Hijr: Letter Three

To the one, to whom my soul belongs,

You are missing from me, as is warmth from the sunset, palpability from the silence of the night and sleep from the eyes of a dreamer. It has been a long time since I last wrote to you; I do not know if you’re alive, if you’ve forgotten me or whether you’re travelling towards us. What I do believe is that these winds have probably accepted my request. At the behest of my anxiety, the clouds are carrying my words, and maybe you’ll read when it showers in complete majesty.

Such silence has another reason- my choiceless self deciding to fulfil the physical void. Nay, this heart, for all those years back, I left a part of it with you. As our city sprawled with wealth, so did our memories with freshness to life and desires to mingle. The constant cacophony of apparent nonchalance all around made me realise something. The elders look at me for extinction, which is a fear that has been committed with our settlement. On one such day, when all the futuristic rigmarole was eating my desire to speak to the wind, she came and sat by. Her voice welcomed sunlight into my heart, infested with maggots of our separation. And I said, to what agony did I conceive that a moment of gaze has been spared with these uncountable footsteps? Not an echo came by, and I sat in the ineffable arguments within me. I can sustain the poison in my veins, but as for the longing for touch, my desires consummated with the one my heart never sought.

Guilt happens to be the most powerful emotion felt by mankind, and I am a sufferer of it. One may love, and it may get tainted; one may be angry, and it may get settled; one may be happy, and it may be ruined, but guilt coils around your conscience like a serpent and with every passing sun, it’s choking the life out of my healthy self. So, as my penance, while our souls may meet one day, I want you to be angry and exasperated and vent it out on me. It was your sob that took my breath away, and it will be your anger that will breathe life into me again.

Before I reached the edge, I took a different stone, this time hoping you would read despite knowing that I have found myself in marital bonds. So has our settlement; as the air got much warmer and markets busier, our houses seem more plentiful, and Pashupatinath rides his bull in ecstasy on the perfect grids of the streets. Our bath isn’t humongous like the citadel, yet it is surprisingly aromatic. It happens to be when the chief priest performs a ritual to sanctify a merchant into the priesthood. I see lotuses being carried by my neighbour and women baking seals for Lord Pashupatinath. The evening will be momentous, but in my soul, there is a fracture amidst the perfect smile and vigour. I am tired.

My guilt restricts the scribble, and an incessant pain adorns my mind. I cannot ask for forgiveness from you, but acceptance is what I can ask for. I wish to sleep in your memories, and at the edge of my age, when my hair turns grey with ease and confusion dwells in my sight, I wish to dissolve in the silhouette of your being. The night will come for me as it would come for you. A cymbal just disturbed the sleeping winds around me. I think I hear my child amidst the distant commotion. I must go with a heavy heart. The offerings to Pashupatinath are awaited, just as my offerings to the Goddess of my beloved realm.

A sincerely, inured sinner
𑀳𑀺𑀦𑁆𑀤𑀯𑀺

Rituals of weddings or vows of marriage, whether known or unknown before the Vedic age, are not known. However, observing the idea of cities, settlements and families, one may safely assume that the Indus people did have a concept of hierarchy, heredity and family.

His Wife

" Where is the Kesar, Rama? And the Kalash?" Ajabdeh looked visibly displeased at the ladies who ran around. " They are at the fort gates, and nothing is ready yet!" She exclaimed. She was clad in a red lehenga and the jewellery she had inherited as the first Kunwarani of the crown prince. Little Amar ran down the hallway towards his mother. " Maasa Maasa... who is coming with Daajiraj?" His innocent question made her heart sink. " Bhanwar Ji." Sajja Bai called out to him. " Come here, I will tell you." Amar rushed to his Majhli Dadisa., " Ajabdeh." She turned at Jaivanta Bai's call. "They are here." " M... My Aarti thali..." Ajabde looked lost like never before. Jaivanta Bai held her stone-cold hands, making her stop. She patted her head and gave her a hug. The hug gave her the comfort she was looking for as her racing heart calmed down. Jaivanta Bai left her alone with her thaal. " Maa sa!" ...

Happy Ending

Dheer had a sleepless night. Yes, she had killed the Maharani, but to seek revenge for her son. Jagmal was all she had for a dream, and Rana Pratap's first decision was to banish him. He had never been that tough with his other brothers who went with Akbar, then why him? Just because he wanted to be a king? Just because they brought a false letter and bought a few witnesses? Her son died in Ajmer, so young. And she had always blamed Ajabdeh Punwar for Rana's hard decision. After all, ever since she came as a support for Jaivanta Bai, she had been like his shield, even though creating misunderstandings didn't help Dheer Bai Bhatiyani. Ajabdeh had done the impossible, showing him the real face of his Chotima. What bothered Dheer now was whether he remembered anything, and most importantly, if she did. Dheer had turned pale at the song and smile Pratap gave, but if he knew she had killed Ajabdeh, it meant Survi remembered her walking to a dying Ajabdeh and confessing that ...

Queen of the Heart

Kunwar Pratap was in the Dangal Sthal practising his moves. Ajabdeh decided it was fair to know his strength before she summoned him. Sword in hand, in a white female warrior attire with only her face visible, she hid behind one of the large watchtowers of the Dangal, watching him move. She heard Rawatji say, "Your left hand is still weaker than the right one with the moves. Both should be perfect." A smile curved her lips. Knowing an opponent's weakness always helps, which is one rule of war she always remembered. Kunwar Pratap swung his sword with his left hand and turned around. He could sense someone watching; his sixth sense was never wrong. He looked around. Ajabdeh again peeped at the grounds to see that it was empty. He had left. She walked towards the empty ground, sword in hand. Suddenly, the cold blade of a sword was felt on her neck. She stopped still. " So someone was spying on me." His voice had a hint of taunt. " No, I was ... walking by......

My Everything

Kunwar Pratap stormed into the Mahal at Gogunda amidst uncertainty and chaos. Happy faces of the chieftains and soldiers welcomed him as Rawat Chundawat, and some other chieftains stopped the ongoing Raj Tilak. A visibly scared Kunwar Jagmal looked clueless at a visibly angry Kunwar Pratap. Rani Dheerbai Bhatiyani hadn't expected Kunwar Pratap to show up, that too, despite her conveying to him his father's last wish of crowning Kunwar Jagmal. Twenty-one days after Udai Singh's death, she was finally close to a dream she had dared to dream since Jagmal was born. He was not informed about the Raj Tilak as per Dheerbai's instructions. She eyed Rawat Ji. He must have assembled the chiefs to this revolt against her son, against the dead king. No one except them knew where Kunwar Pratap was staying. It was for the safety of his family. " What are you doing, Chotima?" A disappointed voice was directed at her. She could stoop down so low? For the first time, an anger...

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