by Tanu Jain
Much to her surprise, Veer had remained close to her throughout—not too close that she felt suffocated but near enough, and Meethi had felt the knot of apprehension inside her easing. No one had dared to step out of line with Veer around and, saved from being the brunt of critical comments, she had relaxed a bit.
‘Come here, dear Meethi! Don’t be scared; I won’t bite you.’ And the elder Chachi Saheb burst into unkind laughter.
Meethi went slowly, wishing Veer would return. The knot of apprehension inside her returned, her stomach turning over sickly. She knew she would have to face their vitriolic comments. But she couldn’t walk out rudely.
She had walked out once after retaliating when the Chachi Sahebs were deriding her father and the repercussions had been enormous. They had tattled to Maaji Saheb, who had created a scene, and they had collectively castigated her, pouring contempt on her upbringing. Maaji Saheb had also complained to Veer, twisting the facts and putting the blame on her squarely.
Veer, believing his mother’s version, had been annoyed with her and had admonished her. Meethi had flared up at what she saw was his arrogant, unjust behaviour and had argued with him, and Veer had called her wilful and immature. He had walked out angrily, telling her he would be back when she had learnt to behave.
He had stayed away for two days, and a miserable Meethi had decided that she would henceforth not react to the family’s snide comments.
‘So, tell me, where did you run off to? What secret are you hiding?’ the younger Chachi Saheb asked maliciously.
Meethi remained silent. The Chachi Sahebs had always been at the forefront of the malicious campaign that Maaji Saheb had initiated. They lost no opportunity to belittle her and point out her utter unsuitability as Veer’s wife, loudly and publicly.
‘Kismet ho to aisi! No lineage or pedigree but this girl successfully trapped the most eligible royal prince and then, on top of it, ran off with someone else!’ the elder Chachi Saheb said spitefully.
Her cronies smirked.
Meethi knew they revelled in smearing dirt on her but still she was aghast at their accusations.
She answered evenly, ‘Veer must have told you that I had an accident and…’
But the elder Chachi Saheb rudely interrupted her, saying venomously, ‘That’s just a tale that you have cooked up. The truth is something else and I’ve set my sources to finding out.’
Meethi felt faint. If they discovered that she had run away willingly, Veer’s reputation would be ruined.
She said, ‘Excuse me, I am not feeling well. I need some fresh air,’ and made to walk away.
‘Kya hua? Will you be giving us some good news again? But don’t disappoint us like last time! This time don’t go tripping down the stairs. Your carelessness robbed Veer of his heir,’ the elder Chachi Saheb hissed nastily.
Meethi felt pain spearing her insides at the cruel reminder of her miscarriage and the terrible loss. They were right. She had been careless, and it had resulted in the death of her baby.
The younger Chachi Saheb continued, ‘Poor Veer! I pity him. To be landed with a short and fat wife who has no standards, no breeding, no carriage and who can’t even give him a son! I will make sure our Pinar stays away from her, else she will contaminate her too.’
The women around them sniggered and the elder Chachi Saheb said, ‘I hope you are ashamed of yourself for being a blot on the family name! Why don’t you go away and leave poor Veer in peace? We will find a nice respectable girl for him.’
The elder Chacha Saheb, who had heard the last part, joined in contemptuously. ‘If Veer had listened to me and married the daughter of the royal family of Ajnor, he would have been happier. This is what comes of marrying a girl with dubious lineage! She is not one of us, na!’
Meethi paled and stood still. The cruel words punched a blow through her insides. They always judged her unfavourably, attacked her viciously and watched her writhe in pain with glee.
But after a moment she regrouped her defences. She was no longer the young helpless girl they could browbeat. They had to learn a few home truths. She had nothing further to lose.
With forced calm she said, ‘Thank God I’m not one of you! At least I’m not vicious and cruel like you all.’
And, ignoring their gasps at her audacious reply, she moved leadenly outside. She couldn’t stay here and listen to their poison any more.
Head bent, walking blindly, she rammed into Harshvardhan, who had returned after seeing off Pinar and her parents and had heard the last part of the exchange.
‘Why can’t you leave her alone? Don’t you know Bhabhi Saheb hasn’t fully recovered from her accident?’ Harshvardhan said in an upset voice ignoring the basilisk stare his mother gave him. He hated the way the family behaved with Meethi and had tried many times to intervene, but to no avail.
He shepherded Meethi out of the mahal.
Veer had decided to leave but the younger Chacha Saheb, Harshvardhan’s father, had begged for a word in private. Seeing that Meethi had gone to the restroom and deciding he would just stay for a moment, Veer went with him to his study.
His uncle had always been debt-ridden, frittering away his money on gambling and betting, and Veer would often bail him out because he hadn’t wanted Harsh’s education to suffer. Now, when his uncle asked him for a loan yet again, Veer declined because Harsh had finished his education, become a qualified lawyer and was now financially independent, having joined a reputed law firm.
He couldn’t see Meethi anywhere and for a moment feared that she had run off again. He had men posted all around, and it would be almost impossible for her, but a sense of foreboding assailed him. About to go out in search of her, his eldest uncle and aunts waylaid him.
For a moment they looked at him uncomfortably and then his elder uncle, clearing his throat, began, ‘Veer beta, I don’t want to bother you but I think Bahurani took umbrage at what we said.’
The younger Chachi Saheb said, ‘I merely said that she should rest and regain her strength because she seems to have been ill but she…’ Her voice trailed off artfully.
The elder Chachi Saheb said, ‘Since Jiji Saheb is not here we thought we could offer our assistance if she needed anything and I offered to take her to my personal physician but she just answered rudely and rushed out.’
The elder Chacha Saheb said, ‘What Bahurani said doesn’t matter but I think you should ask a doctor to see her because she seems disturbed.’
The women nodded solemnly in agreement.
Veer nodded expressionlessly and went out looking for her. He found Meethi standing with Harsh in the driveway. She was immobile, her face set while Harsh was saying something to her in a low voice.
When he reached them, Harsh said, ‘Bhaiya Maharaj, I want to talk to you about something.’
Veer said in an unsmiling voice, ‘Come tomorrow in the morning. Right now we are leaving.’
‘But…’ Harsh’s voice trailed off in the face of Veer’s grim look.
Meethi sat in the car with a frozen expression on her face. Numb with misery, a familiar cold and clammy fist was tightening her insides inexorably. She had put on a brave face in front of the family but their cruel, venomous words were echoing in her mind, crippling her emotionally and leaving her feeling bruised and broken. The pain of her past was devouring her. It was all beginning again.
Veer remained silent, though he was seething with anger. Once inside, he frogmarched her to their chambers and turned on her.
‘Why do you always create scenes and embarrass the family?’ he attacked her.
Meethi answered back, through her inner torment, her face pale as marble. ‘What did I do? I was standing outside quietly.’
‘Chacha and Chachi Saheb told me everything. How you answered rudely and rushed out,’ he said scathingly.
Meethi felt bitter humour fill her. They had deluded him again, feeding him lies and untruths. But what did it matter? She was feeling completely wrung out and couldn’t sum
mon the energy to even nod.
Veer noted that she looked pale and sickly. And defeated. Was her wound hurting her?
Pulsing with tension, he looked at her. ‘Will you tell me what they said that warranted such behaviour?’
What could she tell him? Where should she start? He would never believe or understand her. He never had. It had always been like this before too. Virtually everyone would denigrate her, expressing disdain and contempt so duplicitously that Veer wouldn’t have any inkling and he would be convinced that it was all her fault.
And it was all her fault, she thought bleakly.
Her fault that she had married Veer. Her fault that she was not tall and slender. Her fault that she was young and immature. Her fault that she didn’t belong to a royal family. Her fault that she didn’t have any family. Her fault that her baby had died before it had lived. Tears pricked at the back of her throat and her chest ached with suppressed emotion.
The self-confidence that she had managed to regain over the past years had dissipated under the family’s vicious comments. She had thought she was no longer the naive, gauche girl, eager to please everyone. But she had been mistaken. That girl remained inside still. Her sense of self-worth nosedived. She had never felt so unloved and lonely.
Feeling hopelessly shattered, Meethi squeezed her eyes shut.
Veer’s criticism didn’t impinge upon her. At another time she would’ve jumped to defend herself but right now she felt listless with misery. There was no point in arguing or proving anything to Veer. He just wouldn’t understand. A chill was forming inside her, spreading out, freezing her, paralysing her, rendering her immovable. The wretchedness that had become her constant companion after her miscarriage returned.
Veer looked at Meethi and the confusion inside him grew. She stood in blank silence when the Meethi of old would’ve jumped down his throat, fighting and arguing with him. But she was doing none of those things.
Her apathetic silence made something explode inside him and he blasted with blazing black eyes, ‘What is wrong with you? Have you lost your tongue?’
Meethi’s purse clattered down on the floor. Her face turned ashen, her eyes dark and bruised, the skin stretching tight across her cheekbones, her hand trembling and her breath coming out in short gasps. She looked fragile and breakable.
Chapter Five
VEER LOOKED AT Meethi and felt as if someone had smacked him hard. His vivacious wife had been reduced to a nervous wreck! She was trembling as if afraid. She wasn’t herself at all. What had caused her to become a mere shadow of herself?
Something was seriously wrong with her. An unnamed emotion tightened inside his chest. Plunged into anxiety, he got up and went to her. She seemed to shrink where she stood, almost hunching over. Another disturbing bolt of anxiety slammed into him.
Taking hold of her hands and lifting her chin up, he asked gruffly, ‘What is it, Meethi? Tell me what’s wrong. Are you unwell?’
Deep tremors assailed her, and her cold hands trembled.
She looked at him wordlessly and the vulnerable look in her eyes smote him, twisted at his insides and clawed at his throat. He wanted to scoop her up and banish the vulnerability from her eyes.
Before he could say anything else, there was a discreet cough at the door. Veer turned, his arm going around Meethi, tucking her next to him protectively.
It was his major-domo. ‘Maharaj Saheb, the doctor has come,’ he said respectfully.
Veer nodded and commanded, ‘Bring him to my room.’ He’d asked for the doctor to be brought because he had wanted Meethi’s head injury checked.
He walked with an unprotesting, pale Meethi towards his room. She moved like an automaton, and he sat her down on the bed.
The doctor came and bowed low in greeting. He asked warmly, ‘Namaskar, Maharani Saheba! How are you?’
Meethi looked at the family doctor, who had always been compassionate and understanding. But she couldn’t dredge up a smile. She felt completely numb inside.
Veer stood expressionlessly, trying to control his anxiety. ‘Something is seriously wrong with her. Check everything properly… She has a cut on her scalp which has been bandaged,’ he said in a grim tone.
The doctor bowed his head and said, ‘Ji, Maharaj Saheb!’ Everyone jumped at Veer’s bidding. He asked Meethi to lie down and she did so silently.
Veer left the room. He figured both Meethi and the doctor would feel more comfortable without him hovering.
The doctor made a thorough and detailed examination and asked Meethi several probing questions. She tried to answer as best she could. She was feeling limp with misery and just wanted to escape the turmoil in her mind.
As the doctor walked out, an agitated Veer immediately pounced upon him. ‘Well? What’s wrong with her?’ he asked impatiently.
‘Maharani Saheba is suffering from acute depression and stress,’ he said baldly.
‘What do you mean?’ Veer demanded, his eyes narrowing.
‘The symptoms indicate a feeling of being cut off and withdrawn. I would say that she has bottled up a lot of pain and trauma,’ the doctor said cautiously.
‘So, what has to be done?’ Veer asked tightly.
The doctor said in a serious tone, ‘Maharaj Saheb, she has to be handled gently. She should be encouraged to talk, bring out the bottled-up pain, and it would be best if she could be helped to get over her despair. I did tell Maaji Saheb also that Maharani Saheba required the utmost care and attention; otherwise she may be heading for a complete nervous breakdown. She is extremely vulnerable right now.’
‘When did you tell Maaji Saheb? Why was I not told?’ Veer queried sharply.
The doctor cleared his throat and said, ‘I told her when I came to check up on Maharani Saheba just before her unfortunate miscarriage and Maaji Saheb said that she would tell you.’
Why hadn’t his mother mentioned anything about Meethi’s condition?
The months before the miscarriage had been a particularly trying time. He had been busy with his other commitments and managing his huge businesses and, due to the incessant travelling, he hadn’t realised that Meethi was in such a fragile state of mind. If he had known he would’ve reassured her and taken the necessary steps to ensure that she was better cared for.
Veer went in and stood looking at Meethi. She was lying still, eyes closed, her face pale and fragile. Sensing his presence, she opened her eyes and sat up, her brow furrowed and her fingers pleating the bedcover.
Veer took off the clasp of her necklace and removed her earrings. Helping her to stand, he unwound her sari and his heart constricted when she submitted to him without a word.
He then helped her lie down and gently pulled a quilt over her.
‘Try and sleep if you can,’ he said gruffly.
Meethi lowered her eyelashes to hide her disbelief. Veer didn’t seem angry with her any more. She turned on her side, her back towards him, and lay stiffly.
Shaking off his coat, after a moment’s hesitation he slid into the bed, pulled her stiff back towards him and began threading his fingers across her forehead through her hair in a caressing motion.
Meethi stiffened, but slowly her breathing grew steady and she dozed off.
Veer looked at her as she slept. The shadows in her face disturbed him. There were dark bruises under her eyes and grey pallor in her cheeks. Had he reduced her to this? She looked so defenceless and vulnerable that it would be inhuman to remain unmoved.
Her diminutive figure, juxtaposed with his tall, well-built frame, had always made him powerfully aware of his masculinity, aroused his protective male instincts. Those feelings returned with a vengeance.
His deep-seated anger at her deception and treachery melted away. Emotion inundated him when he thought of how he had felt when he’d thought she was dead. It was as if a cold block had wedged inside him, and he had spent several days in an alcoholic daze, trying to ease the jagged sense of loss.
His eyes roamed over her pale, ga
unt face and he felt a kick in his chest. His feisty wife heading for a nervous breakdown! Not if he could help it.
Something was amiss. Doubts assailed him. What had made her so unhappy that she had feigned her own death in order to escape?
If she had fled because she wanted a life of fame and popularity then why was she leading a quiet life in a remote cottage? She had lost her enticing glow. And the radiance that always seemed to shine through her seemed snuffed out. If she had felt trapped in their marriage why had she not thrived while away?
So the question remained. Why did she flee?
Could the miscarriage have triggered it?
The pregnancy, just after a couple of years of marriage, had been a shock for both of them because she had wanted to study further and he hadn’t been keen to start a family so soon. They had been taking stringent precautions but Meethi had been a walking temptation and had played havoc with his control and they had had a couple of close calls.
But gradually he had become used to the idea and, though he hadn’t told Meethi, the vision of a tiny girl with Meethi’s quicksilver laugh and naughty grin would besiege him at inopportune moments and his heart rate would slow down at the thought of the horde of boys that would pursue her.
The miscarriage had devastated him, coming as it did on the heels of Baba’s death. But he hadn’t had the luxury of wallowing in his sorrow. He had a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. His iron self-control had kicked in and he had discharged the numerous duties, functioning on autopilot.
He had forced himself to behave dispassionately in front of Meethi, who had to be sedated for two days.
Had her agony led to her fleeing?
Or had she always been unhappy with their marriage? He had tried his best to fulfil his duties as a husband but her initial refusal to his proposal of marriage had been burnt into his memory and had been hard to erase. Had she acquiesced only because of her father? Had her sincerity and happiness been figments of his imagination? Had her whisperings of love been false? Had she been, God forbid, biding her time?
