Navarasas || Bhayanaka- PART 2 UPDATED (18/5) - Page 5

Originally posted by: chotidesi

Thank you for putting what the point of this story was into words. And thank you for being awesome and listening to my rambles on writing. I very honestly still fangirl a little on the inside whenever you comment on something I write (embarrassingly enough), and I'm so glad you liked it!

Rudra Pratap Ranawat.. The Man who plays with death aaround evryday.. The major, who faces terrorists to save his country.. FEARS.

Aw choti!

"Bindi? Aise, anjaan logon ke saath...?"

(Bindi, how can we leave with these strangers...?)

That is what she had uttered on that fateful day when her life was tossed into a whirlpool. She was soon to be the bride with a rose tinted gaze that only coloured dreams. The joda and that ornate mirror in clasped her dainty hands, she was basking in the promise of her blissful future. She followed her childhood mate, climbed into the tempo, of course. However, this lone moment of doubt, the flickering insecurity, and the nagging intuition that something is not right- is that the recipe for fear? Add to that, loss and loneliness, a dash of helplessness, to strain out all hope. With Bindi flung out, she could only scream, screech and beg for mercy. She struggled and flailed, but could not get those hands, the contaminating gropes to leave her be.

"Chodo"chod do manne! Manne jaane do na...!" ("Let go of me... leave!")

Then, through her tears and panic, she saw him. A figure dressed in brown, riding away- no, riding towards her. Terrified, she was. With the closing distance, that turned into hope, and she called out for help. It wasn't Paro's voice that reached his ears. The young man sensed the sheer desperation, the need for safety more than izzat. She was saved. Fear turned to trust.

In the midst of bodies slain, and blood befriending every scream, Paro stared straight ahead. Despite the erratic breath and a leaping heart, she was numb.

Those brown, soulful eyes arrested her own; the hands that had once saved her, held her, now firmly aimed a gun, ready to shoot. He had been her shield and protector. Then why did the glare and the gun spell murderous intent? And yet, why were those eyes uncertain, while not a shiver or shake could be detected in his body? He could pull the trigger, and in that one supreme moment of his power and her helplessness, Paro would find relief from this nightmare.

It was supposed to be the beginning of a new life, an unexplored journey of marital trail. The fear that clawed within her refused her the agency to look for her husband of a day. Instead, Fear dimmed her sight and sucked her into its comforting darkness.

That Major Rudra Pratap Ranawat had set her free was an indecipherable mystery to Paro. She could not comprehend the motives behind the care and attention he had showered upon her. One moment, she was pinned to the wall, anticipating an insult, or even a blow in reward of her delinquency. In the next, he was tending to the cut on her palm, blood painting his white handkerchief. He fed her, safely shipped her to the outside, and paid for her ticket to freedom. Wrapped in a shawl that couldn't provide half the warmth his presence did, she looked forward to normalcy and hope. After all, there was no evidence against her: something she had been tirelessly repeating when he killed her husband, her soul, and then, her identity.

Realisation dawned as the tiny mirrors on her ghaagra betrayed the Jallad's true intentions. It was all a trap and for the umpteenth time in the last few days, the shock paralysed her. Presently, Fear had become a friend. Taking off all traces of the wedding of death, she deposited them in the nearest matka she could find.

She returned to the BSD, resolute and determined, and faced her tormenter again. This point on, she would face Fear. Fear was a question, and running away provided no answer. Fear only had consequences that needed to be dealt with.

She was trapped in this house, and things had exponentially escalated beyond the mere concern of her safety. Lies had been told and expectations were high- the Major would be the latest Ranawat man to be wedded. Could nobody see the castle of hate behind the tall walls of false affection? All that she tried to stall the wedding, to thwart his attempts at coercion, and to escape were in vain. This far, Paro convinced herself that she would readily combat everything that the Major threw her way. She was protecting Birpur and there was not a shred of doubt that her Raja Thakur was being framed. She was doing it for her Mami-sa, for Bindi, and for every soul that had watched the horrors of the BSD.

Haar-jeet- that was what it had come down to, hadn't it? The ghost of that Jallad had vacated the kitchen seconds ago. In a warped turn of events, marriage itself had become a threat. Each time he demonstrated what being married to him would mean, her bow-tied conceptions of that institution eroded. Layer by layer, stitch by stitch. Marriage was now a net that was promising to keep her jailed, if she was to be connected to this demonic man for life. What had he said moments before slipping those choodis onto her bruised wrists that night? "Ab toh saare haq hain tujhpe." ("Now, I have all rights over you.")What would he do to her? She left the village aside, and for the first time since she stepped out of Birpur, feared for herself.

Neither the fumes, nor the burning paratha on the tawa could claim her attention. Paro had just identified the emotion behind those eyes- he was desperate, and yes, afraid. As drained as she felt on the inside, her determination raised its head one more time. She would never let him win. Without a thought, she placed both her hands onto the burning tawa. It hurt and stung; yet, she welcomed the sizzling heat. The next moment another large pair of hands yanked hers away. He was back, and angry. The strange concern for her had returned in those very menacing eyes, as he met her challenging words with irritation. She had done her job- there will be no mehndi in this wedding.

She had underestimated him. Major Ranawat would stoop down to any levels to reclaim the izzat of the slain jawans. As he held her hands and covered them with henna, it was fascinating to Paro that the orange stained his hands too. If he hadn't forced her, and if she was spared this one rasam, what would he lose? Was power so important to him? Was her defeat this crucial?

Paro didn't know and it didn't matter now. However, she collected another lesson from her teacher, Fear: power and control are vital weapons.

Yellow. Haldi. Colour of happiness, cheerfulness, and hope. To Paro, however, this day only held the promise of a life of hate. Another step towards uncertainty, darkness, and surrendering herself to fate. Yes- fate and not Rudra. He might try his best to coerce and threaten, but she would never resign herself to his doings. Rather, bhagya was her true companion. It didn't matter if fate brought good days or bad. After all, fate would not and could never desert her- niyati is here to stay.

Therefore, she convinced herself that all such rasams bring joy to her jija of a few days, and the family. Bapu sa was chatting away, proud of his son, and his prospective bahu- assured of their prosperous future. Kako sa, in another corner, overlooked the decorations, berating the workers for every delay and discrepancy. Sunehri found company with the dancers and clapping away to the beats, ready to join them at a moment's notice. The haveli glowed with light, was perfumed with flowers, and the aroma of delicacies hung around. This dhoom-dhaam ki shaadi appeased all, except for the bride. A fact that Paro decided to overlook anyway.

As she walked to take her seat on the floor, her eyes wandered to the cloth partition, put in place to evidently keep the bride and groom's eyes from straying and finding each others'. Of course, it served no purpose. It never did, when it came to Paro and Rudra. He was fidgeting with his sleeve, trying to free it from a stray nail. Paro noted his irritable temperament- his roughness was certain to earn him another tear.

"Dhyaan se. Parda phat jaayega." (Be careful. You'll rip the curtain.")

She couldn't help but admire the strong arms, the crisp white kurta, and his comeliness in the absence of his customary frown.

He met her gaze, and rose tinted, it was. Paradox, thought Paro wryly. He looked defenceless, and for the first time since she met him, she thought his expression to be genuine. If he could rub salve on to her burns, she would help him too. Payback- of a good kind. She could feel him absorb her features: the strand of hair falling over her eyes, her floral jewellery and the yellow ghagra, swishing and twirling with every move.

The function proceeded, and nothing eventful had passed. Which is why, when the woman who had danced at her sangeet had returned, Paro was mildly surprised. It was what she said that set her thoughts in motion. Why was the bai-sa's advice about Rudra important? How did she know him, and what brought her here? The saccharine sweet smile on that alluring face only darkened her expression with menace.

Once again, akin to raging storm, Rudra appeared before her. This time he grabbed her wrists and swept her away, not caring for the glares and the whispers that rippled among the guests. It was as if the silent truce from moments before was a sham. A daydream, if you will. The Jallad was back. She was startled, but not by his harsh grip, nor with his brute force. Paro had seen that uncharacteristic concern in his eyes.

Yet, she struggled, flailed her arms uselessly, before a dash of cold water whipped her face. Incomprehension grew into panic. Reason and meaning dashed out of her thoughts, while she solely concentrated on getting rid of his grip. Pushed and backed up against a wall, desperate measures were the only other alternative. She resorted to a safe house of words.

"Choona mat manne. Jaan de dungi!" ("Don't touch me. I will kill myself!")

"Vaise bhi nahi bachegi. Haldi mein zeher mila hua hai!" ("You won't live anyway. The haldi is spiked.")

Paro was far from caring. Shivering and spluttering, she continued, "Jhooth. Yeh bhi koi chaal hogi." ("Lies. This must be another of your many tactics.")

"Koi chaal nahi hai, mera bharosa kar," came his almost sincere reasoning, voice laced with worry. ("These are no tactics. Trust me.")

"Mhaare ko aap ki baton par viswas nahi hai. Chodo manne!" ("I don't believe that. Let go of me!")

With that, she successfully shoved him away, and evidently, her tormentor had been caught unawares. Before she could act on her next thought, a sharp sting tore through her skin. The burning grew, and within moments, accepted that Rudra meant her no harm. As she nodded jerkily at his, "Kya hua? Jal raha hai?" she welcomed his help. He washed the haldi off, his large hands cupping her with gentleness, she would have never expected from him. Roughness on soft skin, the affair turned sensuous as his fingers inched towards her lips. His confident fingers wiped all that could hurt those rose-petal lips, but in the meanwhile, Paro caught all the desire that pooled in his eyes. Unchartered territory- yes, there was Fear.

But she pushed it back. She wanted to feel the novelty, the speeding and soaring heart. That monster did shortly appear when she saw that woman, the lunatic with the dagger. This time, Rudra stood before her. No harm could touch her, she was safe.

What had transpired between Rudra and Paro, you ask, dear reader? Could the wise or the learned ever locate that moment of falling in love? As magical as the world may seem, to spot such trivialities is to be foolish. The saints would laugh at your navet.

Days had passed and their relationship had changed. Of course, she was afraid of Tejawat, and that confrontation. However, she had something stronger to hold onto. The rudraksh assured her of his presence. He was her tangible anchor even in absence. Her Major Sahab, her protector would never let a single kaanta into her life.

Along the journey from trust to devotion, she had found love. She had picked up pebbles of dreams, and flowers of a future together. He was security and certainty.

"Arrey, Paro? Doodh toh ubal gaya hai! Dhyaan kahan hai thaara?" ("Arrey, Paro? The milk has boiled over. What thoughts are you lost in?")

Snapping out of her reverie, Paro turned to find Laila behid her. This woman continued to befuddle her. What did she want at this late hour? More importantly, why was the Major wary and agitated of her? What was she to him? Did he, no- they- Major Sahab and this Laila... did they have something to hide?

"Mhaara dhyaan bhatak gaya tha bai-sa. Yeh doodh, Major sahab ke liye tha. Raat ko unhone kuch theek se khaya bhi nahi""

("I had zoned out, bai-sa. This milk is for the Major. He hadn't eaten his dinner well"")

"Laao na! Main de deti hoon. Tum bhi toh kitni thaki hogi"" (Give it here, I'll handle it. You must be tired"")

"Ji nahi. Aapka dher saara aabhar ki aapko maari itni chinta hai. Par jahan Major Saahab ki baat ho, manne koi takleef nahi hai. Ab raat bhi bahut ho chuki hai. Aap jaa kar so jayiye," asserted Paro firmly with an air of finality, leaving the kitchen.

("No. Thank you for your concern. But I have no tiredness when it comes to Major Sahab. It's late. You should go to bed.")

She walked into the- no. Their room. As husband and wife. He was standing by the window, staring into the darkness and the storm. His face was momentarily illuminated as lightening struck. She stood and took in his features as a lone desert traveller parched for water. The wind played with is soft hair, just as she wanted to. The raindrops drizzled his face, luring her to do the same: to rain his face with tender kisses.

Upon closing the distance, his eyes, those windows to his soul, lay open the enigma called Rudra Pratap Ranawat. The vulnerability and pain was disarming. Just the same as each day he had collapsed into her arms lamenting the absence of his mother. Paro wanted to help him, she needed to. However, he must help himself, and he would have to talk.

"Aaj mhaare se jhooth mat kahiye, Major Sahab. Jo bhi dil mein hai, keh dijiye. Man halka ho jayega," she whispered to him, having stopped within inches near him.

("Don't lie to me today, Major Sahab. Tell me all that is in your heart. You'll feel better.")

The proximity wreaked havoc on her senses, and had robbed Rudra of his.

And he gave in.

Looking straight into the storm, he revealed the contents of exactly what had been bothering him all this while. Paro could never have braced, nor prepared herself for what was to follow. Was it a wonder that she now sat a heap on the floor, hugging her knees? Could she stop the tears that blurred her vision? Was it possible to feel such hurt, shock and numbness all condensed into one moment?

"Aath saal. Har raat uske paas jata tha. Na koi bandhan, na koi bhaavnaein."

("Eight years. I visited her every night. No strings attached.")

His voice had dropped several octaves. Or was it her incomprehension that made it seem so?

"Sirf ek hi rishta- jo aaj tak, tere aur mere beech mein bhi nahi. Laila thi woh."

("Just one relationship- that which you and I have not had. It was Laila").

Did Rudra not expect her silence? What did he want? Why was he shaking her, demanding and answer? What should she say?

Shock wasn't supposed to feel this real.

But she had to put it behind, set it aside, and act. She had promised to Bholenaath, that she would leave him- for his own good. Maybe, her farewell would indeed ensure his betterment. Yes. She will nurse him back to health, and then leave. Laila was a competent companion to Rudra. She had taken care of him for eight whole years, hadn't she? Paro would leave and let the two"

Doubt dawned upon her. And this doubt, the incertitude always caught her heart. She feared ambiguity, indecisiveness.

Paro stopped her meandering mind. The fact came creeping back to her that Rudra didn't want Laila. He wanted his Paro. She would claim her love back. She wasn't afraid of Fear anymore. Back then, she had feared Rudra. Today, she feared leaving him. Bholenaath had to be negotiated with. Fear had taught her to fight.

***

A/N: A very, VERY busy weekend. So all those who had PM-ed me about their amazing stories, I apologise for not commenting. Aap samajh rahe hain na? I will bombard you with comments once I get done with all my commitments, which should be in a couple of days. I do understand how mucheach like and comment means. So, if you have the time, and did enjoy the piece, please drop an acknowledgement of the same. I do hope I have been able to live up to the expectations of all the stalwart authors, and the very loyal, sweet readers. :)

WL, I've told you that you're a fantastic writer.

FOURTH ONG


- Edit: sorry it was a long lunch

I have no idea and I genuinely have no idea why I really like this line ' the Major would be the latest Ranawat man to be wedded.' Maybe it's the wording or the layout I have no clue okay *shrugs shoulders* but I suppose it's all these tiny pieces that make the whole puzzle. The emphasis on eyes and their connection is more than marvellous, this understanding that you've shown in Paro is way more than marvellous.

The previous piece put emphasis on Rudra and this second piece compliments it perfectly, this understanding that Paro has of Rudra is more more than marvellous! She knows his need for her and sees the fear because it was once within her, throughout the piece you strengthened her resolve and her love for him, what was once need became love and as you made her stronger the smile on my face became wider.

The final paragraph was really the nail on the head sorta thing, sharp and too the point- tied every emotion in. We saw a Paro that I really want to see on the show, that level of maturity I am yet to see from Gautum but you have done is perfectly here.


I loved it WL. You and Choti have done such a fantastic job, a super well done and proud smile :D together it's a beautiful symphony of the emotion!

-Asho

wow you wrote on the current track - i desperately hope Paro decides the same in the show too...