Revelations
Part 1
The tears in the wide brown eyes reproached him. He turned away violently to escape, escape the questions that simmered in their depth, and an accusation - Do you see how it all happened then! Look how your anger and stubbornness has made us all the reluctant players of this drama - this drama which is the repetition of the past, of those lies, deceit and empty mockery of the feelings of the women caught in between, of their love, motherhood, peace. The mother, the woman, the pawn in this game of power and honour; Mala stood stonily gazing at nothing - perhaps wondering if she had ever meant anything to anybody or if all the men in her life had just taken her presence for granted, promising nothing in return. Ever.
He looked around for an escape. But wherever he turned, the tableau of the past and present greeted him. The ghosts danced the same old dance of destruction and sorrow as they had done fifteen years ago. Only the faces had changed. How different was he from the man he held responsible for the stealing away the happiness of his family. His eyes were drawn to him - the tall and handsome figure, the regal bearing, traitor of the nation, the merchant of death - but for the moment Tejeshwar wasn't just that. He was a husband, a loving one, trying to talk to his wife, and despite her stoniness, standing by her weathering the storm that was tossing her life.
And what about the man who should have stood by her, his father? Dilsher Ranawat stood lost defeated staring at the ground, probably trying to make sense of this bizarre scene - what paths of destiny had led to this moment. He could never have imagined that his temper, the insecurity of a lame husband of a beautiful devoted woman, his bitterness at the unfairness of his lot, his blind errors -how could he have thought that they would lead to this moment.
Beyond the ghostly circle of players - of past and present - stood the bystanders, the watchers who had watched the same story years ago. Now they did so again. His uncle with helpless tears in his eyes, his aunt, with disbelief and a mocking smile - this branch of Ranawat clan was destined to live through bad weather all their life.
Its karma after all,' - muttered Mohini on the sidelines. The sound reached only his sons. One shook his head in sorrow; the other smirked.
But it was all lost to Rudra - who still stood at the center wondering where could he go - what could he escape to. Laila , probably he should go to her. She would find the whole thing a joke, something that would feed her vindictive humour...and for the moment he could forget this horrible spirit crushing awareness, lose it in the pleasures of body.
Yes.
Rudra left the courtyard and hurried to his room. The tear stained brown eyes followed him, burning holes in his back. He had to tear asunder the thread that tied them - soon. He had to free her from the poisonous tangle of his life. Why not now?
As he pulled out his wallet and the keys, the needle and thread he had shoved in the corner fell, the spool rolling away leaving a trail of blue thread. His mended blue kurta was placed on the top of the pile. The nail which had torn into it still jutted out of the door.
The image of the girl stuck to the door, the torn kurta, her words aapne kharab kiya, aapko hi sudharna hoga.' His knees gave away as the memory played in his mind. He stepped back away as if burnt, away from the wardrobe, away from the image, but the memory was stuck in his mind. Dazedly he walked back till the back of his legs hit the bed and sat down with a thud, closing his eyes, burying his face in his palms.
Where could he escape to? How to hide from his own memories and thoughts? What was he thinking? He had to face it. The scenes of the evening started playing once again, almost like a film.
Their ancestral haveli decorated with lights, resounding with music, and laughter of the guests that drowned out the anxious heartbeats of groom and the panic of the reluctant bride.
Was this is it?' the thoughts ran in Rudra's mind. Wasn't she going to give in and sign those stupid papers? Would he loose the job that more to him than anything else?'
Was this it?' panicked Paro. She was going to be married, married again within a few weeks of her first marriage and widowhood. Married to a heartless murderer, a Jallad. Was that her fate? She who had dreamt of a loving husband, a small house.
Thoughts roiled in other minds too.
Mohini waited near the back door for own secret guests - one of the them would remove the thorns that had been pricking her for days now. She knew he would. It was seemed more important to him than her. Removing Rudra Pratap Ranawat, wiping him off the face of the earth. His men had already infilterated through the haveli, keeping an eye on the haveli, waiting and watching for the signal.
Mohini wondered what did he want of the girl? What would be her fate? MOhini couldn't care less. She was an intruder in her world. And she would disappear soon. What happened to her after that, Mohini couldn't care less.
Tejeshwar turned away from the eyes full of gratitude and love. He did not want to see them. This woman, his wife, Rani Thakurain, he had kept her away from his other life - the life that he lived in the remote corners of the village, the predators in the pond, the weapons of death, the thirst for power, more and more. But this woman had no life away from him. She was his, mind and body; she had nowhere else to go. She had was his, solely, absolutely, or that was what he thought. Till a few days ago, her earlier life had called out. And she had given into the pull. Her son was getting married. The heart of the mother yearned for her son. Her son - he would take her to see him, he promised happily, secure in his position - he, the man, the giver, the one who granted her wishes; she, the wife, the receiver, the one who could not do anything without his help.
But her son? Her son, Rudra Pratap Ranawat, his arch enemy, the patriotic BSD officer who had single handedly threatened his empire, who had challenged him to destruction. What dilemma was this? The next day Tejeshwar met Mohini, Thakurain's sister, the brazen and cunning one. She told him about the bride, the girl, Parvati. The one who had to die, whose very existence was a threat to him. He could not let her marry Rudra, he could not let them come together - that would mean the end of his kingdom, his power, his freedom.
No. Rudra and Parvati had to die. They would die...on the day of their wedding.
But before that he would keep his promise to Rani Thakurain; she would see her son before he died.
You cannot ask for more, Thakurain,' He squared his shoulders, turning away from the eyes shining with hope and gratitude. I am granting your wish. But nothing more than a glimpse of your son.'
Mala slid her hand into her husband's and moved nearer. His arm came around her and she felt safe. Her husband, as she had known only him for years. The one who was going to grant her greatest wish, ease the greatest pain of her life, the one who would take her to her son.
How different from the other one - in another time, another life. Dilsher Ranawat, she had almost forgotten the man - the angry and bitter one - the one who had refused to let her step into the house, refused to let her meet her son. How she had begged and pleaded that night and he had refused to budge. Indeed he had cast her out in the night; Tejeshwar Thakur had helped her, taken care of her, healed her bleeding heart and married her.
But the drama had begun much before that night.
Mala's musings were interrupted by their arrival at the backdoor of the haveli. How strange to enter through the backdoor, like thieves, in the house where once she been welcomed as a bride. In a similar evening... Mala looked around.
Thakursa was talking to a young lad in whispers. Was he one of Mohini's sons...her nephews, she wondered.
Tejeshwar turned back to the woman standing near the door uncertainly. Rani Thakurain,' he came to Mala and caressed her cheek in an attempt to reassure her. He had to keep her around; she could be an unseen trump card if the things went wrong here. You wait here. I will go with this young man. You will see your son and daughter-in-law.' He said softly.
Was their menace in the voice? Mala did not hear. She looked at Sumer, Mohini's baby. Did her Rudra look like him? How time had passed her by.
Mala moved to the small stool in the corner and pulled it to sit leaning against the wall. Through the window she could see the bustle of the wedding.
Once again the memories of the past assailed her.
It was late evening and she had been returning with her sister Mohini from her own village. Spirits were high. Most of the travelers were from the wedding party they had been to - a wedding of their first cousin. The groom and bride sat shyly in the front, teased by numerous cousins and friends. Mohini was there, among them. With her quick wit and sharp tongue, her comments were the most crackling. Mala looked at ther sister - a sister who was as different from her a chalk from cheese. She the quick witted, the sharp one, the one was often told off for being too smart, too sharp tongue, the one who should have married Dilsher Ranawat but was now married to his younger brother, because Dilsher wanted to marry her, Mala. The unfortunate incident had widened the rift between the two sisters even more. Mohini was even more distant now.
Mala turned to her aunts who were singing the wedding songs. She joined them, clapping her hands, putting away the disturbing thoughts out of her mind. Wind rustled through her air; music and laughter all around her.
And then it all went silent. The bus stopped and like many others she looked out of the window, gasping at the sight of BSD officers pulling the driver down and throwing him on the rough sand. Her uncle rushed out and tried to intervene. He was pushed down by the back of a gun. The old man lay on the ground, coughing blood. It was too much for his son, her cousin, the bridegroom; he rushed out tearing away his turban and shouting at the army men.
And then, the first shot; the blood bath began with the first bullet killing her brother, the bridegroom.
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Just my take on what could have happened in the past. The thought had been going around in my mind for days. What if the present is a repetition of the past - same story, only the faces changed. So here is a short short story (probably 2-3 parts only)
Let me know if you liked it (or did not like it ;-) Criticism welcome!!)
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