Sunheri nudged Paro as they heard the door open with a thud. The entire household knew that this signalled the arrival of Major Rudra Pratap Ranavat. His hawk eyes sweeping through the aangan until it landed on a disgruntled young woman. His cousin giggled at his behaviour. He must have looked like a love struck fool. But he didn't really care. She was in one piece just like she was when he left for work this morning. That was all that mattered.
"Show her some more designs" Mohini said to the textile merchants spreading their ware. Rudra watched as they draped half a dozen fabrics on his so called bride. "As you can see your fiance is busy, so you will have to bear with Maithili's cup of tea," she said as the young woman walked in with the tea tray.
He reached for a cup when the older of the merchants approached him. "It's for your wedding banna. Tell us how you would like us to dress up your bride," he asked. Rudra's eye met Paro's and he smiled. She hated being referred to as his bride. This was pure unadulterated torture for her. He sat down next to her increasing her torment. "Something light and airy would be best for our dua baisa, so that the wind doesn't carry her away," Mohini teased. Rudra's eyes' narrowed at her taunt. "What I mean is, our beendini is as delicate as a butterfly's wing. So let's not drape her in something coarse," Mohini clarified.
"Sethanisa, don't worry I have the perfect lehenga choli for your Beendini," he said pulling out a red net skirt with satin trimmings. "No!" her heart screamed. Red was the colour of a new life, one filled with love and passion. There was no place for either in her life anymore. Her mother wore red when she married her father. They had beautiful life filled with warmth and contentment. With Rudra by her side, she had no idea what the future had in store. Would he always be a Jallad or will he calm down when he begins to trust her.
"No!" Rudra screamed as the memory of Paro in red memory standing in the middle of the desert as bullets kept firing assaulted him. He couldn't shake it off as his eyes looked on the woman at the other end of his gun. So innocent, so fragile. So beautiful, so deceiving. He would break if he had to see the same terror in his bride's eyes again. Whoever she was, whoever she supported, she had to trust that he will never hurt her. Even if he bullies her to get his way, he didn't want her broken.
"Not the red one. Anything but that," he said before retiring to his room. The family was confused. Red would look lovely on Paro enhancing her ethereal beauty and innate charm. "When the groom is so particular, what can I say," Mohini laughed trying to diffuse the tension. The other ladies smiled trying to pretend as if the outburst wasn't uncommon.
"Kuwarsa is marrying a royal beauty. He will want her to look extraordinary on their wedding day," the man said taking out a lehenga that shone like the light of the sun. Paro gasped, she would literally be a queen on her wedding day. Just like the Beendini this family deserved. She then shook her head remembering who the prince was. "You don't like it Paro?" Jeeja asked. She replied that it was beautiful.
Back in his room, Rudra was restless. Why is it that every time he tries to dislodge her composure he ends up in pieces? Why did she affect him so much? She was just a witness, that to a beautiful one. He fumed as he yanked the door of his wardrobe open. Her bright red lehenga was the first thing he saw. He threw it out taking out his frustration on the garment.
"This looks pretty," said a small voice said a little girl picking up the red dupatta and placing it on her head. He shut his eyes in frustration. "You are not real," he said to himself hoping that the figment of his imagination would just disappear. It wasn't healthy for him to be seeing the girl he met only once in a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. "It's not so healthy for you to be so angry either," came a small voice. He turned around and saw her sitting on his bed folding the net fabric. "It's not possible for you to be here," he said softly. She smiled, "It's possible because you need me. You need to remember that all people are not selfish. You can reach out to a friend." He smiled as she took out the doll from the cupboard and adjusted its clothes. She was the most compassionate person he had ever come across, the one person he didn't have to be a ruthless Jallad to.
"You know, she may not be so bad," the girl suggested. He sat down beside her and nodded, "She could be innocent. But that doesn't really solve the problem. Tejawat is still after her head. And until she let's us in, we can't help." She beamed at him happily. It bode well for her old friend that he didn't think his future wife could be a terrorist. "If you married her, you can't be a Jallad to her or ignore her all the time," she pointed out. He didn't react. "You will have to be nice to her, take good care of her," she continued. This time he replied that he was taking good care of her. He was keeping her safe and comfortable. What more could a woman want?
There was a knock on the door. He turned to see it being pushed and Paro step inside. He frowned at the way she walked in as if she owned the place. She had been given the freedom to roam around the haveli but he withheld the right to enter his space so freely. "This will be your room too soon enough. Why do you hesitate," his words echoed in his head. She was supposed to be scared by those words not take it literally, he argued with himself.
She lifted her hand and held out an envelope. His heart stopped beating. Has she signed the confession papers? His case finally had proof. Paro would have seen the guns, the money or something that added credibility to his theory. He rushed to grab them, the proof he longed for.
He reached out to take it from the delicate fingers that held it. Suddenly, he was scared. These papers would change everything. He would never have the right to hold her creamy wrists. He would never be able to lead her away with her. She would go back to being just his witness. She won't be the woman he spends his life with. That's what he wanted isn't it? Why did it hurt then?
Her heart hammered in her chest as she saw fear in his eyes. What was in the papers that bothered him so badly? Did it have something to do with the mother he missed? She remembered what he had written as a child. Poor man, no wonder his hands seemed to shake. She noticed the half curled fingers. They were beautiful when they weren't holding her wrist in a vice grip. She wondered if he would hold her more gently when they were married and he knew she won't leave him.
She scolded herself. This wasn't the time to think about the man she was marrying. The boy in those letters needed a little compassion. She uncurled the fingers and placed the papers in his hand. "It's okay. This paper can't hurt you unless you let it," she coaxed him with her most gentle voice. He held tightly to the hand that held his.
His heart clenched in his chest as he heard her cooing to him. Was he the only person hurt in this faked engagement when these papers ended their role in each other's lives?
His eyes narrowed as she saw anger return in them. She pulled out her hand from his quickly before he decided to crush them. The broken little boy was gone. She watched as he flung the envelope on his desk the latest victim of his rage. She turned to go when she saw little spots of light play on the walls of the room. Amused she searched for its source in the bachelor pad of a stern soldier.
He followed her gaze hating that she was so gay when his world seemed gruesome. He heard her gasp as she saw the crumpled red ghagra on the floor. "You were going to throw this away?" she scolded. He rolled his eyes. He didn't need to keep the ghagra she wore when she wed a terrorist in his closet. His heart wasn't big enough, he reminded her. "It belonged to my mother. These sequins were sown own it by my grandmother," she said caressing the fabric longingly.
His heart leaped with joy when he realized that she didn't think of her no good former husband. His face almost broke into a smile until he noticed the accusation in her eyes. This wasn't his fault. She could have taken her belongings when she moved in with Sunheri. "What? You weren't planning on passing it on to your daughter were you?" he mocked. She thought that would have been great. She remembered dressing up in her mother's bridal attire as a child. Her daughter would have been the same away. "That's never going to happen," he said in a matter of fact tone. She looked at him, a question lingering in her eyes. "You wanted two sons like your Bholenath," he reminded her of her own plans for her future. The plans she had for herself and that Varun, the jealous serpent in his mind spoke.
She didn't notice his growing ire too busy trying to remember if Bholenath had a daughter too. "My mother would have liked that," she said remembering the woman whom this was made for. The mother he killed, he scoffed at her, his anger diverted. She shook her head. "That's right. I would have been too young to commit such heinous crimes. It must have been other BSD men. Sorry, Jalladein," he mocked.
She looked at his BSD cap lying on the bed. After meeting the stern yet kind General Singh, the adoring uncle, Danveer Kaka and the loyal friend and brother, Captain Aman, she could see that the BSD was not as bad as Thakursa once told her. Even Rudra in his worst moods was all bark and no bite. "No, that must have been a mistake. The BSD wouldn't have attacked innocent people," she whispered.
His heart skipped a beat. Did she truly believe that they were the good guys now? Was that why his witness ready to cooperate? Did she realise that he wasn't the monster he pretended to be? He walked close to her, eyes never leaving her radiant face. It was times like this when she turned his world upside down by trying to look at the positives. Her skin literally glowed with that inner beauty called compassion she seemed to be made of. It was impossible to look away.
"That's why you didn't shoot me," she continued meeting his eyes. Another missed heartbeat, when did he try to shoot her. "In the desert, you killed everyone but me. Because you trusted that I had nothing to do with this. At the most I might have seen something suspicious which might help you and you spared me," she finished.
He turned away stunned. How did she nail him so well? That was the best case scenario in his head when he brought her to headquarters that fateful day. It would have been a nightmare if she had actually been involved. The delicate desert rose he had once saved would have been tarnished in his mind forever.
The wind blew the envelope off the table. He picked it up deftly before it hit the floor. To, Major Rudra Pratap Ranavat was written on it. Now he remembered what it was. One of his men had applied for leave the next week. He accidently brought it home. It wasn't Paro's testimony after all. She was still his bride, his spirit soared. But this means she still believes Tejawat is innocent he realised.
When she saw him so clearly, why couldn't she see through Tejawat, his heart cried. "Because she has seen only what he chose to show him for years," the soft voice of the girl who acted as his conscience whispered back to him. He would have to earn her trust, only then she would be willing to see his side. "Only then will she truly accept you as her husband and love you like you need her too," the same little voice spoke. He shuddered at the idea of a little girl being his voice of reason as he takes the next step in his personal life. He would need a guide with more wisdom. He heard the now familiar chime of Paro's bangles. Could he lean on her for emotional support? Would she reach out to him in moments of weakness like the girl from the bus stop?
He saw her fold the red ghagra and bent down to help. He always helped her out of situations she couldn't manage. This was the first time she volunteered to help out in a task that she was perfectly capable of doing herself. Was he unconsciously becoming accustomed to the role of a dutiful husband?
He got up and holding out the garment he had folded. Paro turned red when she noticed it was her choli. She tried to grab it from him but he held on to it. When she beseeched him with her eyes, he couldn't take it. Looking at the floor, he held out his hand for the rest of it.
"Rudra, it's my mothers," she pleaded. He nodded and replied that he would get it dry cleaned in the city. Noticing the curiosity in her eyes, he proceeded to explain who the dirt stains on her precious clothes would be removed without spoiling the design. She smiled happily. Her mother's ghagra could be saved. She started to collect memories when he did something thoughtful. They would keep her strong whenever he becomes mean to her. They meant more to her than the golden ghagra his family purchased for her.
Web Series
Kabhi Neem Neem Kabhi Shahad Shahad
