The God of Thunder

Summary: Your royal highness Indra Veer Pratap Singh, Shrighar mein aap ka swaagat hai..!”
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The darkness swirled, slashed by rapid bursts of crackling light and followed by claps of thunder. Ravishing the lamplit lawns and vast stone terraces in a slashing sword dance of blinding purple and silver an unexpected summer storm fell upon Shrighar. The shadows from a time gone scratch at the surface of a forced calm and Veer swallows thickly, nails scraping across the window ledge he’s been gripping all this while. The voices around him have melted into a hum of incoherency, rising and falling like the breaths that he tried to keep a count of and occasionally smudged with a tinkling of a glass, feet on the polished wood or other insignificant cluttering noises.

Anwar approaches him wearily, making note of the tensed angles of his shoulders, the rigid lines of his jaw and when he turns – the swimming ghosts in his eyes.

“We shouldn’t have come here – we shouldn’t – “Veer says without preamble. “Ab dheko –“

Anwar swallows the well-meaning suggestion of sharing the dinner he had brought over and sets the laden plate aside, before laying a hand on his oldest friend’s shoulder.

“Yeh aap ke bachpan ka Shrighar nahi hai, Rana sahab,” he says instead, knowing full well where the ghosts that weighed Veer down came from. The storm ranges outside and the window lights up in a flash of lightning, Anwar watches how it casts Veer’s pale face into hues of brilliance before pointedly turning back to the room at large, allowing and willing that when Veer’s eyes followed his, he would be taking in the room in the same light that Anwar sees it in.  

Heder and Omar where teaching Raghuveer and Yashodara a complicated card game, watched by a fascinated Kabir who they had deemed too young to allow his hands on the cards. They were keeping the children occupied in the absence of their mothers, aunts and nannies and in the process filled the room with laughs and excited chatter.

The halls in themselves were different, somehow cozier, somehow airy, somehow filled with warmth despite the ravaging storm outside. His father’s portrait from Rani Ma’s old office has been returned to its original place overlooking that grand room – some oil paintings by his Daadi sahab hang in a cluster nearby, a treasure trove of childhood photographs that Amrit had somehow hunted, scavenged and dug up from God knows where were scattered across the room – all hinting at happy moments.

“Yeh aap ka Shrighar hai, nothing untoward would happen here.”

“But this storm –“

“Imagine, Bhabhi jaan having managed to get to the hospital earlier and you being stuck here when the storm strikes…imagine.” Veer shudders and Anwar nods knowingly. “That’s what I thought. Aur waise bhi, one is born where one is fated to. After all isn’t your child the heir to all this – and – you were born here Veer, so will your child.”

Nails of the fist that he makes dig into his flesh and affords him the clarity of pain.

“It’s been hours,” Veer bites out. “And they are not letting me see her!”

The truth at last, Anwar thinks with an inward weary grin. It wasn’t the storm, the hour or even his past that was bothering Veer, it was the uncertainty and the inability to see his wife that weighed on his resolve.

“I’m going in.” He says after a moment.

Anwar digs his hands into his pockets and leans back against the window – sill.

“Honestly? I’m surprised you are still standing here. It seems you are truly afraid of Menka ma than I thought you were.”

“No.” Veer steals his gaze away, back into the thundering outside. The faulter of his tone isn’t lost on Anwar and before he could press upon it Veer himself continues. “I don’t want to –“ He swallows again, thickly. “I don’t know if I –“

“If you are going to say something like those superstitious cursed nonsense that your mother used to hammer up on your head Veer, I’m going to smash your teeth in,” Anwar doesn’t even change his tone as he continues. “And if you are having last-minute would-be father jitters – and want me to convince that you would not be a failure of a father – still I might smash your teeth but – “he peers into his friends’ eyes, his gaze honest and open. “But I’d have you know that you are by far a greater man than any of us. And you deserve to be as happy as you are. Nothing, not even God is going to take all this away from you.”

“They don’t want me in there.”

“Oh Bhabhi Jaan might want to claw your eyes out right now, but I’m certain she still wants you there. And honestly Veer – you are the bloody king of this place – aren’t you?”

They stand in silence for a moment, soaking in the familial sounds surrounding them, the vastly comforting atmosphere of home that Shrighar has slowly translated into. Veer thinks anew how thankful he was for it all, for Anwar and his family – for Menka Ma and hers, and above all for Amrit. He feels overwhelmed by it, humbled by it, afraid of everything being so good that it might slip from his hands like sand. He holds the exhale for a moment, then releases it slowly.

“Anwar, thank you. Thank you for being here.”

He keeps it simple, but hopes that his oldest friend would know enough to read the unspoken depth of those words.

“Oh, you will have your time to return the favor janaab,” Anwar’s mouth pulls back into half a grin and half a grimace. “I promise not to go easy on you when its my time to be a walking wrack.” He grins fully now, seeing the expression shifting in Veer’s place. “Rukzaar nikaah ke liye maan gayi.” He’s been bursting with the news for so long that it brings with it the brilliance of relief to his face.

“Anwar that’s –“

Instead of letting him dwell upon his congratulations Anwar pushes him towards the door.

“Later,” he chuckles. “Go, bang down that door first!”

*

The flash of lightning cuts the night deep and the pain sears through her, its burning, tearing – all consuming that Amrit could barely catch her breath. There is no sense of time, only shifting shadows and the raging storm outside – the nature gloriously angry with all below heavens and the waves upon waves of agony ripples through her. She is weary, worn and reeling – slipping into some sort of a foggy numbness that scared her.

“Dulhan Rani – sona nahi hai,” Menka Ma’s voice comes from a distance, distorted – as if she stood far away at the other end of a tunnel. Corners of her vision darkens as well and Amril ponders detachedly about tunnels and storms and sinking. She was grateful for everyone who were there for her but they weren’t holding her adrift and she was sinking – sinking – and heavy and foggy and –“

The loud noise jerks her out of that fog, the pain is stark again and the night suddenly clearer.  Amrit stares at Menka’s bloodied hands as if she’d woken up just then, hears the low growl tearing from her own throat as if it had been someone else – then her eyes find him, the source of chaos. Relief washes over her like a gust of cool wind – Amrit sighs to it, no longer sinking.

Veer had stridden in and now stands in a muted shock, pale and sickeningly worried. His jaw clenches though and he shakes off Menka’s argument that is too incoherent for Amrit to catch. Instead, he is beside her, allowing her to fall back against him – lean and draw strength from his sturdy frame. She feels the press of his lips on her sweaty temple and clenches at his wrist when the next wave of pain blinds her.

“Stay…” Amrit gasps through her teeth, clutching to him tighter, yet.

She feels him speak rather than hear, the brush of air against her damp skin a source of comfort among the shifting pain.

“Of course,” he promises. “Always.” It is then that Veer turns to address Menka’s disapproval. “I’m not leaving,” he tells her flatly, “Don’t force me to order you, Menka Ma.”

Menka humps, but her eyes gleam with approval that she doesn’t make effort to hide. Veer drops the matter at that, focusing on Amrit instead, rubbing her on the shoulder with his free hand while muttering senseless little encouragements. His heart clenches painfully in his throat and Veer squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to Amrit’s temple and willing – willing the tremor that threatened to break over him to pass in silence. Actually witnessing her pain has almost undone him, crumbled what little of resolve he could master up. He holds her still, making silent pleas to the heavens to take all that pain away, make it faster – spare her the agony, spare them – save her – them, his family.

The cry, sudden, sharp and almost unreal makes them both shudder with shock. It drowns out the thunder that bursts outside and continues – growing in volume with each new breath of life drawn in. Menka’s face splits into a grin that flashes in the next beam of lightning. She holds the baby - protesting loudly at all the world in general – in her blood drenched arms, wrinkles of her face settling into a proud serenity.

Amrit breaths out a last, relieved whine and her numbing grip on his wrist slips, her eyes – wet and reddened brushes over him and settles on her newborn. She draws in a breath, watches how Veer’s eyes brim and spill over and watches how the newborn rises a clenched fists to further emphasis his many complaints and a weak chuckle breaks out of her. She chuckles, giggles and presses a hand against the sob that breaks shifting to bury her head against him and still looking at the new life they’d made together.

“Beta hua hai Dulhan Rani,” Menka beams as she hands over the swaddled baby in the shaking arms of his parents. “Shrighar mein suraj aaya hai.”

The baby had quietened down as soon as he is snuggled against his mother, his eyes – so like hers – round in wonder as he stares up at Veer, his fist still waving, all complaints forgotten. Veer’s hand trembles as he reaches for that tiny hand made of softest flesh he’d ever touched. The baby clasps his finger immediately, round eyes widening, rosy mouth forming a pout. He rubs his little face against his mother, looking for a better position to snuggle while still staring up at his father.

“Indra,” Veer allows the wonder to seep into his faltering tone. The fist wrapped around his finger tightens. Amrit sniffles, her head heavy on his shoulder, her eyes still on the baby.

“It’s fitting isn’t it,” her exhausted voice is rough around the edges, barely audible but still tinted with a smile. “The namesake of god of thunder –“

“To come in the middle of a thunderstorm.” Veer catches and completes the thought, sharing her thought and that smile. Indra scrunches up his face and waits a moment to pull in a lungful of breath before he could burst into another bout of cries and complains.

Menka and the others bustle in a hive of activities around them and Veer steps back, allowing them to retrieve the baby, clean him, swaddle him anew. Menka helps Amrit to settle back with the baby and feed him finally, silencing those complaints once more.

“Be mindful of his nose,” Menka mutters, “and head – yes, that’s the way.”  

They leave as at the possible earliest, allowing the new family a moment to bask in the silence that they leave behind, still staring at his son, now contently held to his mother’s bosom Veer shifts, laughter finally blooming out of him.

“God of thunder alright,” he says, dabbing at his eyes, his voice comes out rough with relief and awe he hasn’t yet begun to wrap his head around. “The little god of thunder.”

Amrit bites back a giggle and holds her baby close.
“Don’t you mock my son,” the mock reproach in her tone is endearing. “He has very strong opinions – that’s all.”

“And his mother’s temper –“ Veer scoots over to wrap and arm around her, breathing into her hair.

Amrit snorts, making Indra open his eyes to stare at her.

“Look who’s complaining Indra – tell him, whose temper you’ve got.”

They share a laugh, warm and mild. Veer’s eyes soften when Amrit shifts and offers him a chance to hold the baby. His eyes are brimming again, as Amrit fusses and makes certain the baby is securely tucked against the crook of his arm, his head is properly supported and Indra seems to bask in all of his mother’s attention.

Veer’s throat tightens watching how she brims with all that motherly affection. A hollow in his soul seems to fill with knowing that Indra would never thirst for love in the way he had, instead he would always have his cup full and brimming with love and joy.

Amrit entwines her fingers with his, her weary head finding perch on his shoulder, lids of her eyes drooping yet her mouth draws back into a smile.

“Humara beta,” Veer wonders if the words were meant for him or if she was simply muttering to herself. “Humara Indra.”

He takes her hand nevertheless, lifts it to his mouth, presses a reverent kiss there.

“Aap ko yaad hai biwi sahab, hum ne kabhi aap se kaha tha, ke humare dard ka koi dawa nahi – ke humara koi ilaj nahi?” As he had done that day, Veer holds her knuckles to his forehead, reminiscing the moment when he had fallen in love with her, or he had admitted it to himself that he had lost his heart to this woman.

“Haan,” her voice is groggy with sleep, he allows her to settle more comfortably and kisses her hair.

“Galat the hum. I was wrong. And trust me I’ve never been happier to be wrong. Amrit tum ne sirf humare bete ko Janam nahi diya, tum ne humein ek nayi zindagi dedi. Now I can live all those moments with my son – that I couldn’t with my father. Usse kabhi kissi se mohabbat maangne ki zaroorat nahi padenge kabhi kissi ke liye tarasne ki zaroorat nahi padenge, kabhi kud ko akela mehsoos karne ki zaroorat nahi padenge. I know you will be a wonderful mother but tume Indra ke kasam, I will be the kind of father to him that I wish I had.” His voice breaks by that point, dissolves into a sigh that he would not allow to be a sob. Amrit lifts their entwined hands and kisses the back of his palm.

“I love him so much Biwi Sahab,” his voice is hushed under the weight of that emotion. “itna ke hum kabhi baya na kar paaye – itna ke shaayad who bhi kabhi samaj na paaye. And it makes me think, baba sahab might have loved me like that too – wouldn’t he? I never understood that before – par ab jab unke baare mein sochthe hai toh –“

“Aur aap bhi toh unse pyaar karte the,” Amrit hushes him, her own eyes briming. “Jaise Indra bhi karenge, apne papa se. Aur ek din who bhi samaj jaayenge, ke hum use kitna pyaar karte hai.”

The storm had passed with the night and the gray silver of dawn trickled from the windows.

‘You should sleep,” Veer reminds her, brushing a hand through her hair as he moved to take Indra off her arms. Amrit seems reluctant to let either of them go.

“Woh aawaz kaisi?” she asks instead, groggily rocking Indra who was dozing against her now that he had had his fill. He made cooing sounds clearly expressing his agreement to that earlier suggestion of going to sleep.

“It’s the drummers of Shrighar,” Veer tells her, noticing the resonating sound only when she had pointed it out. “humare kushi ki goshna kar rahein hai.”

“It’s nice,” Amrit tells him, her eyes finally drooping shut. “It’s like the whole world is celebrating, the whole world is happy.”

Veer hums along, smiles a little when he realizes that she had dozed off. The baby is still awake, watching them with those lovely eyes of his mother. He does not care for the world, though he could have shouted from the rooftops of his own happiness. All the world he cared about was here, in his arms and Veer was happy too – content and at peace. Pieces of his world finally clicking into place.

“Your royal highness Indra Veer Pratap Singh,” he mutters softly, switching Amrit’s arms for his and lifting his son off the embrace of his sleeping mother. “Shrighar mein aap ka swaagat hai.”
**

For this epilogue, be thankful to a random fan of the ship that shall not be named. If it wasn't for that random comment; I'd keep this stewing for a while more.
Await Epilogue 2.
Cheers!