Guys, Sorry for the delay. I am simply swamped by AD. My heartfelt thanks for your unstinting encouragement - so many of you have been so kind to me and I still have to reply to some of your comments. Deepa, I will write immediately after this post and will reply at length to your sweet and wonderful comment.
In the meantime here is Part 5, extra-long to make up for the delay. English translations a little later. And yes this OS is complete. 😃
Enjoy!
Part 5
Gaddaar!
(Traitor)
The bile rose in his throat. Yes, she'd called it right. He was a traitor. A traitor who'd so very nearly betrayed his men, the mission, himself all for a few moments of questionable pleasure. One throwaway gesture and he'd bent to her will, happy to sacrifice everything that he stood for, just for a taste... He was worse off than he'd imagined. And she? The oh-so-innocent, waif-like she? She was much more powerful than he'd ever dreamed.
Like all beautiful women. How often had Ranawat warned him? And she was very beautiful, no question, with a rare, fragile, ethereal beauty that crept up on you, curled around your vitals and stole into your heart, until every beat pounded for her. And when she left, as beautiful women did, as she had, and like Paro had today, then...
Not that any woman would breach his heart. He'd made sure of that. Today was no more than a blip. He'd let his guard down and she'd snuck in under his skin, turned temptress on a dime, frayed his control, no doubt to escape from him. And she'd almost got away with it too, but for luck - his good luck and her bad luck.
And now he'd take great care that there were no more slips. He'd bloody ensure that.
She was shivering.
He'd been so intent on reaching the bike that he hadn't noticed it. No, that wasn't true. He'd felt the fine tremors coursing up and down her arm, and...slammed the brakes on the realization. He couldn't afford it. Simply couldn't let himself be weakened by anything she felt, not her tears, nor her pain, and never her passion... No! He couldn't allow himself to be side-tracked. She was only the means of clearing his name, of restoring his men's honour, of putting that gunrunning Thakur behind bars. That's all. Period. He couldn't, wouldn't, didn't actually feel anything for her...other than anger, hate and distrust, all of which she deserved.
And he wanted no truck with her, nothing other than business. Once she signed the papers she was free to do what she goddamned pleased, to go wherever she wanted. But until then he'd do whatever it took to get her signature.
And if that meant keeping her warm and well, then he'd do it.
He shrugged out of his jacket and held it out to her.
"Ley...Pehen ley"
("Here, put it on...")
She gave no sign that she'd heard, just stood at the tail of his bike, head bowed, her slight frame trembling visibly now, no doubt due to her unwarranted exertions.
"Khud pehenegi ya phir main pehnaoon?"
("Will you don it on your own or should I help you?")
He tried and failed to keep the anger out.
That got a reaction. She raised her head and peered at him as though through fog.
"Ley, pehen ley!"
("Wear it!")
He would not be opposed.
She licked her lips.
Desire slammed into him on a tidal wave of chagrin. He wanted to kick something, preferably himself. But he gritted his teeth, and fought it down, until the cords stood out on his neck, until he was back in control, then closed the distance between them.
Heedless, her tongue snuck out again and this time her throat moved as she swallowed with difficulty.
Choice curses searing his brain, he retrieved his water bottle from the saddlebag, hastily took a swig, and held it out of her reach for guilt-filled, agonizing seconds before thrusting it in her hands.
She gulped it down as if she hadn't drunk all day, which, he mentally flayed himself, was as good as true. Her throat worked as she drank, water trickling down the sides of her mouth in two thin streams.
"Dheerey...dheerey..."
("Slowly...slowly...")
If she didn't slow down she'd choke. But she paid no heed, so he held the bottle steady, careful not to touch her fingers, and pulled it away when she'd drunk enough.
He could hear her teeth chattering, she must be half-frozen in the desert night with nothing but a thin dupatta for cover - that same dupatta, his mind reminded him graphically before he slammed the shutters down on the images, which he'd misused so horribly. Still she made no move to take his jacket - seemed not to see it. So he shook it out with exaggerated movements and thrust it at her, and watched her stare unblinkingly at it. Just when he was about to take over and help her into it, she turned her back to him and slipped into it. He watched her fingers fumble twice with the zipper, before brushing them away and completing the task himself.
He didn't bother to give her the helmet, but clipped it on for her.
"Chal baith..."
("Come on, sit...")
He watched her with narrowed eyes through the rear-view mirror as she hesitated then tried to sit side saddle and failed.
"Vaise nai, theek se baith..." ("Not that way, properly...")
There was no way he was going to let her sit side saddle in her current condition. He needed to be sure that she stayed on throughout the ride, and he didn't give a damn about her lehenga riding up or her modesty or any of that.
She looked at him in mute protest, but gave in without a fight. His hands gripped the bike's handlebars. She was clearly worse off than he'd thought. He needed her to last the ride. He waited until she was seated, blanked his mind to the pale flash of her legs, then gunned the engine and set off. And immediately sent up profuse thanks for the barrier of his jacket between them as she fell against his back. He'd had about all he could take of her skin moving against his on that long, excruciating walk with her slung over his shoulder.
She pulled away, seemed to gather herself, and held on to the curved bar behind her seat. She was loath to touch him. Good! That suited him just fine. He throttled-up, and the bike leapt forward, gusting down the deserted track. He kept up the punishing pace for three-quarters of the distance. After all, he needed to reach the safe house fast. After a while he noticed that she seemed to be weaving...or perhaps it was the uneven road. He slackened speed - his bike and his bones would thank him for it. If he checked the rear-view mirror a little too often, it was because they were riding through the outskirts of a town, and he had to check that they didn't invite undue attention.
They were almost at the shelter when she slumped against him, her helmeted head falling on his shoulders. He braked gently to a stop, then swivelled around, his arm holding her steady, alarm and any other extraneous emotion tightly leashed. And confirmed his suspicion: she had fainted.
Damn! He should have seen it coming. She'd displayed all the signs - like her kiss, an inner voice taunted him before he snuffed it out. And he'd ridden her heartlessly. He should have realized...
"Paro! Paro! Uth...Paro!"
(Paro! Paro! Wake up...Paro! ")
He shook her gently, then harder, then cursed fluently, silently, as he assessed his options. He could rouse her and take the chance that she'd faint yet again. Or he could let her be and bring her to when they reached the safe house.
Decision made, he held her in place until his eyes found what he was seeking. Good she'd hung on to it - it was going to see them through this journey. He pulled her dupatta out from under his jacket, looped it under her armpits, crossed it over his chest and doubled it back around her to knot it tight behind her back.
Then with eyes that scanned the rear-view mirror more than the road, he drove as fast as he dared for the safe house.
xxx
Aman was waiting at the secluded shelter by the time they reached.
"Sir?"
There was alarmed query in Aman's voice at Paro's state and accusation in his eyes.
"Nahin woh... thak gayi thi...itti der se kuch khaya piya nai hoga...shayad isi liye..."
("No nothing...just overtired, exhausted...mustn't have eaten or drunk anything all this while...perhaps that's what happened.")
His hold tightened reflexively around her body that he'd cradled against his heart. Then he tailed off when he caught sight of the bed, glad that Aman, who at his nod had scurried to see to it, was too busy pulling down the covers and straightening the pillow and doing whatever he could to make Paro comfortable to pursue that line of inquisition.
He lowered her gently on to the bed and drew the blanket over her. One was no good. He could feel her half-bare waist: she was frozen. He despatched Aman to round up every single blanket, sheet, towel, he could find, and set about rubbing some warmth into her hands and feet.
In no time at all he was piling on another blanket and a sheet over her. The safe house was one of the older ones, no longer in use, which was why Aman had been able to get him access to it without arousing comment. On the minus side, it had only basic amenities.
He sent Aman to get something hot to drink.
"Uth Paro, uth, uth."
("Come on Paro, wake up.")
If his voice was hoarser than usual, he didn't notice it. He was much too focused on rubbing some warmth into her palms. They were so tiny - her hands - so pale. He redoubled his efforts. Then sprinkled some drops of water on her face.
Her eyelashes flickered at that. And she moaned softly as she dragged her eyes open.
For a long moment their eyes held. Then she looked away, her gaze flitting across the sparsely furnished room, noting the narrow bed, the wooden chairs, one rickety cupboard leaning against the patchy wall with the peeling plaster.
"Kahan ley aaye manne?"
("Where have you brought me?")
He could see the alarm in her eyes, hear the fear in her hoarse whisper, see her lips part to voice another question.
He raised the water bottle to her lips and held the back of her head so that she had no option but to drink.
She coughed a little, and pushed the bottle away immediately.
"Parvati baisa, yeh lijiye."
("Parvati Baisa, take this.")
Aman reappeared at the sound, and offered Paro a plate bearing a mug filled with a yellow liquid and some rolled up rotis.
"Haldi doodh, aur kuch dinner. Kuch kha lenge to better feel karenge. Pehley kha lijye phir main aap ko sab kuch batata hoon." ("Just some turmeric milk and dinner. You'll feel better with something inside you. Eat first and I'll tell you everything.")
She bit into the rotis without any fuss.
"Sir, aap bhi kuch kha lijiye. Woh...kitchen mein." ("Sir, why don't you grab a bite? In the kitchen")
"Baad mein, Aman..." He dismissed.
("Later, Aman...")
"Ab haldi doodh, Parvati Baisa." Aman coaxed, refusing to take no for an answer.
("And now the turmeric milk, Parvati Baisa.")
And of course she drank it down, no protests, no choking, as she listened to Aman's tale about the safe house.
"...cantonment nahin le ja sakte the. Security bahut strong hai. Agar koi pehchaan leta toh aap ki jaan ko khatra bhi ho saktha tha. Haveli pahunchne mein bahut samay lag jata, aur pahunchne tak aap ki security ki guarantee mushkil thi. ...iss liye yahan, iss safe house ko le aaye..."
("...couldn't take you to the cantonment. The security is very strong there. If someone had recognized you, then your life could have been in danger. It would have taken too long to take you back to the Haveli, and it would have been difficult to guarantee your security until then."...That's why we brought you here, to this safe house...")
"Kab tak...?"
("For how long?")
Her voice was stronger, insistent.
"Ka..."
"Haan, haan, theek hai, Aman. Baahar chal. Baat karni hai."
("Ok, that's fine, Aman, step outside for a sec. I need to confirm a few things.")
He ignored the reproachful looks and hustled Aman outside.
"Zyada bolne ki zaroorat nai hai. Kal vaise bhi usko pata chal jayaga ki ham kab jaa rahen hai aur kahaan. Aur vaise bhi woh sirf ek gawah hai. Usse sawaal poochney ka haq kisne diya?"
("There's no need to reveal it all. In any case she'll find out soon enough when she's leaving and for where. In any case, she's just a witness. Who gave her the right to ask questions?"
"Yes Sir!"
Then ignoring the stiffness in Aman's reply, he rattled out a series of instructions.
"...Gopal se koi khabar? Thakur ka phone tap hua..."
("...Any news from Gopal? Have you managed to tap the Thakur's phone?")
"Sir, landline tap kar diya. Mobile bina permissions key mushkil hai..."
("Sir, his landline has been tapped. The mobile is difficult without all the permissions...")
"Theek hai, Thakur par nazar rakh aur phone ke reports mujhe dey...aur ab tujhe pata hai na kya karna hai..."
("Alright. Keep an eye on the Thakur and send me the reports...and now you know what you have to do...")
xxx
By the time he re-entered the room after despatching Aman, and after his recon around the little house, Paro was fast asleep, her face pale against the sheets. For a long while his eyes lingered on her exhausted form, his face softening. Then, with an effort, he tore his gaze away, and his face hardened.
After a quick detour to the kitchen and the bathroom, he returned to the bedroom, and sat himself down on the chair. He'd seen the night out in much worse conditions, and this barely registered as hardship.
He picked up his jacket that she must have draped over the chair back, balled it up under his head, and stretching his legs out before him, settled down for the night. His eyes seemed to have a mind of their own and strayed repeatedly to her face, never mind how often he dragged them resolutely away. So he shut them tight and drifted into an uneasy sleep.
xxx
"Jaane do manne...Ma, Bapusa..."
("Let me go...Mummy, Daddy...")
Rudra woke with a start.
She was struggling with the blankets, her head thrashing on the pillow, her forehead furrowed in pain.
He was by her side in a trice, cradling her head in his palm, cushioning it from the metal headboard. He'd had half an inkling that this might happen - she'd gone through too much these past hours and her mind had sought escape.
"Shhh, shaant, Paro...shaant..."
He soothed her. The words a litany, but she seemed not to hear.
The rudraksh! The last time it was the rudraksh that had finally calmed her down. He thrust his wrist at her, made sure he held the rest of himself away from her, but waited for her fingers to land on the wooden beads that she so revered.
Sure enough her fingers sought them, curled around them. Good, she was going to calm down! The thought had barely dawned when she kicked the covers aside and started arching up off the bed twisting this way and that as if seeking something.
"Shaant, Paro, Shaant...sab theek hai...tujhe kuch nahin hoga..."
("Calm down, Paro, quiet...it will all be fine...I won't let anything happen to you...")
The words tripped off his tongue without him even realizing it. Those and many others, softly, firmly...a stream of them flowed reassuring, caring, like balm over her wounds...
But Paro's frenzy showed no signs of abating. Now the tears trickled down her face. Her entreaties hoarse, pitiful.
"Jija...Nandu Jija...chhodo manne..."
("Sis...Nandu Jija...leave me...")
Her distress flowed into him, touching his heart, burning his eyes, until he could take no more.
And of his own volition, he let go. Let go of all his rules, certainties of right and wrong, of jailor and captive, all of it, until he was just a man...who cared enough to ease her suffering.
Mirroring his posture in the hospital when he had restrained her with his body, he threw his leg over both of hers, and covered her torso with his. Then, as she continued to struggle, he let his considerable weight hold her body still.
Her movements were less frantic. He could feel the tumult ebb, but only momentarily. He would wait her out if it came to that. But he couldn't let this last any longer - not in her already frail condition.
He racked his brains. What was he not doing right? There wasn't anything he had missed out from the previous time. Then what...
He gazed at her face in frustration that bordered on despair...
The soft skin by her mouth was red, tender...What? How?... Then it came to him in flash. The kiss! His stubble! His conscience smote him - had he been so rough? Could it be...No. But, what if...? She writhed under him. He gave up the tussle with his conscience and, bending down, touched his lips to hers. Gently, with infinite care, he fit his lips to the shape of hers, barely moving, except to soothe, stroke the softest skin he'd felt again and again, ceaselessly, until her body finally relaxed and went limp. At that, the relief released his hold on his control. He couldn't have stopped himself deepening the kiss if his life had depended on it, from parting her lips and dipping within. Just one last taste he promised himself, just to confirm her taste, only for a moment...
"Rudr..."
He was pulling away when she sighed his name, still half asleep, and tightened her fingers around his wrist.
"Shhh. Shaant..."
"Rudra..."
Her lips searched for him blindly, until with a silent groan, he gave in and bent to trace her mouth with a soft caress, before settling down on the narrow bed still half-draped over her. And Paro, as if she'd been doing it forever, turned her face into his neck, clasped his hand, sighed, and slept finally at peace.
Ends.
A/N: You must be wondering about a couple of clues, some loose ends that I haven't tied up in this update. But those are for when I have the time to pick up the tale again and tell you what happened next - in another story.😊
So, guys, how was it? Your feedback really helps, so please do comment.
Edited by tvbug2011 - 10 years ago
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