Page 31

Finding him lying there without his kurta on, and the moonlight casting a gentle glow over him, made my heart skip a few beats.

He looked distressed and tired and asked, “And how did you find me?”

Smiling weakly, I replied, “I searched everywhere, but then thought of coming to the rooftop.”

I heard from Suman about what happened in the meeting, and I could somewhat understand his pain.

Sitting beside him silently, I wove my fingers through his hair, caressing his head gently.

My fingers trembled.

I felt edgy because I didn't know what kind of behavior to expect from him.

“Are you angry?”

Placing his head on my lap, he shook his head, “I just wanted some time alone—just me,”

He muttered, closing his eyes.

His face had turned red from pain—pain that ran deeper than visible wounds.

The kind of pain that’s unexplainable, only felt.

I kept brushing his hair and asked, “Did I disturb you?”

I asked, my tone low.

Turning his head to me, he gazed into my eyes and softly answered, “No, you saved me.”

The heaviness in his tone and the way it wavered with hoarseness told me he was hurt—very much.

A lone tear swept through his eyes, and my gut wrenched just from seeing that.

Wiping it away, I asked carefully, “Are you missing your father?”

He lightly shook his head.

“My mother,”

He replied.

“I miss her,”

“How did she look?”

I asked.

When he opened his eyes and gazed at the sky, I noticed how his medium lashes flickered as he looked up and how perfectly his brows arched on his high forehead.

His shoulder-length hair was styled in a bun, yet a few loose strands fluttered against his face.

“She was beautiful,”

he said.

I slowly undid his bun to let his hair flow freely with the breeze, relieving his stress.

“I don't remember much.

I was just seven or maybe eight when I lost her.

She had long hair like yours,”

he added, his lips carved into an admiring smile as he described his mother, which made me smile.

“Her smile was beautiful, and her eyes—her eyes were filled with an ocean of love.

She would look at me with so much care.

I would sleep just looking at her face and listening to her melodious voice,”

his face lit up as he spoke of her.

I gulped a hard lump down my throat.

Him recalling his mother made me miss my brother.

It had been months since I had seen him.

I remembered how loving and caring a gentleman he was.

But I had to keep all this in my heart until everything got better.

Because no matter how much we miss someone, we must be measured with our words and maintain control over our emotions.

I hoped that one day everything would be fine; that the line separating two best friends would vanish and that the distances would be washed away, just like the waves erasing the shoreline.

“Bas ek aparaadh ho gaya unse,”

(but she just committed one mistake.) His words brought me out of my reverie, and I swallowed, seeing his face flash with immense hurt.

I could see how he was keeping himself from bursting into tears.

“And, what was that?”

I asked.

He had to get over it.

He needed to bleed out the pain that had been consuming him—his sanity, his thoughts, and everything he did.

All his deeds were stained with his mother’s blood, and until his thoughts were cleansed of that old, dried blood of grief, his decisions would remain biased.

They wouldn’t favour the welfare of the people.

A king must not harbor a stained mind or a biased brain, and his decisions should never be swayed by personal hurt.

I saw him looking at the sky as he said it slowly.

“Ek vilaasi se prem kar bethi thi wo.

Jo netra swapn dekhne se baddh the, unme swapn sajaaye the unhone.

Apni samaajik sthiti se adhik asha kar li thi unhone.

Daasi hote hue kisi rajkumar ki patni banne ka sapna dekh liya tha unhone,”

(She fell in love with a rake.

Eyes that were forbidden from dreaming ended up weaving dreams.

She had hoped for more than what her status in society allowed.

As a maid, she dared to dream of becoming the wife of a prince.)

My throat dried up listening to his words.

Every time someone started sharing their deepest stories, which differed from my own experiences, I became speechless.

Yet, I wanted him to move past those painful memories once and for all.

So, I remained silent, absorbing whatever he had to say.

He didn't want my opinions or any suggestions.

He was capable of doing that.

My Daadisa always told me that if someone opened up to you, it wasn’t because they wanted your suggestion or opinion—they just wanted to unburden their heart.

“Mol chukaaya unhone phir un sapno ka—apne jeevan se, apni swatantrata se, apni icchaoan se aur ant me apne praan se.

Humein apne pita se itna prem nahi tha kyunki humaari maasa ke saath jo hua uske liye kahin na kahin sab uttardaayi the, wo bhi.

Maasa ka koi dosh nahi tha.

Agastya maatra do maah ka tha jab wo humein cchodkar chali gayi thi.

Agastya ka koi dosh nahi tha, Ranvijay ka koi dosh nahi tha, humaara koi dosh nahi tha.

Baalpan mein kuch nahi chahiye tha humein.

Rajkumar hote hue bhi bandhiyoan se bhi bura durr vyavahaar hota tha humaare saath.

Jinke sar dhad se alag karne the unke samaksh sar jhukaya humne.

Dukh is baat ka nahi ki humaara jeevan yun kat gaya.

Kintu humaari maa ko cchod diya hota.

Mahadev bhi pata nahi kya Leela rachte hai.

Bas maasa ko cchod dete humaare liye, hum aah bhi nahi bharte,”

(She paid the price for those dreams— with her life, her freedom, her desires, and in the end, with her life.

I didn’t love my father that much because everyone was responsible whatever happened to my mother, he too.

Maasa was not at fault.

Agastya was only two months old when she passed away, so he wasn’t at fault, Ranvijay was not at fault, I wasn't at fault.

I didn't want anything in my childhood.

Even though we were princes, people treated us worse than prisoners.

We bowed our heads before those whom I wanted to slaughter.

I’m not sad that my life was cut short like this.

But my mother should’ve been spared.

Mahadev knows should’ve left her for us.

I would not have even sighed.) he poured out his pain, with tears in his eyes.

My heart ached, and a sob left my mouth.

“Aap roiye to mat,”

(Please, don't cry.) I said, washing away his tears.

He suddenly looked me in the eye.

“That’s why I didn’t want you to marry anyone.

Because no one can understand what a woman sacrifices just because she’s a woman in this world, she will be used and then will be expected to bear everything with a stiff lip,”

he said, and my chest felt heavy with his revelations.

“She would be used to making babies and left with them to nurture alone.

I couldn't trust anyone or let anyone come close to you.

I don’t know if I love you, but I don't want you to shed even a tear, .

I know I make you cry, but you fight with me, you claim your rights over me. You know your worth. Not everyone, precisely women, is like you. Not everybody can take a stand for themselves. And in this mean world, no one stood by my mother’s side,”

Tears streamed down my face by the end.

“I know you can’t see me with anyone.

You make me cry sometimes, I agree, but you also know how to heal me,”

I said in a trembling voice, gently kissing his forehead.

He sucked in a sharp breath and asked, “Why do you love me so much, ? I’m not even worthy of it.

I’m your family's enemy.

You know that I’m planning to kill your parents.

I don't know what the future holds for me.

My whole life is full of disappointments. I can’t even get over my stained past. So why do you like me?”

he asked, choking on his emotions.

“Prajapati Daksh ko shivji sweekaarya nahi the.

Kintu tab bhi mata sati ne keval shivji se hi prem kiya tha.

Prem to aarambh mein shivji ko bhi nahi tha mata sati se, parantu jab unhone agni-kund mein atmadaah kiya to shivji poore sansar ko nasht karne par utaaru ho gaye the,”

(Although King Daksha did not accept Lord Shiva, Mata Sati's love for him remained unwavering.

Lord Shiva did not reciprocate her love initially, but when she sacrificed her life, he became determined to destroy the universe.) I explained.

Confused, He creased his brows, “What are you trying to say?” He asked.

Smiling weakly, I replied, “You may not be the hero for everyone, Rudra.

You may not be the best, most loving, or perfect, and you may have countless flaws.

But to me, you are the villain who could burn this world for me, and I’ve seen that,”

He blinked tiredly and asked, “Am I the villain of your life?”

I nodded.

“Yes, you’re the villain of my life who doesn't let a single day pass without splitting my heart in two, and you are the saviour of my life who ensures I sleep every night feeling deeply and immensely loved,”

I said, caressing his cheek.

It was true.

Everything he did should have made me hate him.

And people expected me to hate him, to punish him for his actions.

I did punish him, but I couldn’t bring myself to hate him because he was both the man of my dreams and my nightmare, all at once.

He was the reason for my tears, yet I still couldn't hate him.

Hate comes from expectations over reality.

Somehow, we all remain familiar with reality, yet we expect.

And these expectations stem from inspiration drawn from our surroundings, our imaginations, and our desires.

We find such inspirations because we tend to escape reality.

However, reality is the ultimate truth; it may be painful, but that is its beauty and a sign that we are truly alive.

His truth was his past.

His reality was his upbringing.

His surroundings were false.

His life was not perfect, and he was not the best at everything.

This was the reality of my love, and I never expected more than that. That's why it never made me hate him.

I never expected anything more than reality.

But if I had, I would have started noticing problems in him, in us, and eventually in our relationship.

That might have one day separated us.

I didn't hold his hand to abandon him.

It would be a thousand times easier to leave a suffering soul, but it would take the courage of a thousand gods to enlighten one.

His situation was very similar to that of a frog that had never seen the world outside the well in which it lived.

He didn’t know what lay beyond those dark walls.

To him, the well was the world.

It was his truth, his everything.

If anyone told him that there was a world far bigger than the well, he would laugh, never believing you.

Suddenly, he straightened himself.

His face softened, and he gently touched my cheek.

“Aaj lag raha hai ki yadi ye rajpath na bhi hota, yadi grahan karne hetu bhojan na bhi hota, or keval aap hoti to ye jeeevan itna laachaar na lagta,”

(Today, it feels like, even if I didn't have this throne, even if I didn't have food for two meals, as long as I had you, life wouldn’t have felt so helpless.) he said.

A thousand butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I blinked nervously.

Slowly reaching out for his wrist, I held it gently and said, “You are not yet helpless or devastated, Rudra.

It's just that you're believing partial truths.

The only thing you need to do now is make a decision.

I won’t give you a thousand reasons why your father was wrong, and my parents were right.

You’re free to do whatever you want. If you choose to avenge your family’s misery, you can do so. But remember, I am my parents’ daughter first. My family comes first, then my love. Like you will choose your family over us, I too will choose mine over you.”

No matter how much I loved him, I couldn’t see him harming my family.

It wasn't the time to portray my love or speak the truth that I knew he would never believe.

It was time to determine if our feelings were mutual, if the fire burned just as intensely for us.

It was time to know what he truly wanted.

And whatever his decision might have been, I wouldn't have stopped loving him, but I couldn't stand on the wrong side either.

Tears blurred my vision as I said, “Kshan-bhan prem ka nahi hai humaara.

Anant kaal ki preet hai.

Ek atrupt trushna hai.

Lambe samay tak dhara humaara sayyam hai.

Aanewaale kal ki asha hai. Humaare swapnoan ka basera hai. Har shwaas mein aapka naam hai, har sapne mein aap hi ki cchavi hai. Humaare har kshan ki praarthana hai ye prem. Aur Ruhani ki bhaasha—urdu mein kahe to, aapke hone se humaara wajood mukammal hai, aur aapki har ek tootti saans mein humaari hazaaroan mautein hain. Aap humaare seene pe khanjar bhi rakh denge to hum aapki koi majboori samajhkar use bhi apna lenge.

Humaare parivaar ki garima, humaara sammaan, humaare bhai ki peeda—sab haste-haste seh li humne, keval aapke liye.

Kyuki hum is satya se parcihit hain ki ka Rudra ke bina koi astitva hi nahi.

Hum to bane hi aapke liye hain.

Humein to ye chinta tak nahi ki log humaari maasa, baapusa, bhaisa—humaare parivaar ke liye kya- kya bol rahein hain.

Aapke atirik kuch dikhta jo nahi hai? Rudra ye, Rudra vo, bas Rudra... prayatna bhi kar lenge na to bhi aapko apne hruday se nahi nikaal paayenge.

mrutyu ke ghaat tak utar jaayegi, kintu aapka ya aapke parivaar ka naam apne mukh se nahi nikaalegi yadi aapne humaare parivaar ko chhot pahunchaayi to.

Bahut vishaal mann hai humaare maasa-baapusa ka, tabhi to apne ek kaleje ke tukde ko apne shatru ke putra ki hateli par rakh diya.

Humaare liye wo haste-haste apne praan nyocchaawar kar denge.

Kintu ka mrut deh bhi aapke haath nahi aayega yadi aapne uske parviaar mein kisi ek ko bhi chotil kiya to.

Prem to aapse karte rahenge hum, parantu ek shav ki tarah, Rudra,”

(My love for you is not momentary—it is eternal.

It is the longing of a lifetime, the patience of years, a hope for tomorrow, and a home to my dreams.

Your name runs through every breath of mine, and your presence is felt in my every dream.

Our love is a manifestation of every second of my life.

And if I speak of it in Ruhani’s language—Urdu, with you now, my existence has a meaning, my life is complete, and with every skipped breath of you, I die a thousand times. If you were to pierce my chest with, I would accept it as your compulsion.

My family's dignity, my honour, my brother’s pain—I will endure it all with a smile, only for you, because I know that Nandini’s existence is meaningless without Rudra.

I’m made for you.

I don't even worry about what people say about my parents, brother, and my family, because all I see is you.

Rudra this, Rudra that, just Rudra…I’ll not be able to get you out of my heart, even if I tried.

will die, but will not let your or your family's name slip out of her mouth even if you hurt her family.

My parents have big hearts, that’s why they handed over a piece of their heart in the palm of their enemy's son.

They would sacrifice their lives with a smile for my happiness.

But you will not get even the dead body of if you try to harm them.

I will keep loving you, but you’ll only find a living corpse to love, Rudra.)

I let it all out—I had to, and as I kept speaking my heart out, his eyes filled with pain.

As he gulped, I inhaled deeply, letting the tears fall freely from my eyes.

“You can avenge your father's death.

Do whatever you wish.

Just let me know when you plan to do so.

I won’t stop you or try to make you see the wrong in your actions.

I won’t speak the truth. I won’t say a word. I will just leave you to your victory and wish you the best for your future.”

***