His Runaway Royal Bride

by Tanu Jain

  Veer’s mouth twisted. ‘You never told me specifically what they said. You just said that you thought the family didn’t like you or approve of you. You should have told me that they were being so vicious.’

  Meethi said in a wobbly voice, ‘How could I say anything? When I was rude to Chachi Saheb you were angry with me and you told me I should learn to behave myself!’

  Veer looked at her broodingly, his mind going back to the incident she referred to, which had happened just after their marriage. He recalled that she had once been unforgivably rude to one of the Chachi Sahebs and Maaji Saheb had narrated the incident to him—clearly, Meethi had been at fault.

  He had spoken to Meethi, telling her to be more circumspect in future, but she had flared up, arguing incessantly, and the argument had got out of control. Now, with hindsight, Veer admitted shamefacedly that the fault had been completely his. Not only had he assumed the worst of Meethi but he’d behaved arrogantly, angered by what he saw as her intransigence since he was unused to anyone questioning his instructions or arguing with him.

  He said heavily, ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved. Though I didn’t know that they were being so vicious. Still, it was wrong of me to condemn you like that.’

  Meethi bowed her head and said, ‘It doesn’t matter any more.’

  Veer felt heaviness invade his chest at her despairing tone. He had been a blind fool. And she had been hurt because of his insensitivity.

  ‘Of course it matters! If I had known I would have set them straight immediately and they wouldn’t have dared to spew their venom. And you wouldn’t have needed to run away!’ he said vehemently.

  Meethi spoke through the lump in her throat. ‘They’re not wrong in what they said. They’ve just pointed out what is clearly apparent…’

  Veer interrupted her urgently. ‘Not wrong! How can you say that? What have they been saying to you?’

  Meethi remained silent. The pain that had ripped inside her at the cruel remarks had subsided just a little. Hurtful though they had been, there was, after all, truth in what they had said.

  ‘Tell me, Meethi,’ he said, gently tilting her chin up.

  Meethi choked out, ‘It’s apparent that I am not a suitable wife for you.’

  ‘Why are you not suitable?’ Veer asked with an incredulous gaze.

  ‘Because I am short, young and immature!’ The words burst out, full of self-loathing.

  Veer was shocked by Meethi’s self-condemnation.

  ‘Are you crazy? How can you say all this?’ he asked vehemently.

  ‘It’s the truth. And everyone knows this,’ she said despondently.

  ‘Who is everyone?’ he asked grimly.

  ‘Everyone! Maaji Saheb, Chachi Sahebs, Chacha Sahebs, your relatives and even the servants! They all disapproved of me and wondered what you saw in me and why you married me. They were all vociferous about my shortcomings,’ Meethi said, long-buried hurt bursting forth.

  Veer again felt a punch in the gut at his inability to have spotted all this.

  ‘I don’t speak properly or behave like I am supposed to and I embarrass everyone. And, though you didn’t say so, it was apparent that you too were embarrassed by me in public,’ Meethi recounted painfully.

  Veer looked at Meethi, stunned. She thought that she embarrassed him! ‘How have you reached this conclusion?’

  ‘At functions or parties, you never paid any attention to me. You never spoke a word to me and you had begun staying away so much. Everyone used to say that you were embarrassed by my presence and to avoid me had begun travelling so much,’ Meethi said, agonising memories from the past flooding her mind.

  Feeling lost and lonely at the numerous social functions, she would try to stick to Veer like glue but he always seemed uncomfortable and would slip off to mingle at the first opportunity he got. She was forced to endure the company of his numerous relatives, who cold-shouldered her for the most part. She had attended numerous such dinners in the past and returned miserable and heartsick.

  Veer was shell-shocked by what Meethi was saying. How could she have been living with so many misunderstandings and erroneous impressions?

  ‘Was that why you ran away? Because you really thought I wasn’t happy with our marriage?’ Veer asked rawly.

  Meethi remained silent, but her silence spoke volumes. Had he behaved like that? How could she have read him so wrong?

  But the cynical part of him prodded his conscience. Wasn’t she telling the truth? Hadn’t the perception that Meethi was young, inexperienced and at times childish been at the back of his mind and dictated his behaviour? And she was right that he had felt uncomfortable if she got too close in public. She made him feel vulnerable, and he had hated it.

  Bitter compunction filled him as he looked at her small earnest face. She had been so young and he had been distant and reserved. She had been a mere nineteen-year-old girl, sheltered and protected, flung into a strange place with no one on her side. And he hadn’t tried to explain. Had insensitively expected her to cope with such an overwhelming family set-up as his. He had arrogantly assumed she would be happy to marry him, grateful even. No wonder she hadn’t understood anything and had got most things—his feelings and his behaviour—wrong.

  His mind buzzing with a plethora of caustic musings, he focused his gaze on Meethi, who was standing with the thali, head bent miserably.

  Gently taking the thali and putting it down, he said, ‘Meethi, you have it all wrong. I have been blind and insensitive not to have seen what you were facing but I swear in front of this God of yours that I never regretted marrying you.’

  Meethi looked at him through troubled eyes and the uncertainty he glimpsed smote him. She didn’t believe him. He couldn’t really blame her. But he would make sure she did soon.

  ‘You know that I never lie. And I have something of great importance to tell you. But first we have to go somewhere,’ he said. He clasped her hand and took her outside.

  Meethi went with him, silently trying to assimilate all that he had said. He had sworn in front of God that he didn’t regret their marriage, and she knew that Veer never lied. But if he didn’t regret marrying her then why had he been so distant and reserved all those months? What was it he wanted to tell her?

  They went outside to where the car was waiting and they drove the short distance to the helipad. She wondered where they were flying off to but Veer didn’t answer her softly worded query.

  They boarded the helicopter and landed a couple of hours later.

  Meethi felt her heart stop beating for a moment as she recognised familiar landmarks. He had brought her to her home town. She looked at Veer, her face paling.

  He seemed tense and said unsmilingly, ‘I have organised a Shanti path for Baba. I had planned to bring you here once you recovered but…’He left his sentence incomplete.

  At the mention of her father, Meethi felt the agony of loss rip through her. Her beloved baba, the anchor of her life, was no more. She had left him alone when he had needed her. She had failed in her duty towards him. She bent her head in despair.

  In miserable silence, they reached her house. As she entered her modest house, she saw Nirmala amma, their old housekeeper, waiting. Meethi ran to her and was enfolded in her frail arms.

  Tears ran down her cheeks, and she sobbed, ‘I wasn’t a good daughter! I let my baba go away!’

  Nirmala amma consoled her, patting her gently. ‘It was God’s will, Bitiya! No one could do anything about it.’

  Meethi felt a snow-white handkerchief being pushed at her. It was Veer’s. Meethi exerted immense control and quietened, and Veer held her elbow and led her inside.

  She entered her childhood home slowly, each nook and cranny resplendent with memories. She had been so happy here. Ensconced in her parents’ indulgent love, naively optimistic and joyous, she could never have foreseen the pain and suffering that awaited her.

  Veer led her towards the courtyard where a pujari sat in front of a havan kund.
They sat down and the puja began.

  The pujari explained that the puja was meant to ensure that the departed soul would find peace and would have a happy life when he was reborn. He recited verses, and Veer and Meethi proffered their offerings in the sacred fire.

  She felt tears welling up in her eyes when she thought of her baba. She had seen him only once after she became pregnant but she knew he had been ecstatic. She had missed him and would rail at him for not coming to see her and he would offer some excuse or other. Though he would call her regularly and exhort her to eat properly, go for a walk, take care of her health and stay happy and content. But he hadn’t come.

  The next moment she felt a sliver of emotion slide inside her. At least he had been spared the devastation of her miscarriage and the heartbreak of her marriage breaking down. Emotion overwhelmed her. Where was he now? Had he been reborn already? Was he happy? Would she be able to meet him again in some form? Could he see her, sense her sadness? She felt her breath catch agonisingly and a band of pain seemed to squeeze her heart. Unshed tears burned in her eyes.

  Suddenly she felt her hand being clasped gently by Veer. She looked at him and was shocked to see a line of tension around his mouth and an expression of grief on his handsome face. He looked drawn, and his eyes seemed shadowed with pain. She knew that he had been attached to Baba and they had shared a warm and comfortable relationship, which was quite unlike the typical formal relationship between an Indian father-in-law and son-in-law. He had tried his hardest to persuade her baba to come and live with them but, when her father hadn’t agreed, he had taken her for frequent visits to Baba, at least in the beginning. He too must be missing him. She squeezed his hand softly.

  The puja came to an end, and Meethi made a last fervent wish with closed eyes and a brimming heart that her baba found himself in a happy and peaceful place.

  After the pujari had been fed and sent off with a handsome dakshina, they sat down for lunch and then Veer disappeared into Baba’s study with the lawyer for some pending paperwork.

  Meethi went to her balcony and sat down, patting the chair next to her and gesturing to Nirmala amma to sit. ‘Amma, do you need anything? I couldn’t meet you before but…’

  Nirmala amma shook her head and, wiping the tears in her eyes with the end of her sari, said, ‘Kunwar Maharaj is a very good man. He has taken care of everything. He told me that I could stay here for as long as I lived and he gives me a monthly salary as well as money for the upkeep of the house. He told me that he wanted the house to remain as it is so that you can come and stay in your childhood house whenever you want. Bitiya, you are very lucky to have such a caring husband.’

  Meethi was amazed at Veer’s gesture, but remained silent. It was another instance of Veer’s overstretched sense of responsibility and his uncomplaining willingness to shoulder burdens which weren’t his. With her and Baba both gone, he could have easily disposed of her parental house and paid off Nirmala amma but he hadn’t done so.

  Nirmala amma continued, ‘Your baba died a content man. Though he desperately wanted to bounce his grandchild on his knee, he was at peace because you were his one weakness and you were in good hands.’

  Meethi burst out raggedly, ‘I should have been with him! If I had been with him, he would have been fine!’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault! Don’t blame yourself! Kunwar Maharaj was there instead of you and he did more than a real son does these days,’ Nirmala amma said bracingly.

  Meethi nodded. She knew that after she had collapsed and been hospitalised, Veer had taken charge and overseen Baba’s last rites.

  ‘But why did Baba suddenly fall so ill? What was wrong?’

  Nirmala amma looked at her silently, an uncomfortable expression on her face. Meethi felt a frisson of foreboding slide up her spine.

  ‘What’s wrong, amma? You are not telling me something. What is it?’ she asked, alarmed.

  ‘It’s nothing, Bitiya! Kunwar Maharaj will tell you. I…’ she stuttered.

  Meethi felt the hair at her nape prickle. She could sense Veer’s arrival. She turned and saw Veer standing with a grave expression. Nirmala amma left in a flurry of relief.

  Meethi collapsed despondently with her head in her hands.

  ‘What was wrong with Baba? He must have been careless about his health! If only I hadn’t neglected him, he would be alive,’ she said, baring her anguish.

  Veer sat next to her and gently prised apart her hands. He knew the time had come to tell Meethi the secret he had been hiding. He just hoped that she forgave him for keeping such an important truth from her.

  ‘You didn’t neglect him,’ he said bracingly.

  ‘Yes, I did! I didn’t meet him for the last six months and didn’t check if he was eating properly or not,’ she burst out with raw self-condemnation.

  ‘Meethi, your father doted upon you! Do you think he could’ve gone without meeting you for so long? There was a reason why he stayed away from you,’ Veer said sombrely, his hands tightening on hers.

  Meethi looked at him, confused. ‘What was the reason?’

  ‘Baba had been diagnosed with cancer,’ Veer said softly, his eyes shadowed, deep grooves on either side of his mouth.

  ‘Cancer—?’ she breathed in a fragile whisper.

  She looked at him in unbelieving shock. It wasn’t possible. Her baba had cancer? If he had cancer, how could she not have known it?

  ‘It was first detected around six months before we got married,’ he said unevenly, his face wearing a stark look.

  ‘Before we got married? But how could I not know? Why didn’t he tell me?’ she choked out unbelievingly.

  Why had her baba kept such a major secret from her?

  ‘He didn’t tell you because he knew you wouldn’t agree to marriage and he didn’t want you to worry,’ Veer said hesitantly, unwilling to tell her that privately he had agreed with his father-in-law. He too hadn’t wanted to worry Meethi.

  ‘But if he told you, why didn’t you tell me?’ Meethi asked in pained stupefaction.

  Veer remained silent, his eyes veiled with shadows, and Meethi felt cold betrayal slide down her spine.

  ‘Because he forbade me from telling you,’ he said sombrely after a moment’s silence.

  The two most important men in her life had withheld such an important fact from her. She looked at Veer, feeling shattered, unable to fathom such a deception. It could only be because they regarded her as too young, an immature child. Of no consequence.

  ‘You both thought I was infantile and immature,’ Meethi said in an agonised whisper. She sat up, wresting her hands from his tight grip, shoulders taut with shocked despair.

  ‘No one thinks you’re immature. It’s just that we didn’t want you to be anxious and perturbed,’ Veer said, feeling dismay kick in at her anguished expression.

  ‘Why? Do you think I would’ve worried him by roaming about with a woebegone face, crying and weeping? You didn’t think I was mature enough to handle the fact of his illness, na!’ she said hotly. Bitter anger filled her.

  Sighing at the intractable look on her face, he said, ‘I know I’m at fault for not telling you, but firstly we thought he would be fine after the chemotherapy because the doctors were very positive and secondly if I had gone against Baba’s wishes and told you, he would’ve taken it badly and it would have hindered his recovery process.’

  ‘You didn’t even let me say goodbye to him for one last time. I couldn’t hug him or weep for him. You know how much I loved him!’ Meethi wailed, agonised words bursting from her.

  Veer felt her pain lash at him. The unpalatable truth was that she had been robbed of a proper farewell with her beloved baba, and he had been helpless to alleviate her pain in this regard. He was guilty of what she was accusing him of. His face twisted with remorse.

  ‘Meethi, I’m sorry for not taking you that day to your father’s funeral but he had expressly forbidden me from bringing you. It was his dying wish that his last rites should be c
arried out by me. And he had extracted a deathbed promise that you wouldn’t be allowed to see him,’ he added with shuddering regret.

  ‘Why? How could he be so cruel? My own baba didn’t want to see me,’ she sobbed, her eyes swimming with hot tears.

  Veer felt her pain but he couldn’t let her go on like this.

  ‘He ached to see you and hold you tight but he couldn’t face your agony when you saw him. He was very strong throughout but he couldn’t bear the emotional upheaval of seeing you distressed so he stayed away from you. And forbade me from bringing you to see him.’

  ‘And of course, being the dutiful son-in-law, you agreed with him. Both of you wouldn’t have kept it a secret if I had been a man! I wish I had been his son!’ Meethi lashed out, feeling totally betrayed.

  She stood up jerkily, turning away from him, moving to the balcony edge, her knuckles white as she clasped the railing, her back to him.

  ‘A husband and wife are supposed to be equal partners but you’ve never considered me your equal in any way. I’ve just been there to be pampered and cosseted like a small child or a pet you’ve kept!’ she whispered, her voice as faint as air.

  Veer stood, gobsmacked, as Meethi held up an unflattering mirror to his attitude. She was right. He had never considered her his equal in the true sense of the word. He had been patronising and condescending. Their relationship had been defined by him taking on the role of provider and ensuring Meethi was in the role of the dependant. He had been guilty of male arrogance by assuming Meethi should be cosseted and protected, while she had proved herself strong and more than capable of facing problems by the manner in which she had faced the vitriolic comments with brave stoicism.

  ‘I hadn’t seen Baba for more than a year. I felt my heart would burst with agony at his absence and his loneliness,’ Meethi continued, baring the hurt festering inside.

  Veer’s arms closed around her stiff, resisting form and, drawing her back, clasping her close to him, he said softly, ‘Forgive me! But don’t think harshly of him. Because of the treatment, he had become emaciated, gaunt and had lost all his hair. But we were hopeful that he would recover and become the way he had been. He wanted you to remember him as he had been—vibrant, lively and healthy.’