Page 21

“You promise we’ll chat every day,” Ava clung to his collar, so unlike her usual self.

Samarth nodded.

“And if you are selected to play for the March tournament then you will tell me immediately. I want to come and see you,” she added.

Samarth nodded.

Her round mouth pressed into a thin line, the hair he had pushed behind her ears blowing in the wind and again falling down her sides.

The mid-morning sun shone bright on this cold January day and as the campus was starting to empty out, this farthest edge of their school, ‘their’ spot, felt even more quiet.

The horses had been let out to run in their pen, not even their neighs to keep them company.

“Ava,” Samarth pushed her hair off her cheeks again and cupped her face, pulling it up so that she looked steadily at him — “Your WhatsApp is working?”

She pouted — “Yes. Why?”

“Your FaceTime works fine?”

“Hmm…” her frown intensified her pout.

“Your cellular data is good?”

“Yes, Samarth.”

“WiFi in your palace?”

“What is your problem today?! Out of all days… I am sad here and you… you have been crying about separating for weeks and now…”

“Quiet,” he tipped her chin up and closed his mouth around hers.

Her hands slapped weakly at his shoulders, like little wings fluttering.

But then he banded his arms around her tiny waist and she rose on her tiptoes, twining her arms around his neck and pulling him flush, opening her mouth fully and letting him kiss her.

Samarth palmed the back of her head, holding her ponytail in his hand and pulling back from her — “We don’t live in the 17th Century, Ava.

I am in Nawanagar and you are in Gwalior.

Even if we travel on this vacation, we will be allowed our phones and iPads.

I’m not going to stop texting you or FaceTiming you. Are you?”

She shook her head, her round lips glossy and red. And smelling of the best peppermint he had ever had. His lips tasted of it too. Samarth ran his tongue over them to absorb it all.

“Then it’s settled. It’s a matter of two months. We are meeting back here in March-end. And who knows, if a royal event or function crops up… we can cross paths even before that!”

Her eyes lowered. Samarth smiled. He had rarely ever seen her like this — unsure, reticent, despondent.

A part of him revelled in the fact that he was so important to her to make her not only feel like this but also show it openly to him.

He had only ever been so special to his Papa and Dada-Dadi Sarkar.

Maybe Hira ben. And they had seen him grow up, been a part of his growing up.

But then, when he thought about it, Ava too had been a part of him growing up. And she would be a part of him growing up. For a long, long time to come.

“You are not saying anything,” she muttered, eyes still down.

“You are not looking at me.”

“I’m sad.”

His chest melted. Ava confessing that was a big deal. His Ava confessing that to him was a huge deal.

“Then look at me and be sad,” he cupped her cheeks again and pushed her face up. She blinked. Her lashes had tiny tears. Only her lashes.

“Ava… don’t cry for me…” he pulled her into his chest.

“I’m not crying for you!” She thumped his ribcage. “I’m crying for the horses of Nawanagar. They don’t know their life is about to get so difficult with you running practises all day every day…”

Samarth’s body vibrated. He rubbed his hands up and down her back, holding her tiny form so close for the last time for a little while.

Like he had once thought about hiding her here, he wondered now if he could pack her up in his backpack and carry her home.

He even eyed the said backpack leaning on the fence.

“Text every day,” Ava reminded him.

“Every day,” he reaffirmed.

“And FaceTime every night.”

“Every night.”

“And no other princesses.”

“They use strawberry and cherry. I am a peppermint kind of a guy.”

Her body vibrated in his now.

“Look here, Ava.”

She pulled back, one of those rare occasions where she obeyed his command.

Samarth grabbed her ponytail and smacked his mouth down on hers, desperation bleeding into him.

She gasped, but kissed him back just as desperately, her hands going to the base of his throat, holding him, pulling him down, giving it all to him.

“That’s four,” Samarth pulled back panting.

“What four?” She panted, running the back of her hand across her mouth.

“Two kisses principal, and two more interest,” he nodded, reaching down to grab his backpack. He slung it over his shoulder and took slow steps away from her — “Remember to bring my principal and interest along when you come back from Gwalior, Ava.”

She smiled, her soft eyes giving him that Samarth Expression.

He kept walking back, unable to look away until he reached the slope that curved downhill.

Ava’s hand raised in a wave and he waved back.

Then steeling his heart, and consoling it with the reassurance that four kisses waited for it on the other side of these two months, Samarth turned around and walked downhill.

————————————————————

“Dada Sarkaaaaar!” Samarth ran down the palace alleys, yelling out for his grandfather. The guards and the courtiers passing him came to a standstill.

“Padharo, padharo, Kunwar!” “Aavi gaya, Kunwar!” “Bade Rawal tamari raah jota hata…”

“Bade Rawaaaaal!!!” Samarth grinned into the holler, using his grandfather’s official title in the kingdom. “Bade Rawallll!”

He turned the final alley and skidded to a stop. Hira ben’s round, tiny but intimidating figure barred his way. Her brows were drawn together, her Gujarati saree thrown haphazardly over her shoulder.

“ Awaaj ochcho karo, Kunwar. Dada Sarkar suta hashe [15] .”

“ Hoon jaagoo choo, Hira ben! [16] ” His grandfather’s frail voice sounded from behind the half-closed doors of his chambers. “Samarth?”

Samarth grinned, his sigh falling into place.

Dada Sarkar remembered him. Lately, his grandfather had started to lose track of time, people, years, seasons.

In the last year itself he had refused to recognise Samarth momentarily, then snapped out as if he had been in a dream.

That is why Samarth had devised this new technique.

He would come hollering down the alleys whenever he came home from school.

That way, he hoped his voice would startle his Dada Sarkar’s memory enough to give him a good few minutes to collect his thoughts and not panic. It had worked so far.

“Padharo, Kunwar,” Hira ben shook her head disapprovingly. After his Dadi Sarkar’s demise, if there was one woman who could rein him in with just a shake of her head, it was Hira ben. She didn’t come to the palace often now that he wasn’t around.

“You came for me?” He squeezed her into his arms.

“Yes,” she squeezed him back. Then slapped his back playfully — “How did you become such a hooligan, Kunwar?”

Samarth scratched the back of his head. “Dada Sarkar,” he said in a low voice. “He didn’t recognise me last time I came home.”

Hira ben’s head cocked to one side, her stern eyes softened. She reached out and patted his cheek — “It’s alright now. He is better. Go.”

Samarth nodded, walking back towards his grandfather’s chambers. “You are staying in the palace, no?”

“Until you are here.”

“You came for me, no?” He let out his cheekiest grin that he only ever let out with her. He hadn’t made his Dadi Sarkar or Papa run behind him, but strangely, Hira ben had made him run in front of her.

“Go!” His Dadi Sarkar’s most trusted chaperone and the palace’s oldest soul commanded. Samarth folded his hands, bowed his head and went away laughing.

“Dada Sarkar!” Samarth pushed open his door and paused. He did not let the grin from his face vanish but the sight of his grandfather did make him shudder quietly.

For as long as he could remember, his grandfather had been on a wheelchair.

The right side of his face had been paralysed long before he had been born, leaving him in a state that looked so painful.

But dared if Rawal Ranjit Sinh Solanki let it show.

Even in such a state, he had kept himself neat and well-groomed.

Even if he just sat in his wheelchair in his chambers most days, he called Ajatshatru Kaka in for regular chats.

What they talked about, nobody knew. Samarth had an inkling that not even his Papa knew.

“Samarth, beta… how have you grown up so much?” Dada Sarkar’s perfect words garbled out. Samarth’s spirit fell. He didn’t remember…

“Umm…” Samarth held onto his grin, moving to the side of the bed where he was lying now, just awoken from his nap.

“Papa,” Samarth answered. “Papa makes me drink milk all the time. I had to grow up sooner than normal, no?”

Dada Sarkar blinked at him fully with his good eye, the other fluttering.

Then he reached his good arm up feebly, and Samarth took it in his own, settling down on the bed in front of him to help him sit up.

Samarth had put on a good amount of muscle mass but helping his Dada Sarka up was no easy feat.

His body was thin but his muscles were so tight and he abandoned all his weight on the support, unable to control it.

Samarth managed to take it all and set his head on the headrest behind him.

He did not feel comfortable calling for his valet or guards for this.

“How is Saraswati Crest?” Dada Sarkar asked.

Samarth’s eyes widened — “You were pranking me?!”

“I was.”

Samarth could see his Dada Sarkar was lying. That he had taken these moments to jog his memory back. But he played along — “Why do you talk straight on the phone and pull these stunts in person, Dada Sarkar?”

“To gain some sympathy, why else?”

“Ice cream only at night.”

“Has your father taught you this commander thing and sent? Let me remind you, Kunwar, I am the Bade Rawal.”

“Kshama, Bade Rawal,” Samarth cocked his head to the side. “But ice cream only at night.”