Page 110

— SAMARTH —

He stood under the Chattra of Rawal, an umbrella dating back generations that was held open over a king’s head.

At this late hour of the night, as Tulsi Vivah’s rituals wound up around the kingdom and Devi-Devta awakened from their half-yearly nap, he stood under his Chattra, eyes spread longingly down the path that Ava would be taking.

“She hasn’t run away, Bhai, don’t worry,” Sharan whispered in his ear.

“I’ll make you run away now. Be quiet.”

“They are seventeen minutes late,” his father muttered. “Something is wrong.”

Samarth’s heart somersaulted. He glanced at his father standing stoic beside him.

The moon pierced bright from behind him, through the canopy of roses and lilies.

His head exploded. What if something was wrong?

What if Brahmi got a stomach ache? What if Ava realised this was too much? That life in Loire was easier…

‘Stop it, Sid,” Rajmata rebuked quietly through the soothing shehnai and the humdrum of guests. “Both of you, shut it. She is coming, Samarth. Don’t you dare think anything wrong…”

He began to blink his assent when murmurs made his eyes whirl.

The soothing shehnai burst into the folk tune of their land, played at ceremonial events.

And there she was, walking down the pink rose-carpeted path towards him, in a white ghaghra-choli that sparkled with tiny silver things all over.

The tune intensified and a blur of purple jumped beside her.

She was skipping, not aware of the status she would soon hold.

Samarth tore his eyes from Ava to Brahmi, and the anxiety of a second ago melted.

She was trying to keep herself from doing her favourite little jiggle.

Kresha was holding onto her hand and she continuously tried to skip and jiggle.

A flash. A blink. And a memory ripened in his heart.

Of a teen Ava skipping her way to Badrinath, making a whole gang of people who weren’t even religious follow her. His eyes misted.

Her hand had opened to him then and he had been brighter than the world had thought him to be because he had taken that hand without a second’s thought. Because she had become his Badri then and remained unwavering in her commitment to tide him through the penance of this life.

Life wasn’t done yet, neither were its misgivings. But now she was officially his protector. In her shade, he would make the best of himself, his children, his family and his Nawanagar.

The blur of purple came closer and Brahmi’s eyes met his. They pleaded, as if he wouldn’t let her do what she damn well pleased. Samarth bent forward and opened one hand.

That was it.

She was running towards him, faster than he had ever seen her run. Amid laughs and sighs and camera shutters she ran. And crashed into him.

“Hi,” he threw her up and into his arms.

“You wearing girl jewellery, Papa,” she thumped on the sapphire satlada adorning his chest.

He laughed — “This is the boy kind.”

“Mama’s looks better,” she pointed.

“Mama’s always looks better,” he agreed, following her finger and meeting the eyes of the girl who was always the better one.

Avantika was the princess today, eyes at half-mast, the ghaghra regal around her feet, her head covered like the timid girl she absolutely was not.

He smirked, that smirk. Her cheeks suffused with colour.

After all these years, he had still managed to do that.

He wanted to pump air and race around on his horse, shouting out to all of Nawanagar like a newbie jockey on his first chukker. Come on!

Ava reached him and stepped atop the bajot readied there. Stepped up now, she came eye-to-eye with him.

“ Tame pan, Rawal, [102] ” Purohitji dictated, pointing to the matching embellished stool facing her.

“Give her to me,” Papa demanded, hands out for Brahmi. His daughter wound her arms around his neck and held tight — “No!”

“It’s alright,” Samarth held her tight and stepped up on the bajot.

Ava looked at him then, full force, her brown eyes so full and so happy. They handed her a varmala. He accepted his own, one hand firm, the other under Brahmi’s legs.

Ava’s hands rose to garland him. Shouts and warnings echoed from behind him to not bow his head.

“Should I?” He asked Brahmi.

“Yes!” The ever-loyal Mama’s girl hurrayed.

He chuckled, bending at the knee like he once used to bend to look her straight in the eye. Ava garlanded his neck, grinning at their daughter who clapped the loudest and cheered the brightest.

“Rawal,” Purohitji cued between chants.

“Help me hold this up,” he muttered to Brahmi and she proudly caught hold of the other half of the varmala.

“Come on!” He quietly pushed, and with one side held by him, the other by his daughter, they garlanded her mother’s neck.

It was unorthodox, but his life, Nawanagar’s present and soon its future would also live out unorthodox.

In the best way possible, if he had any say in it.

This, today, what was being telecast live, would also cement Brahmi as his — completely, unequivocally, eternally.

“ Rajmata, gharcholu padhrao. [103] ”

Samarth stepped down and helped Ava down, then looked on as Rajmata unraveled a fuschia pink bandhni saree and covered Ava’s shoulders with it.

“ Rawal, lagna mandap taraf prasthan karo. [104] ”

He turned from Ava with a look — see you in a minute .

Or more, she silently shrugged with her eyes.

————————————————————

It did take her longer to come but when she did, she came draped in her favourite fuchsia. The saree Rajmata had presented to her was wrapped around her in such a way that hardly any white peeped. The start of their new life.

Their marriage havan was lit to fire and Samarth did his best not to look at her. He was sure she would make him laugh and he would make her blush and that wouldn’t be an ideal sight for the people of Nawanagar immediately.

Purohitji’s chants trailed to a pause. Then — “ Kanyadan karwa vadhu naa mata-pita padhare. [105] ”

Samarth’s eyes met Ava’s mother’s, then her father’s as they sat in front of him. As per Purohitji’s directions, they brought a silver platter to wash his feet. As her father’s hands reached his feet, he held them in one hand. Her father glanced up.

“I’ll do it right this time. Give me Ava and I’ll do everything right.”

Her father’s throat worked a swallow, then he let out a chuckle. His head bobbed and Samarth folded his hands to both of them as they washed his feet, blessed him, then sat for kanyadan.

Kresha came for gathbandhan and murmured in his ear — “No sweet talk for me?”

“I knew you’d initiate it,” he smirked as she tied his uparna with Ava’s odhani.

“Not sweet talk, Samarth. This is warning. Final warning.”

“I am sorry,” he said, turning his head over his shoulder and taking her by surprise. “For both those times.”

She smiled tightly, the seasoned princess with eyes and cameras on her.

“I’ll dance to whatever you choreograph.”

She held back a sputter. Ava had no such qualms. She burst out laughing.

————————————————————

“Badhai, Rawal!”

Samarth’s eyes whirled up, hands still folded to the King of Mysore.

The imposing persona that was Giriraj Singh Mewad was walking down the area of royals cordoned from all.

And even in this cordoned area with royal families lined up to meet him and Ava, the kings and queens and princes and princesses of India cleaved away to make way for him.

He was such a charmer that he slowed and talked to them on his way, exchanged laughs and nods, holding everything up, but in the best way possible.

In an embellished pachranga leheriya sherwani, he looked as resplendent as ever.

“Sammy boy!” He came up to them, a pack of… stickers in his hand. Samarth narrowed his eyes at them — love and heart stickers. “Raje saheb,” he grinned at Ava who folded her hands and began to descend to touch his feet. Samarth followed suit and he tapped their heads.

“ Priyatam maan gaye, Raje saheb, [106] ” he nudged his chin at Ava. She chuckled, her eyes cutting to him — “ Thode slow hai, par maan gaye. [107] ”

“Where have you been, Hukum? All invitations were re-routed, no news. Your private number wasn’t reachable either…”

“Aah, Giri!” Papa joined them with Rajmata, Maan bhai and Samriddhi bhabhi — folding hands to Hukum and then embracing him. “All good now?”

“What’s all good?” Samarth caught that silent exchange. Maan bhai looked like he knew something too as his eyes cut to Hukum. But his eyes always cut sideways. Samarth frowned.

“Rawal saheb?” Samarth nudged Maan bhai. He was the easiest to break in this gang. But he did not open his mouth. It was Papa that spoke. In a low voice — “He had an angioplasty this week.”

“What? What happened to you, Hukum?”

“I’ve had my heart broken so many times,” he joked. “Had to fill the cracks sometime now, no?”

“How are you moving around? Let’s get you seated…”

“I’m fine.” He presented them with the bunch of kiddie heart stickers. “For a lifetime of full hearts. Keep sticking these onto each other whenever you need to seal the cracks!”

Ava accepted them and Samarth kept staring at the man, the legend, the enigma.

Hukum didn’t look a smidge different from the last time he had seen him.

Still muscular, face glowing with vitality and some unreal force of nature, smile in place, eyes shining.

And yet… something was mellow about him.

Samarth stepped up and folded his hands once again — “You should have let us know.”

“Your father knew. And you had more important things to take care of,” he nodded at Ava behind him. “Congratulations, to both of you.”

“Thank you, Hukum,” she stepped up beside him, aping his gesture. “When I met you recently, I didn’t think we would meet again so soon but with you, it’s always a surprise.”

“Recently?” Samarth frowned.

“Hukum was in Loire two months ago. We met at Valmont Club… where Brahmi goes for her polo lessons?”

Samarth’s eyes widened. He gaped at Hukum, then at Rajmata. She looked equally shocked. Which meant…

Hukum broke into a laugh — “See, Samarth, in my very short life I cannot say many things with full authority but one thing I can — men are dense.”

He gaped, still reeling from the shock.

“If you had listened to me eight years ago and just talked it out… who knows? Things would have been so different. That is why this time I had to convince Tara. God knows women sense the earnestness from a mile away.” His eyes cut to Samriddhi bhabhi, then Rajmata, and then to Ava — “They can sense, grasp and change the course of history quicker than men.”

“You manoeuvred the course of my life long before then, Hukum,” Samarth asserted, recovering from the shock. “It took me all these years to fully digest what you said to me in that stable in Arezzo.”

Hukum’s face softened into a smile — a rare, tender, silent smile.

His hand wrapped around both of his — “Today’s generation needs to be taught to be selfless, to fulfil their dharm to their families, to their society, to their kingdom, their country.

You are a unique man, Samarth. You needed to learn that your first dharm is to yourself. ”

“Mama!” Brahmi came weaving through the family gathered around, her hand in Sharan’s. “Look what Kaka let me have!” She held up a flute.

“Is this the future polo sensation?” Hukum smiled down at her.

“Yes,” Samarth declared proudly. “Hukum, meet my daughter — Brahmi. Brahmi, this is Giriraj Hukum, Dada Sarkar’s friend.”

Rajmata tapped her shoulders — “Fold your hands and say Jai Dwarkadhish.”

“Jai Dwakadeesh,” she folded both hands with the flute in between them. Hukum went down on his haunches — “Jai Dwarkadhish. Look at that! Do you know how to play?”

She shook her head — “Sharan Kaka will teach me.”

Hukum glanced up at Sharan — “Then we’ll have to soundproof the room.”

“I’m not that bad, Hukum.”

“I know how to do this —” she held the flute in front of her mouth and blew, hard. Thanks to the loud classical music, it got lost in the waves.

“Ok, enough, now, did you eat dinner?” Rajmata took the flute out of her hand and passed it into Hukum’s open hand.

“She had a snack before we came,” Ava informed her.

“Then I’ll take her up and feed her…”

Samarth’s eyes fell on Hukum, still on his haunches, his fingers moving on the holes of the flute as if in a melody. Rajmata left with Brahmi, but Hukum remained on his haunches, his eyes now far away in the distance.

“Do you play, Hukum?”

Giriraj Hukum’s startled gaze raised to his. And he smoothly rose to his feet, flute held reverentially between both hands. He looked down at it and chuckled — “Not really.”

He returned the flute to Sharan and nudged his chin at Papa, Maan bhai and Samriddhi bhabhi — “Let’s go have our youngsters’ party now. Let these oldies do their thing.”

The lull of the moment broke. Samarth stared at their retreating backs, Hukum’s back the most rigid among them all. His eyes met Sharan’s and he looked stunned as well, the flute frozen between his hands. It seemed they both had the same thought.

“Samarth?” Ava called him hesitantly.

“Hmm?”

She gestured to the incoming royal family of Patiala.

“Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know if it’s ok to say your name out loud in public like this.”

“Call me whatever you like. You own me, not the other way round,” he declared before pasting a smile on his face to greet the Maharaja of Patiala.