This OS is written for those who asked for an ending to Outcast Love. Personally, for me, the story ended where it was supposed to end, but if it did not for you, here is an alternate ending.
Ajabdeh Punwar finished her last meeting of the day as her head throbbed a little, and she sat down in her chair and closed her eyes. The chamber of her Delhi head office was a little chilly in the winter, and she opened her eyes to eye the smart watch. It was late, and she should be going home. Home… For the first time in many years, she was looking forward to it, because the moment she stepped out of her role as a CEO, she would return not to an empty apartment but to the warm hugs of her nephew and niece, Aditya and Aditi. Heer had come by from London for the holidays, and ever since their parents passed away, Ajabdeh had been her only family. She was glad that for the next few weeks the house would be full of chatter and laughter, the aroma of freshly made home-cooked food and warm hugs and occasional weekend getaways. She would miss them terribly once they went back. But Ajabdeh was used to this solitude. Truth be told, she sometimes felt overwhelmed by guests and wanted her space. She was perhaps too comfortable alone, much to Heer’s worry. She decided to stop by the sweet shop and take home Laddoos and Pedas for the children.
When she entered the house, calling out to Aditi and Aditya, the twins, about ten now, ran down the stairs in their pyjamas and towards her. She knelt for the hug before handing them the packet of sweets. Heer came from the kitchen, watching them smile and thank her before taking the sweets to the dining area to savour them.
“Whatever you are cooking smells delicious.” Ajabdeh smiled at her, “I will freshen up.”
“Jija.” Heer stopped her, a little unsurely, as she approached the stairs. Half turning towards her, Ajabdeh eyed the newspaper Heer had been holding in her hand since she arrived. It was Nanosa’s habit to read newspapers at night, something Ajabdeh took from him and continued to this day, holding on to it like a little outdated tradition that reminded her of him.
“What is it?” She raised her brows as Heer cleared her throat.
“I am not sure, but I thought… You should… read this.” She held out the page she had folded and marked. Ajabdeh took it from her hand as her eyes fell on the obituary column. There was a small two-lined Obituary which read,
“ Prayer Meet to be held on Saturday at Temple Premises, Surajgarh, for Meera Ma, who recently passed away, mourned by her family, friends and followers.”
She looked a little pale, perhaps as she parted her lips and no words came out of them. Heer cleared her throat, “Chundawatji had called in the morning. He said it would be better if someone from the family were present at her service. He asked if I wanted to…” She looked up hopefully at her sister’s face. “I told him I would talk to you and let him know.” Ajabdeh nodded at her words. “Jija, I think you should go.” Ajabdeh took a step back at her words and silently walked back to her room, with the paper crumbled up in her fist. Heer watched her go, a little restless.
Ajabdeh tossed her handbag on the dresser. It was winter, but she was suddenly sweaty. She removed her boots carelessly and tossed them on the carpet floor, and sighed. She lay on her back, staring at the whirling fan that had just started rotating above her head. It had been more than a decade since she had stepped out of Surajgarh on the night of Heer’s engagement. It was raining heavily that night as the car took her back to Delhi. Heer had a destination wedding in Udaipur two months after that. While her parents went back to spend their retirement years in Surajgarh, giving her even more excuses to stay away from them, Heer went back twice, once when her parents needed to be brought back to Delhi after her father was sick, and once after they had both passed, with Aditya and Aditi to show them their ancestral place. One day, Aditya would be crowned the Yuvraja of Surajgarh. A tradition that must go on, to keep the royalty alive. Heer knew that. Ajabdeh had not heard his name, or even a slight mention of his existence, in all these years. She assumed Meera Ma stayed in the village she dearly loved, till the end of her days, for her prayer meet to be held there. She wondered if her parents were in touch with her. Ajabdeh stared at the crumbled paper and straightened it. “...family, friends and followers.” She sighed. Did it mean his father and him? Or perhaps he had a family? She remembered their promises like it was yesterday, but she also knew that he was not bound to keep those. Promises could also be made in the spur of the moment, in spontaneous feelings and impulsive, overwhelming emotions. They can be regretted later. They can be broken. Ajabdeh suddenly held the pillow close to her face. A teardrop trickled down the side of her temple onto the white linen as she let out a silent scream into the pillow. What was she mourning? The loss of Meera Ma, or the idea of facing reality?
Ever since she was back in Delhi, she had concentrated on taking over the business, her role as CEO. After her father passed, her mother had briefly moved with Heer to London, where she passed. Ajabdeh spent most of her holidays alone in different parts of Europe. She had often let herself indulge in her curiosity and looked him up on social media. She did not know what she hoped to see, but she was disappointed. He did not have an account. That made her wonder if he stayed back in Surajgarh for Meera Ma. Or if he was running his father’s institute? Or he was doing something else altogether? Why was he not on social media? She wondered if he had fake accounts that stalked her much public presence. He must know how she had been running her business successfully and travelling the world. Then why was she denied the opportunity to know about him? Once or twice, after her mother passed, she had the urge to drop everything and go to Jodhpur to look for him. Was it that difficult to find a Pratap Singh who ran a horse riding school? But what would she say? That she sought him out in desperation when she was firm that if fate would allow it, they would find their way back to each other? Now that fate had made a path, Ajabdeh found it hard to accept that she could once again be in Surajgarh, in the premises of his house, her palace, the temple, and he would be there. A sudden fear crept into her mind. Could she see her idea of love shatter in front of her eyes, seeing him with someone else? The story she had kept alive in her heart would end. She could not even pretend to move on, could she? She would look so stupid that she had kept her words while he had moved on. But could she deny herself the chance to pay her respect to Meera Ma? To see what destiny has in store for her? That this could be her chance of holding on or moving on? Ajabdeh sat up in her bed, unable to breathe as a sob was stuck to her throat. She gulped and wiped her tears. She was brave enough to face whatever was in store for her.
Heer eyed her grim face and puffy eyes as she came down in a silk robe for dinner. The maid served them the food as Heer eyed the children eating in silence and cleared her throat. “Jija?”
“I will go.” Heer watched her speak briefly between her morsels, not looking up from her plate. “I must pay her my respects.”
“Do you want me to go along?” Heer asked, unsurely. She was worried about Ajabdeh going alone. Ajabdeh smiled faintly at her sister. “No, you are here for only two weeks. I will be back in two days. I will be fine.” She held her sister’s hand reassuringly. “Thank you, Heer.” Ajabdeh nodded at her, forcing her to smile.
It was late at night when the car entered the porch at the Surajgarh Palace, and a young man came to open the door of the Range Rover as she stepped out, and her eyes fell on the familiar palace, lit up for her welcome. Ajabdeh smiled faintly as the man greeted her. “I am the new Manager, Rajkumarisa Hukum.” Ajabdeh narrowed her eyes slightly at the young man. In the light of the portico, his face looked familiar.
“ Patta?” She let out a gasp as the man nodded with a smile before touching her feet, forcing her to step back in surprise. “I did not know you…”
“Chundawat Chacha is sick lately, and although he still manages a lot of the estate, Choti Rajkumarisa appointed me.” He said with a sheepish smile. Ajabdeh observed he had grown taller than she had remembered him to be; he had a stubble, like the fashion for the day, and he groomed well.
“Your room is ready.” He bowed, making her smile and nod at him slightly.
“Good, I am tired.” She agreed. As she stepped into the palace, she realised how every piece of furniture, every painting on the wall, every statue in the corridor was the same as she had left them more than a decade ago. There was something oddly eerie yet comforting in that. The maids opened the door of the room for her as she stopped at the threshold and stared inside. She eyed the shut window through which she had escaped, the mirror and the bed. Patta cleared his throat and briefed her, “The prayer is at 7 AM. Should I tell the maids to wake you up?” Ajabdeh smiled faintly. “I can manage, Patta. I wake before that nowadays.” She watched his sheepish smile, which was evident in the fact that he remembered her struggles with early morning training with Chetak. She glanced over her shoulder at him as she managed to ask, “Is Chetak still here?” Patta nodded as his smile faded slightly. “The Vet says not much longer. He is already thirty-two. Most of his breed don’t survive that long.” Ajabdeh longed to see him. “Take me there first thing in the morning, then we can go to the prayer meet.” She made him nod, bid her goodbye and leave. Ajabdeh sat down on the edge of her bed as she watched the maids unpack her belongings. She had chosen her mother’s white Chikan saree with a three-quarter black blouse to wear the next morning. Heer had packed in some pearl strings for the jewellery. Ajabdeh was tired. She did not know when she fell asleep, staring at the ceiling and overthinking the anticipated meetings of the next day.
The door of stable number 9 creaked open as Patta stepped back, allowing her to enter the damp, dark stable hold, with hay straw and the smell of horse dung around. Her hand involuntarily covered her nose with the emblemed handkerchief. That was when her eyes fell on the horse. He was lying on his side, his breath measured, his white coat greyish, and the fur less than she remembered. His mouth was open, and he made a snorting sound as he breathed. Suddenly, Ajabdeh forgot about the smell, dirt, dust or her white saree as she knelt by the horse and touched its fur softly.
“Chetak?” She whispered, as the horse neighed slightly. “Chetak. My boy.” She leaned in closer as the horse raised his head as if to see her. There were tears in the corner of his eye. “He is in pain…” Patta whispered. Ajabdeh patted him gently. “There, there, I am here. Do you remember me, Chetak?” He neighed again as Ajabdeh suddenly burst into a very unroyal sob. “I am so sorry I did not visit you sooner. I am so sorry I abandoned you again.” Patta stepped back, allowing the princess her private moment as he eyed his watch. They needed to leave, but he had no heart to remind her that yet.
He cleared his throat instead. Ajabdeh suddenly remembered where she was. Her tears had turned from the joy of seeing Chetak, to the fear of losing him, and mourning Meera Ma and ultimately to the unknown she was going to face, without her realising it. Patta cleared his throat again, and Ajabdeh took a deep breath to compose herself and wipe her tears as she stood up.
“Patta?”
“Yes, Hukum?” He stepped up beside her as she walked out, “I will call one of the best Vets from Delhi to stay here and treat him. Do the needful. Please?” Patta nodded readily as Ajabdeh dialled a number, and he ran to get the car ready. It was time for them to leave for the temple at Panwarmer.
The crowd was slowly growing in the meadow adjacent to the temple. The large black and white portrait of Meera’s ever-smiling face was kept in the centre, where she once preached to her followers and people from the village, her followers, politicians from the nearby village Panchayats, relatives of the villagers, everyone flocked to the site. The garlands and flowers were overflowing, and the lamp was lit brightly on either side of the portrait. The smell of Jasmine, tuberose and camphor filled the air. Pratap stood on the left side of the portrait, beside the temple priests who had arranged for the event on such short notice because it was Meera Ma’s last wish. He had briefly greeted some important people from the village with his hands folded, but he did not wish to speak. He respected that they also mourned his Badi Ma, but his grief was different from theirs. He had lost his mother twice over. He knew they would not understand despite their condolences and promises to make a memorial for her in the village, among other things. He knew in his heart that BadiMaasa was the last string that had tied him to Surajgarh, and now that she was gone, he would never be returning back to his native village. This was his second visit since he left. He had come by once to persuade Meera to go with him, and the next time, a few days ago, when a neighbour informed him she was sick. He knew once he left Surajgarh, he had to let go of some memories once again, losing a part of him with it. He knew the faint hope he had to find his way back to where he left his heart would be gone. He wondered if all these people showed up to pay their respects because of the newspaper obituary. The temple authorities had insisted on that. He would have preferred a quieter mourning period, by himself, in the house where every corner was a shrine of his memories with Badi Maasa. The sudden commotion made him jolt from his thoughts as he looked up at the crowd parting.
Patta made his way through the crowd, asking them to make way for the Rajkumarisa. Some of the politicians folded their hands to greet her, as Ajabdeh ignored them. She held on to the end of her saree over her head for dear life as she walked through the crowd. Good thing she was wearing the oversized sunglasses, or else she could not have avoided eye contact without looking arrogant. The crowd was more than she had anticipated, and some were pushing and shoving. She was briefly rethinking her decision to come, as she found herself breathless despite Patta’s best efforts to keep her away from the crowd hovering around to catch a glimpse. The crowd parted, and she could now see Meera Ma’s portrait. She pushed Patta aside and walked up to it, removing her sunglasses in the process as her eyes fluttered in the sunlight. The saree she had placed over her head remained gracefully in place as she approached.
She had cried. He could tell from how sad her eyes looked that she had. Her eyes were fixed on the portrait before her as she knelt before it. He noticed the soil on her white saree, strands of hay at the hem, and he knew where she had been. Patta had told him Chetak was not doing well. She let her head touch the feet of the portrait before Patta handed her the wreath of Jasmine, which she placed at the feet of the portrait. She wiped away the teardrop that glistened on her cheek as she was quick to put on the sunglasses again. That was when she saw him. He knew she did, for she stopped briefly, still on her knees before the portrait, hands folded, before she stood up, adjusted the drape over her head and turned to leave.
Ajabdeh was overwhelmed the moment she placed the wreath at the feet of the portrait. She remembered everything Meera Ma told her and taught her. The sun was falling straight on her face, and although it was winter, it blinded her vision briefly. The moment she started crying, she was alarmed by the crowd of onlookers and put her glasses back on. That was when she saw him. He looked the same, except for the fact that he had aged ten odd years, and he seemed reluctant at the grandeur of the prayer meet as he folded his hands close to his chest, looking awkward in the white Kurta that he wore. It looked new, like it had not been worn before. She could not see anyone else except the priests around him, no father or family. Ajabdeh had straightened herself and folded her hands at the priests who greeted her, contemplating whether it would be deemed inappropriate to approach him in the crowd. She could not gather the courage to face him after so many years with the air of formality around such a personal loss, and both of them felt that she turned on her heels and found it best to leave. He knew where she was. He would seek her out if he wanted to. If he had a family and chose not to, she would know.
Pratap watched her disappear in the crowd as Patta directed her to the car. He watched it drive away, leaving behind a thick smoke and dust trail on the village road.
“Stop the car.” Patta was alarmed at Ajabdeh’s sudden urge as the driver slammed the brakes. “I will just… go home from here.” She eyed the meadows as they entered the premises of the palace through the walls, which were now in ruins.
“Rajkumarisa?” Patta looked a little awkward as she did not wait for him to open his seat belt as she jumped out of the car. “It’s okay, Patta. Don’t wait. I will be there in a while. I am not getting lost.” She smiled reassuringly. She let the drape fall carelessly from over her head as she walked up to the meadows. An unsure Patta let the driver take him back to the palace. He had to arrange for Chetak’s doctor’s accommodation before he arrived the next day.
Ajabdeh stepped into the thick foliage of bushes and made her way to the clearing from where she could now see the top of the Shiva Parvati Temple with a trident. She could sense she had been on this path before as she retraced her steps, through the bushy foliage, in the otherwise quiet morning, with the occasional birds chirping, as she stopped in front of an old Banyan tree. The arial prop roots had extended their foliage to the ground beneath them, allowing the branches to spread so thick that sunlight barely entered the damp soil. The once-made stone base around the tree was now broken. She removed her slippers and pulled herself up on the base as her eyes fell on the age-old red strings tied around the trunk of the tree, which had lost its colour over the years. She placed her manicured hand gently on the tree bark as if it held memories she had long forgotten. The leaves rustled, and she smiled to herself as she tiptoed carefully around the trunk. She remembered how she used to do that as a child. She suddenly stopped as a sudden deja vu hit her. The therapist said most of her memories from before the accident were back, and when she dreamt of this place often, she could not tell whether it was from a memory or if she had been there before. Today, it did not feel like a dream. It felt as real as the moment she was in.
Pratap watched the car stop from a distance as he parked his bike on the dirt road. He watched the car leave without her as she approached the thick foliage that grew around the premises. He followed her into the bushes, keeping a safe distance so as not to alarm her. Now that he was in the clearing, watching her, trying to remember a memory that was vague in his mind, he stepped back, unsure of whether to approach her anymore. Perhaps the memories, the past and the promises were regrets she lived with. Why else would she look so unhappy all the time? He had stalked her on the internet before coming to Surajgarh. The reason was to make sure she was not here and that it did not look like he was coming for her. But there was something in her smile he could not ignore. A sense of melancholy that he saw that morning in her eyes. Pratap turned on his heel to leave, cursing himself for following her there in the first place.
“You remember this place, don’t you?” Her words made him stop, alarmed as though she knew all along that he was on his bike, following the trail of dust her car had left behind; that he would follow her here. He was unsure yet whether she was speaking to herself or him as she glanced over her shoulder and heaved a sigh.
“I remember it too.” She said plainly. Pratap stepped forward, his brows narrowing as his lips parted.
“I thought you said you had no memory of the past.” Not the words he imagined would come out of his mouth after a decade. A smile formed on the edge of her lips.
“My therapist says they are coming back in bits and pieces as I grow older.” She extended her hand as he helped her step off the base of the tree, holding her hand tightly in his own rough hands. She stumbled a little as he held her firmly, allowing her to balance herself.
“Did you know Chetak…” She narrowed her brows slightly at him. He let go of her hand as she put her slippers on.
“I heard from Patta. I would go visit him.” He nodded.
“They said he is not going to make it through the week.” She shook her head. She looked up at him as he looked grim and nodded. He watched her heave a sigh as he cleared his throat. “Choti Rajkumarisa?”
“She stays in London, she has twins.” A smile formed involuntarily on her face as she spoke of them. Pratap nodded, “So you now have a family to visit.” He said matter-of-factly.
“And you don’t?” She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. Pratap noticed the Kohl smudged on her lower lid as he shrugged. “Not anymore. After Badi Maasa.”
A silence filled the air. Ajabdeh could hear her heartbeat, Pratap could hear himself breathe.
“I remember.” He said as he sat down on the broken stone base beside her, “I remember the place.” He looked around.
“We did not know what we did that day, did we?” She sounded astonished.
“I think we knew what we were doing. Maybe not in our conscious mind.” He shook his head. He eyed her as she rubbed her hands together and sighed.
“You remember the last day, here, you said we would meet at the same time, tomorrow…” He sounded slightly amused. She nodded slightly. “And tomorrow never came.” Her voice was distant. There was a reflection of regret somewhere lost in her words.
“There is always a tomorrow, isn’t there?” He sounded affirmative, “The day after today?” She smiled at his words as she glanced over at him.
“So we will meet, the same time tomorrow?” Eyes met as he smiled faintly at her. “We will.” He nodded as he took her hand in between his. “And we will continue to promise each other to meet tomorrow for the rest of our lives, and I intend to keep my promise this time.” Her grip tightened on his hand as she placed her head on his shoulder.
