Pride (20/4) | OS Series: Peccatum | UPDATED- Page 19 | COMPLETE - Page 9

Envy

Despite having grown up in a small village, Parvati was well attuned to matters of her own body. People liked to call her innocent, implying that she wasn't aware of herself sexually, but that was far from the truth. She didn't feel the need to broadcast her sexuality out, and took pleasure in being demure about such matters.

She knew her body well, as any other woman would. She knew what made her tremble with desire, and what would send blood rushing through her body. She knew that when her husband pressed his lips gently against her neck, his fingertips barely grazing her waist, she would feel the pleasant tightening in her stomach as her head would tingle in anticipation.

She was not a naturally demanding person, preferring instead to defer to the needs of others. But she was not, by any means, a pushover, and would make it clear when she did not like something. She just did not feel the need to impose her own views on everyone else around her. Kakisa did that enough, and there was no need for another version of her in the house.

Given the reputation her husband had, one would have expected him to be relentlessly demanding in bed. When she woke up in the mornings with heaviness underneath her eyes, Maithili Jija would often make subtle, teasing comments about her husband's needs, pointing out how his wife was too exhausted to do the day-to-day work in the house. Rudra would only smirk with satisfaction, watching as Paro turned a nice, tomato red in embarrassment.

While she would blush and accept these gentle taunts, Paro knew this was far from the truth. Rudra was anything but demanding in bed. He was docile and gentle, caressing her softly and placing tender kisses all over her body. He would slowly undress her, taking care not to rip her cholis or ruin the zippers. The clothes would lie in neat piles beside their bed, and he would stroke his way down her body, holding her like a fragile, glass sculpture.

She enjoyed it, and she was not going to deny that. She loved his soft touches, his light kisses, and his patience with her. But she was frustrated.

As much as she loved their tender lovemaking, she also wanted the ripping passion that would shoot through her when she saw him after a long mission. She wanted him to take control, push her against the wall, and place harsh, nipping kisses all along her neckline and take up the intensity she knew he possessed.

She knew he had that intense, intimate relationship with other women. She knew he was driven by passion, that he was rash and rarely meticulous in his decision making.

She loved their loving, gentle encounters, but she desired the deep passion as well. She wanted every facet of him, to experience carnal pleasures in a variety of ways.

But he refused to choose anything but the tenderness. And this drove her to only one conclusion. He didn't desire her as he had desired other women.

She would be gripped by insecurity. Was she not beautiful? What was wrong? When he was away, her heart would tighten and she would close her eyes, attempting to will away the devil that insisted he didn't want her as she wanted him. Was she too much of a village girl for his tastes?

Her eyes landed on Laila at the market, sitting casually underneath a tent. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, a glass of golden alcohol glittering effortlessly in the sun. Paro appraised her silently, taking in her heavy, dark eyes and the seductive curve of her lips. She trailed her eyes up from her legs, noticing the vast amount of skin left open through the side, her dupatta pinned carelessly.

She knew it was odd to compare herself to a prostitute, but she couldn't help herself. She wasn't stupid. Laila would never fail to pass a taunting remark as she passed, noting how she had shared a deeply intimate relationship with her husband. She never skimped on the gory details, explicitly detailing how her mouth would close around him, or how he would toss her against the bed and take her again and again.

Paro would quietly avert her eyes, holding her head high and never failing to treat her with dignity. She knew Laila was hurting, and she knew she had taken away something that Laila treasured. Perhaps the only thing Laila treasured, was now Paro's. She could sympathize with the woman, regardless of who she was.

She wasn't insecure about her relationship with Rudra. She knew Rudra would remain faithful, that he only had eyes for her. That was not what she envied, it was not a source of her jealousy. She never feared that Laila would come back and steal Rudra from her. Parvati and Rudra were tied together in the deepest of ways, their names implying the eternal nature of their relationship.

But yet, she was envious of Laila. She could feel the jealousy bubble over at the effortless way Laila carried her seductive clothes, the sex oozing off her figure. Her eyes would smoulder, inviting men in. Paro felt the jealousy burn her, not at the fact that Laila had shared an intimate relationship with Rudra- but at the nature of the intimate relationship.

She hated that Rudra was never as intense with her. He never took her, never demanded anything of her at night. He was frustratingly slow, taking his time. He didn't pull of her cholis and thrust himself into her, disregarding all sense of decency. Her cholis were pristine, devoid of rips from lust. He didn't give her love bites that she had to cover in the morning, a reminder of the passion they had shared at night. She wanted him to take her with no questions asked, make her beg for more of him as she moaned wantonly. She wanted to leave streaks on his back as she clutched him to herself, she wanted to have her mark on him in the morning.

So she tried. She applied heavy eyeliner that night, making them smoky and sultry. She lined her lips with a darker lipstick, bringing out what she hoped was a seductive pout. She emulated Laila in the mirror, wanting to get the same grace and sex she oozed for her husband.

That night when he came home, she waited nervously by the door. Everyone was asleep when she decided to wear it, knowing he would be home late. She fidgeted with her hands, playing with the ends of her dupatta, uncomfortable with the way it revealed too much of her endless waist, the choli seemingly too small.

When he walked in, his eyes instantly traveled up her figure. She saw his mouth contort in anger, his fury barely reined in as he gripped her by the shoulders, pushing her up against the pillar.

"Did someone say something Paro? What's wrong? Why are you wearing it this way? What did you do to your eyes? Paagal ho kya?" His angry barrage of questions drove her to tears, and she ran out of the room, dropping the silver plate laden with food with a loud crash on the ground. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she threw herself against the bed, the tears falling fast and furious. What was wrong with her?

He had come, of course. Caressing her back softly, whispering apologies. And that night, he had made love to her even more gently than before, brushing away the tears with a caring, calloused thumb.

The next morning, she went back to the light layer of kohl she always wore, not bothering to hide the puffiness in her eyes. She wore her choli, disenchanted and frustrated as she covered up every inch she possibly could. It wasn't that she didn't want his tenderness, or the way he would soften just for her. But when humans are given too much of a good thing, it loses its shine.

She wanted it all, she wanted to experience everything. She wanted to see the dominating parts of him, and she wanted to let her sultry side out as well.

She swallowed tightly, pasting on a smile as she handed Rudra his chai. Maybe this was just the way married life was. Maybe he didn't desire her the way he desired Laila. She was too ghatiya, too innocently village like for his tastes.

That day at the market, she knew something was different. She could feel it in the air, goosebumps creeping up her spine at Laila's piercing gaze. She murmured softly to Maithili Jija that she would be taking another route, ignoring her discomforted protests and continuing towards Laila. Today, she would find out exactly what she lacked, what made Rudra so restrained with her.

She felt the tears prick at the back of her eyes as Laila correctly pinpointed the source of her discontent, the mocking tone causing her throat to tighten and her heart to clench. She wouldn't cry. She would learn, she would take her caustic, sharp comments as oddly doled out advice.

But what she heard shocked her. Laila's pained explanation, her broken voice, was not what she expected to hear. The woman she had assumed was so self confident, the woman she had envied for her relationship with Rudra, was telling her it was all a lie. Everything her insecurities were based on was false.

He wasn't holding back because he lacked passion, Laila explained. He was holding back because he loved her. He respected her, her desires. He didn't nip at her skin because he was worried it would hurt her, and the sight of the slightest bit of pain in her eyes seared through him like a knife. He had merely desired her body, but with Paro, Laila pointed out, he desired her heart as well.

Somewhere within her, Paro knew what the older woman was saying had truth in it. It was delivered in a difficult way, a painful way, but Paro could tell that Laila was telling her to cherish what she had. Laila was admitting that the relationship between Parvati and Rudra was special, that what she had with him couldn't hold a candle, no matter how intense their relationship had been.

As she watched Laila break down into tears that flowed freely down her cheeks, smudging and tracking the layers of kohl down her face, Paro reached out instinctively and pulled her close. She was eternally grateful to this woman she had once envied, grateful that she had been honest enough to advise her. She had unknowingly forged a bond with the woman who had once tried to kill her, feeling her heart reach out to the broken lady in front of her.

As she walked away, she caught a glimpse of her husband standing by the car, waiting. Her eyes widened in surprise, knowing he wasn't supposed to be back for another three days. She was oblivious to Maithili chattering beside her, focused only on the man standing in front of her. When she felt his hand slide inside her dupatta, finding her bare waist, she looked up at him in disbelief. The understanding in his eyes told her he had heard, his silent gesture hiding behind impassive brown eyes.

Paro's heart was light for the first time in weeks. She turned back to Laila, wanting to glimpse her one last time, to give her an earnest thank you. When she met the pained, dark gaze, she gave her a small smile, raising her hand to wave.