Jeevika clung to Viren's arm the entire way home, the bodyguard keeping pace behind them with Viren's jacket slung over his arm. No matter he had told her he loved her and tried to smooth away all her jealous concerns; she wanted him, and only him, alone, in the confines of the hotel room, away from all the pretty, modern women with their short skirts and low-cut bodices. She tried to shake away her insecurities, but they seemed to have resurfaced again.
On the moonlit-drenched path, Viren was quite happy to have his wife so close to him. He'd never seen her so possessive before, but it sent a thrill through him to know that she loved him so much. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, the other clasped her hand in his, absently tracing the line of her wrist.
"Are you still upset?" he asked softly.
She tensed, "No..."
He could tell she wasn't being completely honest, but he teased her, "Now you know what I went through seeing you with Dr Manan..."
She frowned at him, "I never danced with Dr Manan! And I would never wear clothes like that! You were dancing with her like-"
"Like?" he looked down at her.
"Like she was beautiful," she looked down. She wanted him to only look at her like that. Like she was beautiful. In her traditionally-cut blue sari that swept the ground.
Viren looked behind him. The bodyguard was unfortunately still behind them and he wanted his next words to his wife to be for her ears alone. So, he waited until they got up to their room.
He hadn't said anything. Perhaps she had said too much. He didn't want a nagging, jealous wife, she thought to herself. He probably did not know how to admit that he found the dancer beautiful.
As soon as they entered their room, Viren locked the door and gently pushed her against it, one hand resting next to her head. She looked slightly surprised, but he could also see her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. He swept a strand of her hair behind her ear so he could lean down to whisper, "You are the most beautiful woman in the world." His lips brushed her earlobe as he said this, causing her to have a sudden intake of breath. He sensed her reaction and smiled. "Will you dance with me?"
She lowered her eyes, but he could see the small, shy smile that curved her lips and caused the tension in her forehead to fade away. He held out his hand and she took it hesitantly.
A flashback hit him. Pouring rain in the cool night. A small, enclosed hut and warm fires. Drenched clothes, cold, wet skin and an offered dance that soon turned to a waltz between hands and lips.
He wasn't going to go slowly this time, not if he was going to rid her of her fears and unease. Because it was impossible for him to look at another woman the same way he looked at her. And so with her small hand placed in his, he pulled her forward quickly, her hips flush against his. Her eyes widened and a slight pink tinge had graced her cheeks, as though they'd been dusted with rose petals. He led them, one step forward, to the side, then back; a small intimate circle.
He spun her out, the sudden distance sending an unwelcome, cool breeze wafting between them; then pulled her back from behind. She could feel the erratic thud of his heart beat at her back; it matched her own. His hands slowly caressed down her arms to clasp her waist, sending a spark of electricity at his touch. He swayed her hips back and forth gently. "Did I dance with her like this?" he whispered, so quietly she could barely hear him, his hands running up her ribs, a dance of their own. Her eyes closed, she'd stopped trying to fight her uncontrollable blushes, it was impossible to do so when he held and touched her in such a way.
One of his hands found hers and he brought it close to his mouth. He didn't kiss it, not yet, he blew a soft breath into her palm, ran his fingers lightly along her wrist. When she let out a small gasp, he finally pressed his lips to the back of her hand, then at the quickening pulse at her wrist. His searching mouth kissed and caressed, ignited and consumed a heated path along her arm up till the point of her shoulder where the capped sleeve of her blouse ended. "Like this?" he murmured into her skin, as soft as silk.
Her jealous worries had almost dissipated, but not quite, not when a flash of memory brought with it cheap, thin fabric, form-fitting, exposed skirts and blouses, long legs and darkly rouged cheeks. "I don't dress like her..." the words fell out, unwanted and insecure, as his finger traced the column of her neck.
She felt her hair being brushed to one shoulder, leaving her back exposed. She felt his smile along her spine, as he murmured, "And I'm glad you don't. I like your saris." His voice was deep with hidden meaning as he lightly ran his fingers around the dori, which he could so easily untie and loosen.
A smile rose, unbidden to her own lips, of unconstrained contentment and bliss. He turned her around to face her seriously, "I love you. In your saris, with your shyness and your traditional values. You know why?" he leaned down so his forehead was touching hers.
"Why?"
"Because then only I get to see you without them."
She heard the laugh in his voice, but the sincerity and love in it too and her cheeks were warm and flushed, she couldn't meet his eyes with her own and her hands clenched on the fabric of his dress shirt. He tilted her face up to meet his, his hand curved along the side of her cheek, "I'd love you no matter what you wore, no matter how you looked, as long as you're my Jeevika." And she smiled back at him, openly, trustingly, her eyes meeting his and he knew he had made all her insecurities finally disappear.
She hugged him closely, all her love for him encompassed in that single touch and he buried his face in her long, lush hair. "I love you, Virenji," she told him, the second time that night.
"Say it again." He loved hearing those words from her.
She smiled into his chest, "I love you."
"Again," he pleaded, looking down at her.
She could not reach his ear, so she settled for whispering it into the hollow of his neck and he shivered slightly. It amazed her that she had the same effect on him that he did on her; she wanted to explore her newfound power more, that only she had.
"I love you," her quiet endearments found their way into his ear, as she tentatively brought his head down closer; were kissed into his cheek and jaw, but she faltered at the corner of his mouth.
"Say it again," he asked her and she looked into his eyes to see that they had darkened to black velvet, all scorching heat and sweet passion. She ducked her head down, but he cupped her face in his hands and whispered along her lips, so softly, she could not be sure it was a kiss or a spoken statement, but, yet, she could sense the meaning of it all the same, "I love you."
He kissed her then, properly, a long, slow, sweet kiss that left her legs unsteady and her hands clutching the collar of his shirt so tightly, as though it was her only support. His lips did not leave hers as he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, did not leave hers as he pressed her deeply into the soft mattress, did not leave hers until they both needed time to breathe, but even then, they could not stop touching each other. Her wandering fingers tousled his hair and crept to the skin at his open collar, his own searched for the dori of her blouse and pulled her dupatta aside.
He kissed her again. Deeply. Enticingly. An enrapturing temptation. She felt as though she was falling down through an endless dark channel, but she didn't mind because she never wanted it to end.
She kissed him back. So sweetly. With such innocent enthusiasm that he felt so lightened, so burden-free and he loved every moment of it because she was his light, brighter than the sheets of silvery moonlight that shone from the window, brighter than the sun that would wake them the next morning.
She was a traditional woman, a regal beauty.
Anupamaa
