His Runaway Royal Bride

by Tanu Jain

  ‘I think I’ll have a bath,’ she said. Simran’s revelations had confirmed her dread that Veer wouldn’t let her go. Maybe her brain would start functioning better and find a way out of the current predicament.

  Simran brightened up and said with a smile, ‘Ji, I will show you the dressing area.’

  She went into the adjoining room and Meethi followed. It was a huge double dressing room divided by a thin wooden partition.

  ‘Maharaj Saheb’s dressing area is on that side,’ Simran pointed out. ‘All your clothes are neatly arranged in the wardrobe,’ she said.

  ‘My clothes! Where did they come from?’ Meethi asked, stupefied.

  ‘Maharaj Saheb had them moved here from the old mahal. And I was given the responsibility of arranging them,’ she added with a note of pride.

  Meethi opened her wardrobe. It contained all her old clothes. Since she had feigned her death, to avoid any suspicion, she had left all her belongings behind and taken just a couple of old churidaar kameezes, a pair of jeans and some tunics. Memories came rushing in when she looked at the rows and rows of opulent and expensive banarsi saris, antique brocade lehangas and elaborate anarkali churidaar kameezes. The best designers had put together her trousseau, as befitting her position as the Maharani of Samogpur.

  Simran bent and took out a silver chest from the bottom of the wardrobe. It contained jewellery—necklaces, earrings, bangles, nose pins, toe rings and anklets that she was supposed to wear every day. There were several heavy jewellery sets that were kept under lock and key but which she had to wear periodically.

  As the wife of Maharajah of Samogpur she had to always remain dressed to the hilt in a nine-yard saree or a lehenga, dripping with jewellery, her head demurely covered. She couldn’t leave her chambers dressed otherwise.

  She had no say in choosing her clothes. And she hated her wardrobe down to the last piece. The clothes were gaudy, elaborate and cumbersome and she had always felt trussed up in the heavy fabrics.

  There were no jeans, trousers or skirts in her wardrobe except for the ones she had owned before marriage. And once or twice when she had tried to wear clothes of her own choice, her mother-in-law had frowned and looked askance before acerbically humiliating her so that she had given in and changed.

  Turning away from torturous memories, she rushed to the bathroom in desperation.

  Veer was galloping furiously. For a Rajput, pride was paramount, and his wife had insulted him in the worst possible way.

  She had played on his weakness for her.

  She had seemed so sweet and innocent… Unbidden, his mind went back to the first time their paths had crossed.

  He had driven down to Jaipur to attend the wedding of his school friend, Gauravendra Singh. Itching to drive his new Jaguar at full throttle, the Delhi-Jaipur highway had seemed perfect, and he had set off with his driver and bodyguards.

  He was enjoying driving the powerful car at a breakneck speed when suddenly a puppy appeared from nowhere. He had braked frantically.

  To his utter shock, a wisp of a girl appeared as well and she dived in front of his car to save the puppy. He almost lost control, and the car swerved, but he managed to bring it to a screeching stop.

  Aghast and furious, he had jumped out of the car and shouted, ‘Are you blind?’

  ‘No! You are!’ she retorted immediately, militantly.

  He was taken aback. No one had ever dared to answer him back. Even his driver and bodyguards, who had leapt out urgently, were shocked into silence.

  The chit of a girl continued her tirade. ‘Fancy car owners don’t own the road, you know! This puppy has as much right to this road as you have! Big car, small heart!’

  Veer looked at her, stupefied. She barely reached his chin and she was staggeringly beautiful.

  She had a heart-shaped face, almond-shaped eyes with impossibly long eyelashes and a rosebud mouth. A thick long braid that seemed almost too heavy for her swanlike neck lay sideways on her ample bosom.

  His stupefaction wore off when he realised that the ample bosom that he was admiring was heaving with indignation. She was spitting fire, hurling insults and berating him.

  He held up his hand to silence her. ‘Enough! You could have been terribly injured if I hadn’t braked in time! Have you no sense?’ he asked.

  ‘You don’t have any sense! If I hadn’t been here, this poor little puppy would have been dead!’ she retorted heatedly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to this poor thing instead of standing here making small talk with you!’ She stomped off, the puppy held securely in her arms.

  Veer looked at her diminutive figure, bemused. He felt as if a tornado had just whizzed past him.

  He had gone to the wedding, unable to shake off the bemusement that had beset him.

  To his astonishment he had run into her there again. She was from the bride’s side of the family and had come with her father for the wedding.

  Traditionally dressed in a lime-green ghagra choli, her beauty had stolen his breath away and her vivacious laughter had captivated him totally. He had fallen in instant lust—a lust so powerful and primitive that it had overshadowed all rational thought.

  And, for the first time in his life, he had behaved impulsively and thoughtlessly. And had paid the price for his lapse in behaviour, he thought bitterly.

  His eyes wintry, he recalled the horror he had felt when he learnt that Meethi had met with an accident while driving the Beetle which he had given her soon after their wedding. He had been away and had been told that she had supposedly lost control and the car had plunged into the river near their mahal.

  He had immediately called divers, who had been on the job for two whole days before they admitted defeat. With the last ray of hope gone, he had felt as if he had been hurled down a cliff to lie in a broken heap. For the first time in his life, uncaring of appearances, he had dismissed everyone and spent the night slumped on the riverbank, filled with agonising grief. He had stayed alone, in a stupor, drowning in the hollowness besieging him. The cold misery of that night would remain in his consciousness till his dying day.

  Adding to his misery was corrosive guilt because he felt responsible for her accident. If he hadn’t given the car to her and insisted she learn to drive she would’ve been alive.

  When he had discovered that Meethi had staged the accident and feigned her death he had felt humiliated and betrayed. After all that he had done for her…

  But no more! He would rectify his mistake now. He would make sure that Meethi paid for her heartless betrayal. He would enjoy making her fulfil her duties as his lawfully wedded wife.

  He turned to ride back.

  Chapter Three

  MEANWHILE, MEETHI HAD showered and dressed, and she felt better and stronger. She was no longer the nervous nineteen-year-old bride or the sad, broken, twenty-two-year-old wife who had fled. She was almost twenty-five and the past three years away from Samogpur had matured her.

  She would make Veer understand that he couldn’t hold her against her will. He would rail at her because, according to him, it was improper and against tradition, but she knew there was no future in their marriage. And though her heart skipped a beat at the thought, she would try to leave as soon as possible.

  Deciding to figure out how things lay, she left her suite of rooms, refusing Simran’s escort.

  She had to find a way to escape, though she knew it would be very difficult. There was a high level of security and round-the-clock bodyguards; no member of the royal family could take a step out of sight of them. But she was determined to leave. She had managed it once before and she would manage it again.

  Descending the stairs, she went out, and immediately the major-domo appeared. She hadn’t seen him before; he was new. Meethi decided to try her luck.

  ‘Has Maharaj Saheb returned?’ she asked, trying not to betray her nervousness.

  ‘Nahin, Maharani Saheba! He hasn’t returned yet,’ the major-domo answered deferentially.

&
nbsp; Heaving a silent sigh of relief, she said with forced calm, ‘Is there a driver outside? Please ask for the car to be brought around.’

  The major-domo bowed his head and went outside. Meethi wanted to run after him and hurry up the proceedings but she knew that to do so would be dangerous. She began pacing impatiently in the vast hall.

  Suddenly, she heard a commotion and her heart sank. Had Veer returned? She stood welded to the spot as a tall lanky figure came in. It was Harshvardhan, her husband’s cousin.

  ‘Pranam, Bhabhi Saheb!’ he greeted her ecstatically, touching her feet and hugging her. Though he was two years older than her, custom dictated that, because Meethi was his elder cousin’s wife, he would touch her feet in greeting.

  Meethi gave him a glimmer of a smile.

  Harshvardhan had been the only friend that she’d had in the dark days of her marriage. He had been witness to the nasty criticism and public put-downs she’d been subjected to by the family members and, though she hadn’t confided in him, he had sensed her unhappiness and had always been around, trying to cheer her up.

  ‘Your accident was such a terrible thing to happen! But I always knew in my heart of hearts that you were alive. Bhaiya Maharaj told us how you lost your memory and ended up in Kolkata. Thank God he found you,’ Harsh went on.

  Meethi gazed at him in amazement. Was that what Veer had told them?

  ‘Bhaiya Maharaj was devastated when the news of your accident came. Totally distraught, he kept insisting that you would be found and wouldn’t leave the site of the river where your car was found. It was only when the divers gave up that he came home. The past three years have been terrible for him, but now that you are back he will be fine,’ he added emotionally.

  Meethi couldn’t believe it. Veer was the most cool and collected man in the universe. Nothing could shake him or disturb his impassive demeanour. He was used to people depending upon him, looking up to him, idolising him, and he discharged all his duties and responsibilities with effortless ease and imperturbable control.

  His life had been turned topsy-turvy when he married her and he would’ve been relieved to have got rid of her.

  Harsh was mistaken in his assessment of Veer but that was understandable because he had always idolised Veer and looked up to him in awe. So she kept quiet, not wanting to shatter Harsh’s rosy illusions.

  ‘How are you feeling now?’ he asked solicitously.

  ‘I’m fine now,’ she said, a catch in her throat.

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. You and Bhaiya Maharaj deserve all the happiness in the world,’ he said earnestly.

  He went on excitedly, ‘I have a surprise for you! You will know it tonight when we meet!’

  ‘Tonight?’ Meethi asked, baffled.

  ‘Yes, didn’t Bhaiya Maharaj tell you? You are coming to the mahal for dinner,’ he said with barely contained excitement.

  Meethi felt her heart sink and rock-hard memories dropped on her, pinning her down in despair. She couldn’t face the family, sit across from them, smile politely and pretend everything was all right.

  ‘Bhabhi Saheb, I’m really happy that you’re back,’ Harsh said and gave her a quick hug.

  Meethi hugged him back and stiffened as she looked across and met Veer’s cold eyes. He had returned. Though his face was impassive, she sensed that he was furious. She remembered his anger that last day when Harsh had been trying to console her and he had accused her of improper behaviour.

  Veer had alighted from the horse, only to be told that Maharani Saheba had asked for a car and driver. She was still trying to escape. Filled with fury, he stalked towards the hall. His fury increased when he saw Meethi and Harsh embracing. Had she sent for him? Had she begun her tricks again? She certainly looked guilty when she met his eyes.

  Outrage and jealousy clawed into him. His male territorial instincts blazed and he wanted to wrench her away and kiss her senseless. But years of self-discipline prevailed and he kept himself in control.

  Harsh saw him and, with a deferential smile, greeted him respectfully.

  ‘Pranam, Bhaiya Maharaj! Father told me that you had found Bhabhi Saheb so I came to meet her,’ he said, beaming, his happiness at Meethi’s return apparent.

  So Meethi hadn’t called him. The palace grapevine must be buzzing with the news.

  Veer gave a curt nod, his jaw clenched tight, and Harsh, sensing something amiss, gave an uncertain smile and took his leave.

  Veer looked at Meethi and said softly, incisively, ‘Thinking of going somewhere?’

  Meethi looked down shiftily, and Veer wanted to shake her. Far from being repentant, she wasn’t remotely sorry for her deception. She was still trying to escape.

  He clasped her by the elbow and frog-marched her into the den. Once inside, he let her go and turned away towards his desk.

  Meethi stood nervously, shifting from one foot to the other. She was dressed in a voluminous churidaar kameez that hung on her slight frame and there were shadows in her face.

  But he hardened his heart against her seeming vulnerability. She only seemed fragile and delicate. Inside, she was a tough cookie, conniving and shrewd.

  ‘You are still trying to escape, aren’t you? But where will you go now? Your beloved guruji has forsaken you, and you have been reduced to living in that desolate place all by yourself! You left your home for his promises of fame and glory and the promises proved false, didn’t they? And he is untraceable. All your options are closed now,’ Veer said with cruel satisfaction.

  ‘He is not untraceable! He has gone abroad for an exhibition tour,’ Meethi offered warily.

  ‘Why didn’t he take you along?’

  Veer felt his anger mount at her teacher. He had left her to fend for herself in that dump. No wonder she was so thin and emaciated.

  ‘I didn’t want to go!’ Meethi said, her long, dark lashes coming down to screen her gaze. Guruji had wanted her to accompany him but Meethi had refused because she had forgotten to take her passport when she had fled. Getting a new one would have been impossible, considering she was meant to be dead, and she had been scared of being found out.

  Veer looked at her pale face and her shuttered eyes. She wasn’t telling him the whole story; she was hiding something from him. His anger mounted. He wanted to shake her by her slight shoulders and make her see the truth about her guruji.

  ‘You are underweight, pale and sickly. He didn’t even ensure that you got enough to eat! He happily let you stay in that dump yet you say he didn’t abandon you! This is what comes of running away from your life of luxury,’ he said insultingly.

  Meethi looked at him with a mixture of fear and frustration. His handsome face, with its day-old stubble, bore an implacable expression. He would never believe her about Guruji. But she had to find a way out. She couldn’t stay here any more. And he couldn’t make her!

  ‘Why don’t you let me go? Divorce me and Maaji Saheb will find a better girl for you. I have brought you nothing but unhappiness. You will be happier with a more suitable girl,’ she implored.

  Veer looked at her icily. Her demand for a divorce was like a punch in his guts. Her brazenness shocked him. She wanted to be free of him. And she was cleverly disguising her desire to pretend that she was actually thinking about him.

  ‘Do you think marriage is child’s play? Marry for a lark and divorce on a whim!’ he said angrily.

  ‘It’s not a whim. I’ve thought things over carefully and if you also think rationally you will realise that I am right,’ Meethi said, trying to hold on to her composure.

  ‘What things have you thought over? What is racional about a divorce? Have I ill-treated you? Made unreasonable demands on you? Forced you to do anything against your will? Or abused you in any way that you are demanding a divorce? Why are you bent upon besmirching the family honour?’ Veer bit out.

  As she listened to his self-righteous tone and his mention of family honour, Meethi felt the first stirrings of anger bubble inside her. He had always r
egarded her as a young girl who didn’t know her own mind and treated her accordingly. And he was still doing it. He was as patronising and arrogant as ever.

  Veer indicted her harshly. ‘The truth is you never wanted to marry me! You acquiesced only because it was what Baba wanted. After his death you realised you didn’t have to stay married any longer and so you ran away.’

  Meethi felt her throat closing up at the mention of Baba. So, this was what Veer really thought about her! That she was a conniving opportunist who had married him under false pretences.

  ‘I gave you so much and asked for so little in return. I tried to play the understanding husband and look where that got me!’ he condemned her.

  Meethi felt the dam within her burst. She had had enough and flared up in bitter anger. ‘You—understanding! Did you ever understand what I was going through? You married me and thrust me into the role of a Maharani, with massive duties and responsibilities on my head but no support whatsoever.’

  As Veer’s wife she had to carry out a heavy load of responsibilities which included getting up at the crack of dawn to do puja at the royal temple, supervising the running of their vast household and attending numerous meetings of charity organisations connected to the royal family. To top it all, she had to frequently face Maaji Saheb’s ire because their heated passionate nights would make her oversleep in the mornings and she was often late in carrying out her religious duties.

  She had always felt dwarfed and insignificant in her opulent surroundings. Life at the mahal had stifled her and drained away all her energy. Her last six months at the mahal had been spent in agonising claustrophobia.

  Veer felt a stab of satisfaction at Meethi’s vehement tone. He preferred the feisty, argumentative Meethi.

  ‘Did I ever force you to carry out your responsibilities? I always told you to take it easy,’ he responded.

  Veer, with his bubbling energy and vitality, hadn’t understood her predicament and, whenever she tried to discuss it with him, he would tell her that she would learn it all soon. He would sound exasperated, and she always ended up feeling like a recalcitrant child who needed humouring.