by Tanu Jain
Meethi had heard enough. ‘You drove me away the last time, made me dishonour my vows of marriage, but I will not do it again. I love Veer and will remain by his side,’ she said, trying to appear firm though her insides were quaking.
‘You are forgetting an important fact! You cannot give him a child. How will the dynasty continue? Once Veer knows this truth about you, will he stay married to you? You are a fool if you believe that,’ she said spitefully.
She looked with pitiless satisfaction as Meethi’s face whitened and she trembled.
‘It would be in your best interests to leave with your head held high. If you stay, you will be forced out sooner or later because Veer is not a fool. The family dynasty and its continuation are very important for him. I’m going now. And don’t tell tales to Veer. He didn’t believe you then and he won’t believe you this time. I will wait for your assurance that you will leave as soon as possible.’
She turned to go and then turned back again. Opening her handbag, she took out a small pouch and threw it on a chair.
‘Your ten-carat ring! Wear it while you can.’ She left with a cruel smirk, leaving a shaken Meethi behind.
The sequence of events leading to her miscarriage, which she had ruthlessly buried, knifed through her insides.
She had been six months pregnant and hadn’t met her father for the past five months. Dismal and heartsick, she had even wept in front of Veer to take her to meet her father. But Veer had prevaricated and gone away again on one of those interminable business visits of his. He had promised to take her soon.
He’d returned after two days and, with a sombre look, gently broke the news of her father’s demise. Meethi had gone into shock at the suddenness, because her father had been hale and hearty and there had been no indication that he had been unwell.
She had blamed herself for not looking after him better and had wept with misery. She wanted to rush to see her father for the last time but, to her horror, she realised that she wasn’t going to be allowed to go to his funeral. Maaji Saheb had insensitively stated that pregnant women did not attend funerals and that if she went it would be a bad omen for the child.
Veer had harshly reprimanded his mother but Meethi had gone to pieces and the doctor had been called to give her a mild sedative. She had no recollection of the next two days because she was kept under mild sedation. When she surfaced she was informed by Maaji Saheb that Veer had left to carry out the last rites of her father, another burden on his head, she’d added callously, because her father had no son.
Mad with grief and a sense of betrayal, Meethi had flared up and pugnaciously insisted that she was going to her father’s house. She went out of her room intending to call her driver, followed by an angry Maaji Saheb. The next few minutes were cruelly etched in her memory.
Unfazed by Maaji Saheb’s anger, she had gone to the landing, intending to walk down the stairs, but Maaji Saheb dragged her back by the arm, insisting that she could not go. Meethi tried to shake off her vice-like grip and in the skirmish lost her balance and, to her horror, felt herself hurtling down the huge staircase.
As she lay at the bottom of the stairs, she felt warm liquid spill between her legs and lost consciousness.
When she came to, she found herself in the hospital and knew with devastating certainty that her baby was no more. Filled with mind-numbing anguish, she tried to sit up and saw a gaunt and hollow-eyed Veer get up from the chair next to her bed.
Seeing him released the flood of anguish and when he put his arms around her, she muttered brokenly, ‘Maaji Saheb killed my baby. She did it deliberately because she hates me and she wants you to hate me too.’
Meethi was inconsolable and the doctor had rushed to sedate her again. But not before she had seen the look of pained disbelief on Veer’s face.
When she regained consciousness, she realised that he didn’t believe her and, though he didn’t say so, she sensed that he blamed her for the accident.
Already in a fragile state of mind, his unspoken disappointment plunged Meethi into utter desolation. Her tears had dried up and she had felt herself turned to stone, pitched into a wasteland of wretchedness.
A crippling thought slid through her. They hadn’t taken any precautions in the past few days. But it was followed by another crippling thought. It was no longer necessary. She almost doubled over in pain, nausea clawing at her stomach.
She could never become a mother again. Her fall down the stairs had ensured that. She tried to stop the agonising memories but they came rushing in mercilessly, scraping at her wounds.
After she had returned home from the hospital, Maaji Saheb had been on her best behaviour, saccharine-sweet in front of Veer because she had been scared that Meethi would tell Veer that she had been involved in the skirmish which had sent Meethi hurtling down the stairs.
But, as time passed, she reverted to her true self, taunting Meethi with her poison-tipped words and cruel barbs. Her harsh words still rang in her ears: ‘Dayan kahin ki! You have blighted my son’s life. You will never be able to give him a son! The doctor said that you can never become a mother.’
This was the unchangeable, bitter reality. And she was no longer of any use to him. In the past few days she had forgotten this important fact. Veer professed to love her but was his love strong enough to withstand this cruel blow? Would he be satisfied not fathering a child? Responsibility, family and duties were extremely important to him. One of his duties was to ensure the continuation of his dynasty. How would he do that? With leaden steps, Meethi went back to her suite.
She spent the entire afternoon slumped in her room, her mind in a turmoil, unable to find a way out of her predicament. She would rather leave him than see the glint in his eyes turn to disappointment.
In the evening, Simran came with a glass of juice and two boxes. ‘Maharajah Saheb has sent these. Should I open them and see, didi?’ she asked excitedly.
Meethi nodded listlessly. She couldn’t summon any enthusiasm. Simran opened the first box and inside it was an exquisite peacock-blue sari with pink zardozi flowers embroidered all over and a pink brocade blouse. The other box contained a red sari with tiny pearl embroidery and a fuschia blouse.
Meethi felt tears fill her eyes. The saris were exquisite. There was no price tag but they must have cost a fortune. Veer was treating her like a princess. How could she bear to leave him? How could she betray his trust? Hurt him again? But dynasty and honour were important to him. Would he be able to reconcile himself to the idea that she couldn’t bear children?
Sunk in despair, she was reminded by Simran that it was time to get ready.
Meethi dressed with a heavy heart. Simran’s oohs and aahs failed to lift her spirits. She felt she was being sucked into a vortex of misery. She didn’t know what to do, how to save herself. Her head felt heavy and there was a queasy feeling in her stomach.
A sudden prickling at the nape of her neck alerted her to Veer’s arrival. She turned and he stood there with an unfathomable expression. Meethi stared at him, drowning in his eyes, fused to his dark gaze.
He moved forward and pulled her close. Tilting her face upwards, he said, ‘I hope I don’t have to fight off too many admirers.’
Meethi felt hot colour scorch her cheeks as his nearness wreaked havoc on her senses.
‘Gorgeous!’ he said and dropped a tender kiss on her mouth, careful not to smudge her lipstick.
‘Did you like the other sari?’ he asked.
Meethi nodded wordlessly.
‘Just give me ten minutes’ he said softly.
‘I don’t want to go,’ Meethi said with a miserable wince.
‘You know how disappointed Harsh would be if we didn’t appear. But don’t worry—I won’t let anyone bother you,’ Veer said reassuringly, cupping her face.
He looked at her and felt a moment’s unease. Meethi looked gorgeous but there was a brittleness about her that hadn’t been there earlier. He had thought her fears had been allayed last night. S
he had seemed all right in the morning. But he was sure that some worry was eating away at her.
‘Are you all right? Is there some problem?’ he asked with sharp intent.
Meethi stiffened. The last thing she wanted now was for Veer to guess what was wrong with her. She would tell him later. She shook her head. ‘Nothing… everything is fine.’
Veer looked at her bent head and quivering lips. Something had happened to perturb her. His mouth tightened dangerously, but he didn’t press the issue. He left her sitting in the room and sent for Simran.
Soon he had the answer he wanted—his mother had paid Meethi a visit. Secretly. Simran had been told to keep her mouth shut. Maaji Saheb must have said something to upset her. His eyes grew cold. He would deal with her. He was very sure that Meethi was hiding something to do with his mother.
His relationship with his mother hadn’t been a typical mother/son one. She had never been actively involved in bringing him up and had remained in the periphery of his life. His father had ignored her and she had spent her time busy with her social gatherings and pujas. He had been brought up by a succession of nannies before being packed off to boarding school. There had always been a cold formal distance between them which neither of them had tried to bridge.
After Meethi’s disappearance, he had sent Maaji Saheb to their haveli at Haridwar because he had grown weary of her constant badgering him to remarry. Barely fifteen days after Meethi’s disappearance she had mentioned remarriage. He had looked at her, stunned, and walked off silently. A month later she had done it again, leaving photos of some girls in his den. But he’d exploded with fury when, about two months after her disappearance, he had returned home to find guests waiting for him. He had warned off the prospective in-laws and had ordered his mother and her retinue to pack their bags and leave for Haridwar the next day.
He had made sure that she was comfortable and well settled and kept himself regularly updated about her through his secretary. But that was about it. Their relationship hadn’t really developed beyond a point and, like most of his other relations in his life, remained empty, caught in the shackles of cold formality. It was only when Meethi entered his life, bathing him in warmth, that he was introduced to the emotion called love.
He should have acted sooner, he thought with regret. He had known that Meethi hadn’t shared a very warm relationship with his mother. She had often complained about her but he had dismissed her complaints as teething problems. Even when Meethi had blamed Maaji Saheb for her miscarriage, he hadn’t believed her. But after Harsh’s revelations he was forced to reassess his impressions.
And he would make sure she got the message this time.
Meethi saw Veer enter, dressed in his royal regalia. Her breath caught. He looked heartbreakingly handsome.
Veer pulled her upright and bent his head and his hot breath feathered her nape as his lips gently touched the madly beating pulse. He felt a powerful thrumming begin inside his body and, turning her around, fused his lips to hers.
He drew her closer, stroking his hand down her spine and then, lifting her by her hips, pulled her into a snug fit next to his throbbing arousal. He felt all breath leave his body in a whoosh and broke off the kiss, knowing if he didn’t stop right away he would take her here and now.
He let her slide down and gently pulled away from her, caressing the curtain of her hair back in place and looking at her. Meethi blushed hotly.
She repaired her lipstick, and then he clasped her arm and led her outside to the waiting Mercedes.
Meethi began feeling cold and clammy with fear as the car neared the mahal. Maaji Saheb would be waiting there.
Veer looked at Meethi and the nervousness she was trying to disguise. He held her hand and found it cold. He gently tilted her chin and bestowed a tender kiss on her cold lips. His fingers crept to the back of her head, and he positioned her head to deepen the kiss. Scorching heat rose between them as hungry passion was unleashed and their tongues twined and moved in a dance as old as time.
Veer broke off when he realised that the car had stopped and the driver had stepped out and was standing with his eyes carefully turned away.
Wryly conceding that her nearness always played havoc with his self-control and her lipstick, he gently released her and was relieved to notice that her colour was better.
He got out and held out his arm, and Meethi shyly put her hand on his arm, heat enveloping her at his touch. She drew strength from his nearness and felt some of her nervousness subside.
Veer felt her tremble, and his arm tightened under her hand. He put his other hand on hers and suddenly stilled in shock. He felt something cold and hard beneath his palm. Meethi was wearing her engagement ring. But where had it come from? He looked at Meethi and said, ‘You found your engagement ring then?’
Meethi paled for a moment, feeling sick with nerves, and then, with a forced laugh, said, ‘Yes, silly me… I had left it behind in the silver chest. Thank God it wasn’t stolen! I would have never forgiven my carelessness.’
Veer veiled his expression. He knew she was lying but he wouldn’t challenge her. Bending his head sideways, he whispered, ‘I would have bought you a twenty-carat ring then. Now relax, I’ll be there with you.’
Meethi felt his encouraging squeeze and straightened her shoulders.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. Meethi felt the coldness inside her recede in the warmth of Veer’s nearness. But the queasy feeling remained in the pit of her stomach.
Maaji Saheb had greeted them with effusive warmth and given no indication that she had paid Meethi a visit. For the rest of the evening she maintained her distance and remained huddled with the Chachi Sahebs, occasionally giving Meethi a malevolent glance when she was sure that no one was watching.
Veer remained by Meethi’s side throughout, appearing oblivious of the undercurrents. But his mind was buzzing with questions. Someone had returned the ring to Meethi today because it hadn’t been in the silver chest when he’d checked. Someone who had been involved in helping Meethi escape. He was sure Meethi had given the ring to the person who helped her escape because she hadn’t wanted to take such an expensive item along with her. So the plan hadn’t been her doing alone. Someone had helped her. But who? Could it be Maaji Saheb? But that would mean she had been involved in the dastardly betrayal. But if she had nothing to hide, why had she come to meet Meethi secretly? Had she given her the ring then?
After the ring ceremony was over, a music programme was taking place on the lawn. A famous ghazal singer was performing. It was a pleasant evening and everyone was grouped around small tables listening to him sing.
Veer decided they would leave in a little while. Meethi was looking peaky and he wanted to take her home and wrest out the secret she wasn’t telling him, the worry she was hiding.
Suddenly, his major-domo came to him with a whispered aside. Veer had set him to making discreet enquiries about the day Meethi fled. Raj said he had some important information. Veer didn’t want to leave Meethi but he had to get to the bottom of the mystery. They were sitting with Harsh and Pinar so he signalled to Harsh to take care of Meethi and told her that he would be back in a moment.
Veer accompanied his major-domo, filled with a fierce, primal anger. He would find out the truth and flay alive whoever had been involved.
Meethi’s temples were throbbing with pain. But she knew they couldn’t leave yet. The queasy feeling in her stomach had increased and she was nauseous. Wondering if something she had eaten had disagreed with her digestion, she was managing to stay upright by sheer effort of will.
Veer had excused himself for a moment and when he left she leaned back, trying to relieve the nausea and ease the kink in her shoulders. He was back in ten minutes, looking grim and forbidding. For a moment, Meethi stilled. Was he angry with her? He bent and said something to Harsh, who looked at him and nodded.
Veer put his hand under Meethi’s elbow and said, ‘Let’s go!’
‘What�
�s wrong?’ she asked tentatively.
He shook his head, an indefinable emotion crossing his face. ‘Everything is all right. Don’t worry,’ he said, covering her delicate hand with his larger one.
They went inside the mahal but, to her surprise, instead of going left towards the entrance, he turned right and said, ‘I’ve forgotten something. You wait in the sitting room—I’ll just be a moment.’
Meethi sank down tiredly on one of the gilt-edged sofas in the empty sitting room. She was exhausted. Suddenly, the door opened and in walked Maaji Saheb.
Meethi paled.
Maaji Saheb too was stumped for a moment but she recovered quickly. ‘Achcha, so you called me here. Harsh sent a lackey to tell me that I was wanted here. So, have you come to a decision yet? I’m warning you, I will not spare you this time.’
Meethi’s heart was in her mouth. Maaji Saheb had a crazed look of anger on her face, much like the day she had fled. For a moment she wanted to turn tail and run. But just for a moment. Suddenly strength flowed through her. She loved Veer and he loved her. She would not cower. She stood up straight.
‘What will you do? You cannot harm me any more. You have done your worst and I have survived,’ Meethi said, her voice gathering strength.
‘Yes, I thought I had managed to scare you away but you are back. A good-for-nothing, a complete failure as a wife and mother,’ she said cruelly.
‘I will tell Veer everything. I will not keep any secrets from him now. So far I haven’t mentioned your role because I didn’t want to upset him but now I know that he loves me. He doesn’t hate me for the miscarriage. You were always wrong,’ Meethi said, only a tiny quaver in her voice betraying her distress.
‘He will never believe you! He didn’t believe you about the miscarriage so why do you think he will believe you this time?’ she cackled maliciously.
