding assaults led to heavy causalities.
Thus began four years of brutal warfare at the border to stop the invaders from advances. Vij learnt that even though his father had prepared him for the battle, the reality was far more dangerous…the rapidness…the strength…the brutality of the killings. He learnt to be alert to even the slightest disturbances in the air, to become cold and cruel on the battlefields…to develop strategies to diminish the loss of the men in the battles.
In the third year his father Ajitrai succumbed to the fatal injury and Vij had to bear the loss alone. Suddenly the comforting hand that he felt on his back was gone. The heart became devoid of emotions as temporary hatred replaced the love of his father. Never had he imagined he would go back to his mother without his father at his side. Suchir tried to keep close to Vij, watched Vij anger explode into ferocious wraths in the battle. He became almost demonic as his sword cut through the enemies and became someone to fear when his sword was raised. But this also boosted the moral of the men…gave their flagging hopes a new light.
The fourth year a well-planned assault led to the invaders leaving the borders after suffering heavy casualties. Their leader conceded defeat and was allowed to leave safely with whatever men he was left with.
Anshulabai looked her son, who had left as a child in her eye to return as man. Seeing him alone she knew the bad news he bore. She handed the arti thali to Chhaya, who had become a young woman now. As Chhaya perfomed the arti and did a victory tilak on his forehead, Vij took in her tall frame and perfectly formed body covered in the same yellow and green sari that she had worn when he had left. Once the ritual done Anshulabai clung to Vij and let her cry out. The women from nearby homes gathered as they went into a period of mourning. For several days, the women would gather around Anshulabai and beat their chests and wailed in sympathy. Chhaya sat by her mother in law in attendance during this time and also took over the running of the house.
In four years she had lost her innocent childhood and developed into a slender young woman. Chhaya now looked at Vij with trepidation of feelings that had grown inside her as with the passing years she had understood the relation by which she was bound to him. Gone was passive curiosity of four years ago to be replaced by the overwhelming curiosity about Vijayant Tejas, the man who is her husband.
With the mourning over, once again Anshulabai took charge of running the house. Chhaya followed her orders given by her and spent her day absorbed in the routine. Vij's eyes would follow her around the courtyard watching her work, her graceful walk, her quiet voice…the hands and feet adorned with heavy silver jewellery. Her face always partially covered by the odhni he felt the urge to see what the face looked liked, was it still the same child like face that he had seen at mela all those years back.
Chhaya had developed the habit of wandering out of the haveli and out to the distant distant outcrop of hills, during the afternoon when the heat lulled the inhabitants into sleep. There amongst the shade of the rocks, a small stream trickled into a small pool of water, she would sit letting her feet rest in the water. Today she had found time to do just that and had come quietly and just sat leaning against rock taking in the almost tranquillity around her. Nothing stirred or moved except the trickle of water. With her eyes closed she enjoyed the feel of water on her submerged feet.
She was startled when she felt her odhni being lifted from her face and opening her eyes found herself staring into pair of dark eyes belonging to Vij. She turned her face away only to find his hand on her face bringing it back to center. She stared frightened into his eyes. Warm breath fanned her cheeks as he whispered her name, "Chhaya." Like a helpless animal trapped in a snare she continued to stare into his eyes. She closed her eyes as his face inched forward and felt his lips brush hers roughly. She never heard or felt him leave and after a while she dared open her eyes, Vij was no longer there.
The nights became unbearable for Chhaya after her encounter with Vij. She felt herself burn as she remembered his touch on her on her face and his lips on her. During the day she had avoided going to her sanctuary, scared of being alone with him again. Tonight not being able to sleep, she stealthily crept out of the house and climbed the rickety wooden steps that led to the roof. There under the open sky she lay down on the old cot. She looked at the cloudless black sky with faint glimmer of the stars, gradually she felt her eyes get heavy and she fell asleep.
Vij heard someone move inside the house and saw Chhaya slip out of the house. He followed her quietly and saw her go up on the roof. He waited few minutes to see if she would come back and then went back inside. He lay on the bed and listened for soft foot steps but none came. Not able to go back to sleep he slipped up on the roof to see her fast asleep on the cot. He sat down gingerly and gazed at her sleeping form. His eyes moved from her closed eyes, down the column of her neck to the gentle rise and fall of her chest to the waist visible beneath the thin gauze of the sari. He moved the pallu slightly and put his hand on the bare waist. Chhaya stirred as she felt the caress of Vij's hand on her bare skin. She opened her eyes and before she could scream, Vij placed his hand slowly on her lips and shook his head. Heart thudding and her skin burning from his touch she just lay still until her replaced his hand on her mouth with his lips………
To be continued…….
