Their Impulsiveness

This is me praying that this was the very first page, not where the storyline ends  ~ Enchanted. 

Ajabdeh woke up to the knock on her door. She sleepily checked the vintage clock on the wall showing half past six, as she sat up to see the scattered half-packed things on the floor of her room. Ajabdeh grunted, removing the messy locks of hair falling on her face. She must have fallen asleep in the middle of packing, and now her shoulder hurts. The knock was louder as she staggered across the room and half opened the door to see the housekeeper standing there.

“What is it?” She must have sounded displeased because the housekeeper stammered as she explained that the village Pradhan’s wife and a few other women were there to see her. She frowned, clueless as to what she could be needed for by these women. She instructed the housekeeper to keep them waiting as she hurried through her morning routine, put on a decent Kurti from the unpacked bunch and stepped into the living room where they were all waiting. 

When Pratap made his way out to jog, he was surprised to see Ajabdeh seeing off a group of women at the threshold. He furrowed his brows as he approached her.

“Who are they?” Ajabdeh did not turn to his question. Instead, she explained how the villagers wanted permission to hold the Sravana puja in the temple of their Kuldevta Eklingji. Pratap remembered stories of the grand celebrations they had back when their grandfathers were alive. 

“What did you tell them?” He inquired, eager to witness such a celebration before they left.

“I told them I am not the trustee of the temple, but I will ask for permission from Ranima,” Ajabdeh said rather plainly as Pratap shook his head.

“I am sure she would not have said no if you had…” Pratap chimed.

“Yes, she said the same… the women were happy…” She interjected.

“And they want me to be part of the celebration.”

“Well, that won’t be a problem, after all, you know all the traditions and rituals better than anyone.” Pratap smiled faintly as she looked up at him in disbelief. Was it praise or sarcasm? She had not been praised by him for as long as she could remember. A teenager, Ajabdeh, once craved that praise and attention. Now it suddenly felt fake and repulsive. She walked away without exchanging any further words.

Diwali celebrations were always a gala event at the Sisodiya house in Sarangpura, especially when the children were young. After a quiet family prayer havan in the morning, performed by the descendants of the priests who used to coronate the Sisodiya forefathers, and Lakshmi Sthapana by Jaivanta and Udai, it was time for the preparation of the party in the evening, where all their family, friends and acquaintances were invited. The children looked forward to meeting their cousins. Maanwati and Charumati were Pratap’s maternal cousins, their mother Dheer being Jaivanta’s younger cousin. But they were closer in age to Shakti and Ajabdeh and have been friends with them forever. Patta and Aarti were Ajabdeh’s paternal cousins, the children of Ram’s sister Shanti. They were closer in age to Heer and made a trio as well. Pratap was the one cousin they all looked up to, not only because he was older but also because he had an elder brotherly distance from them. Hence, he preferred inviting Jalal over for the Diwali holidays so that he did not feel lonely amidst the laughing, frolicking gang of cousins and ever since Rukaiya came to stay with them, she would also follow. But given that Rukaiya was so aware of herself, she found it hard to make friends with anyone new and preferred hanging out with Shakti and Ajabdeh.

On the morning of the Diwali prayers, Rukaiya watched Ajabdeh get up early and get ready in a lehenga she was gifted by Jaivanta for the event. She was entrusted with lighting the Diyas before the prayer started. Ajabdeh would always tiptoe down the hallway to find Jaivanta there, ready before dawn, preparing for the Puja. She would offer to help and inevitably be left alone to make the garlands and light the diyas as Jaivanta rushed into the kitchen to check on the prasad being prepared. It became like a ritual for them, to the point that Ajabdeh knew what she needed to do, and Jaivanta would silently slip away from the Puja area the moment she arrived, knowing very well that she would take care of everything. Ajabdeh was fourteen that year, and she had just started reading romance novels, hiding the covers from her parents. She was not sure they would scold her for reading Desire literature, but she was too embarrassed by it herself, especially with her tall claims about reading classics. She had managed to take a bath, let her wet hair loose, wear the lehenga Ranima had gifted, along with her mother’s gold Jhumkas and stepped out to make the garlands. Jaivanta let her finish the work, instructing her to light the hundred and eight diyas once she was done.

Ajabdeh lit a candle carefully and checked the ghee before she started lighting the diyas. She heard footsteps as she went about her work diligently and found Pratap at the bottom of the staircase, in a white Kurta Pyjama. He rolled up his sleeve and approached the kitchen to check if his mother needed help. He used to do that all the time. Yet, for the first time, Ajabdeh’s cheek grew warm, her heart thumped in her throat, and she could not look away. She knew he did not notice that, yet she smiled to herself and was suddenly aware of the weird feeling in her stomach. She inhaled, trying to brush it off, as she could now smell his familiar perfume behind her. Ajabdeh was suddenly at a loss for words. 

“Ranima gave these to be kept at the Lord’s feet.” He said rather nonchalantly to Ajabdeh, who was sitting on the floor, lost in her thoughts while making garlands out of marigolds and Jasmine. She was suddenly startled by his address and nodded, without exchanging words. Pratap did not notice how her hand briefly shook as she took the plate of laddoos from him and turned away so that he would not see her red cheek. Pratap always found her a little odd, so her not exchanging words with him was attributed to her being intimidated by him, like all cousins were, as he walked away.

Through the prayers, Ajabdeh’s eyes hovered over him, praying with his eyes closed, sitting behind his father with Shakti as she took the seat behind them with her family. She oddly noticed how he smelled, how he brushed his hair, the chain he wore, the rings he had, how he smiled but barely laughed, and his eyes were always on the younger cousins' whereabouts, even when he did not follow them around. That vacation transformed teenage Ajabdeh into a woman for the first time, and today, she would say, that was the beginning of her doom.

Ajabdeh had chosen to wear a saree for the Puja, as she walked up to the temple, where the villagers warmly welcomed her. Because she would participate in the pujas, she fasted through the day and offered to light the diyas, just like she did when she was a child. A sudden rush of memories hit her as she lit the diyas in the temple, of visiting with the grandmothers, decorating with Ranima and the hundreds of celebrations she had witnessed in Sarangpura. 

As she began to light the five-tiered diyas, her eyes fell across the crowd that had gathered outside the temple at a commotion. The crowd parted, and she could see him there, in a white kurta, folding his hands and thanking the Panchayat for the invitation. Ajabdeh’s throat suddenly felt dry as she deliberately looked away. Her hand was carelessly close to the Diyas, and she jolted away as they flickered against her skin.

“Are you hurt, Baisa?” An older woman gasped, drawing his attention to them as he walked up to her. She shook her head, rubbing the skin a little to soothe the tingling sensation. He frowned at her disapprovingly as he remembered the time when she had almost burnt her hand while lighting the Diyas in Diwali. He had overreacted in front of the family and Samaira, as she refused to even spare him a glance. Something in him was deeply disturbed, if not hurt, that day, and he had never acknowledged that feeling. 

“Be careful.” He warned in a composed demeanour, eyeing her hand to check if the injury was visible.

Ajabdeh nodded, looking at him briefly before the older lady declared it was time for the Pujas. Pratap admitted to himself that it felt odd, sitting for the prayers beside her, in these familiar surroundings, only to realise that he never sat beside her at any event deliberately. He eyed her, praying as he sighed, a sudden feeling of emptiness creeping in, making him wonder if she wanted Shakti and Heer to have what they could not. Rather, they should not. Pratap looked up at the Phalus of the God of Destruction, wondering if he had made yet another mistake by not being brave enough to choose her when he had the chance. He knew Ajabdeh well. She was egoistic and had high self-esteem. She would rather move on from something unfruitful than pray, hope and beg for it. Hence, she moved on to Jalal. Did she love Jalal? She looked hurt that they had separated, but then, after that, she had not even mentioned him once. Pratap wondered why she was so difficult to read.

It was almost midnight when Ajabdeh entered the empty temple premises, with a Thaali in her hand, hoping to finish her prayers when nobody was looking. She knew that if she joined the younger girls in their rituals, she would be facing not only the innocent teasing of the village women about finding a perfect groom but also the judgmental stares of Pratap, wondering if she was praying for him. The last thing she wanted was to either validate him or give him another chance to misunderstand or disrespect her. As she stood at the threshold of the Blue-Necked Lord and rang the bell above her head, she wondered who she was praying for. Him? A hope that had died long ago? Herself, or simply because a part of her liked traditions? She placed down the Diya in front of the Lord and picked up the milk.

Pratap stopped when he realised he was not alone in the temple premises. He had tiptoed out of the house without even realising she was not home. He had inferred that she might have fallen asleep early. But here she was, the red saree covering her head, as she poured milk on the Phallus. Should he leave before she sees him? Too late. She opened her eyes as she watched him stand reluctantly at the threshold.

“I…” he opened his mouth to say, “Just came by to…” Ajabdeh seemed to be taken aback at first, but quickly regained her composure.

“It's so silly of me, I did not complete the rituals, and Kasturi reminded me of that when I was at dinner.” She laughed a forceful laugh. 

“Oh, I think I lost umm… a thing here…” Pratap pretended to look around the shrine as Ajabdeh went around the Phallus, lighting the Diyas which were now blown out by the wind. Once she was done, she watched him scratch his head as if he was trying to remember where he lost “something.”

“Goodnight.” She said rather monotonously as she walked past him out of the temple premises. Pratap watched her leave as he followed her out, unsure of how to make her stay when the thunder rumbled, and a sudden gust of wind made the veil fall off her head. Ajabdeh rushed back on the porch of the temple as the downpour started. Pratap came to watch the rain, standing opposite her, leaning on one of the pillars as her face wore a disgusted look, waiting for the rain to stop.

“I thought you liked the rain.” Pratap raised his eyebrows. “Like when you and Shakti…”

“We were kids.” She almost retorted, cutting his sentence short. “Things change. People change.” Ajabdeh suddenly felt suffocated in her surroundings as she realised they were standing together yet alone. She covered her Thaali with her veil and decided to rush to the house in the downpour. The moment she stepped out to make a run for the house, Pratap called after her.

“Hey, wait… what are you doing? You will fall sick!” He rushed after her.

When Ajabdeh opened the door of the Haveli ajar, placing the Thaali down carefully on the side table, breathing heavily, heart thumping in her chest, wet from the downpour, she could sense him approaching behind her.

“We should lock the door… it’s not safe…” Pratap stopped as he noticed her staring at him. He remembered the look on her face. He remembered how many times he had ignored it. She was hurt. He did not know what he did to hurt her, but he had. Perhaps he had triggered her by going to the temple. He locked the door behind him before turning to her and inhaling.

“Ajabdeh, we should talk.” He inhaled. “What happened before I left was…”

“No, don’t.” She stepped back, and eyes met. There was a sudden fear of anticipation in hers. Pratap’s eyes were firm. They could not go on like this. One way or the other…

He found himself pulling her by her shoulders close to him as if to reassure her that he was not there to hurt her. He was not there to deceive her again. But more than that, at that very moment, Pratap was tempted. He was tempted by her doe eyes, the wetness of her parted lips, and her chest rising and falling in her breathlessness. His mouth found hers. Ajabdeh wanted to push him away, she wanted to protest, she wanted to remind him she was not a foolish teenager having a crush on him. He could play her no longer. She was not always his second option. She was not attracted to him anymore. She had moved on. Yet all she found, as if beyond the control of her rational mind, was her body melting into his as he deepened the kiss. Pratap stopped to breathe as he found her kissing him again, first his lower lip, then his upper one, as he tilted her mouth by her chin, gently and deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth, tasting hers. Every inch of her body surrendered to the sensation as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

“We should…” She murmured as her lips parted. Stop!

“Go upstairs.” He murmured, breathing on her lips. NO!

Ajabdeh used all her strength to move away from him as Pratap looked at her, confused. She shook her head as she looked away.

“This was a mistake. This was… I never…” She shook her head. “I am sorry…” She started to move up the stairs as he rushed to block her path,

“What do you mean… Ajabdeh…” There was a pleading tone in his hoarse voice. He wanted to speak his heart out and explain why he did what he did. That he was not using her, he never did. He was confused as Ajabdeh chuckled.

“I guess we are even then…” She smiled, her eyes sparkling as he narrowed his brows.

“Even?” He sounded confused.

“You used me as a rebound, and I used you.” Her words made him stare as if he was looking at someone who looked familiar, but the words out of her mouth were not hers.

“Rebound?” He stared in disbelief. “You think I…”

“Goodnight, Pratap. I have a long journey back tomorrow, and I don’t want to fuss over this.” She shrugged. “It was fun, but don’t read into it, okay? We are adults.” Pratap stood there, unable to comprehend what had just happened as she walked away.

Ajabdeh shut the door behind her, locked it and sat down on the floor as she exhaled. Tears streamed down her cheek as she could still feel him, taste him, smell him on her skin. She felt like she had cheated herself. It was a strange feeling as she stood under the cold shower as if she were trying to wash his presence off her skin. She hated that she still felt the same, that she allowed him to have the pleasure again of using her and that she could not hold on to her self-esteem. Not again. She reminded herself. Who was she lying to? He knew his effect on her. What was he trying to explain anyway that could fix how she felt all these years? Ajabdeh decided to leave as soon as she could, without informing him. He had a few more days of work before he could leave, and she would take the time to plan her next move. She would not let him walk over her again.