The vibration of the cell phone at 6.30 in the morning made her stir in her sleep. A little sunlight escaped from the otherwise tightly shut curtains of the room and reflected on her face as she blinked awake, almost gasping for breath. Although just awake, her body felt tired. It was as though she hadn’t slept well in ages. Her hand searched for the cell phone under her blanket as it kept vibrating with a cuckoo tone mercilessly. She pressed it to stop and yawned, reluctantly sitting up on the bed. This had been happening for quite some time. She hardly woke up without gasping for breath. Her therapist and physician had talked to her so many times and run tests. She had no sleep apnea, and yet she couldn’t make anyone believe that she felt like she would stop breathing in her sleep. It kept her awake most nights. And on the days she was too tired and slept, she had unexplainable dreams. Her therapist insisted those were just a part of the symptoms of her anxiety. Her abandonment issues needed to be addressed. She was tired of ranting for an hour every week and getting the same response. Believe in yourself, and you will heal. What will she heal from if she didn’t even know her issues? Or was it exactly like the therapist said? Was she in denial of her father’s absence? She grunted a little involuntarily.
She turned to her bedside calendar, which showed the date as Monday. She had to get up and get on with her chores and reach college before her strict professor threw her out of the class again. She held her head as it ached slightly. Her eyes wandered a little, trying to recollect something, as her doe eyes narrowed, trying to recollect her dream more vividly. Then she opened her eyes wide and gasped. She remembered a damp, dark room. She felt like she was suffocating, as if life was being choked out of her. They called her by a name she had never heard, yet it seemed more familiar than her own. It made no sense. Almost reluctantly, she took the little red diary out of her bedside drawer and opened the page she had been scribbling on, the pen still there. She noted down whatever she could remember.
Palace? Damp dark? Unknown name. Or was it a title? She shuddered as her ears rang as if someone was whispering to her.
“ Maharanisa!”
The palace echoed with the cries as she lay breathless in his arms. His world had plunged into darkness. His Ajabdeh was gone. He had grown into the man he was with her. She was the part of his life he was always thankful for. She made him believe Love and Family existed for good. She was his strength. Rana Pratap sat like a stone, watching her calm face as Mewar cried for its queen. He felt as though he had failed to give her any happiness. A lifetime wasn’t enough to be with her.
“Why did you name me Pratap?” Hansa Bai stopped serving her son the breakfast Roti and frowned at him.
“What?” She asked, a little taken aback. “Why do you ask?”
“I just… am curious, Maasa, you remember Meera Ma used to say that everyone’s name is significant.” He ignored his mother’s eye roll. “It had purposes.”
“She said a lot of things all the time, Pratap. If we could make sense of everything, we would perhaps renounce the world like her.” She put the ghee on the roti and spoke with a sigh. “But some of us have responsibilities they can’t run away from.”
“She had no attachments.” Pratap’s tone was defensive. “It was not her fault that Uncle left her a childless young widow.”
“Of course not. Nobody is saying that.” Hansa shook her head. “But after your father, I could have done with some help.”
“So, why did you name me…” Pratap stopped momentarily, blowing at the hot steam coming out of the Roti as he broke it.
“When you find your Meera Ma, ask her. She named you.” Hansa walked away to get some more as Pratap’s hand stopped at the morsel.
“She did?” His eyes sparkled.
