Trespasser

Summary: Aap ke kaamoshi ne kya kardiya - humein ek pal mein gair bana diya.

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"Hum yeh Akif wali naqab utarne wale hai," he speaks to her hair, eyes closed as his fingers comb through. Amrit stills and looks up at him with searching eyes. "Justice to my father should be done by his son - not Akif."

Her eyes widens but they do not waver. Veer blows on her hand again and presses her knuckles to his mouth before continuing.

"But with that I will become the son who has betrayed his mother. The kuwar who turned his back on his riyazat and their good graces. I will lose everything. That's not the kind of life I wish for you. That's not the kind of life I promised. You deserve better. I have nothing to give."

"You have me," her voice is soft, full of emotion. "And you have everything that I want. You always did. I'm not a princess Veer. I've never wanted a prince. I wanted a partner to share life with. I don't care what we lose, we can rebuilt all of it. Everything except you is replaceable."

He keeps his eyes trained on her, an effort that causes his forehead to crease. Amrit notices and raises her hands to cup his face.

"Pareshan ho?"

Veer turns his face sideways to kiss her palm.

"Tell me what scares you," he says instead.

"This place. It's scent of death," she shrugs. "Everything reminds me of him. When he took me I woke up in a place like this - not exactly like this but - there were guns - animal heads - I-"

She closes her eyes with a shudder and Veer cups her face in return.

"Come back to me," he mutters, sharing that shattered exhale.

Amrit reaches for him instinctively, their lips brushing together.

"Don't go there."

"I'm here," she mutters into the kiss, tugging at his lower lip. A swipe of her tongue has Veer's nerves lighting in anticipation. "Are you?"

His hand fists in her hair, his mouth presses against hers, urgent, searching. His anchor, his reality - his Amrit.

Veer had never handled her roughly, his passion is always restrained by his will, but the denial - the prospect of almost losing her has snapped that restraint. He drowns in his need of her and he takes her with him. His hand tightens in her hair and his teeth sink into her fleshy bottom lip.

"Why don't you feel for yourself - ah?"

He lays her down on the furs, a hand beneath her head, eyes watching her carefully for any sign of distress. He presses a kiss on the centre of her forehead, following with one on the tip of her nose and on both her cold cheeks. Amrit's hand tails up his nape and fists into his hair as their mouths meets again.

"I missed you..." she mutters, a confession that falls freely.

He takes it from her mouth into a bruising kiss. Nails of her other hand scrape along his back as he drops his mouth to trail along her jaw and the inviting softens of the column of her throat.

She arches to meet him, writhing with the need that flared within her. But her eyes that holds his are clear.

"Stop."

It takes every fiber of his being to make sense of that relatively simple command.

Easier it would have been to carve out his heart.

"Jaan..." he groans against her throat. She rewards his restraint with a heated kiss.

"Like you were not my means to forget another - I wish not to be your distraction. Shayad kuch zada maang rahi hoon, shaayad itni aukaat nahi hai. But I wish to be your home - not your hiding place." Watching how he pauses she brushes her lips on his, nipping gently. "Please, do not use me, kuwar sahab."

He shudders. His eyes shut as he presses his forehead against hers.

"I have not. God, I have not!"

He knows where she comes from, he had returned to her as abruptly as he had withdrawn. He had broken the confidence she had had on their relationship and left her to clutch into its shreds that drew blood. Amrit tread around him cautiously now, fearing for her heart - awaiting its ultimate break.

"You don't like this place," she continues. "You want to forget where you are. I see it in your eyes. I feel it in your touch. I don't mind. I am yours in whatever way you wish- I just hope - no I wish - I wish you'd tell me what bothers you, what hurts you, what you want to forget. I wish you trust me with your thoughts the same way you do with your body. I know you don't do it deliberately - but please - consider me a little more than a distraction?"

He kisses her at that, rather forcefully, his weight settling upon her. He pulls apart after a moment, stroking her cheek.

"Is that what I make you feel? Is that what you think of me? That I do not consider you a person? Jaan - have I made you feel that?"

"You hide yourself from me," she says softly. "It made me think - kya main Aap ki kabil nahi? Aren't I good enough to share your troubles?"

"Have you ever considered that perhaps you were too good to be burdened with those?"

"Am I?"

"Far too good," he reconfirms. "Itni achchi ke dar lagtha hai ke hum kabhi tumhare kaabil ban paye ya nahi."

"Dekhiye, aap ke khaamoshi ne kya kar diya." A tear slides down the side of her face. "Humein ek pal mein kitna gair bana diya? Humein kitna door kar diya?"

"Maaf karongi?" His voice breaks.
"Amrit - hum jee nahi paayenge..."

"Aur main? Aap ko joh bhi saza doon, kya woh dard mujhse dekhi jaayengi? Kya main jee paaungi?"

She presses kisses along the side of his face, lingering rather greedily.

"Mujhse maafi matt mangiye kabhi. Aap ke har gunah qubool hai mujhe. I want you to talk to me - talk to me."

"Nobody has listened for so long," he tells her finally, in that broken voice. "Humein aadat hi nahi hai baat karne ki."

"I will listen."

"I know."

He moves to sit up and stretches out a tentative arm towards her. Amrit takes it willingly, going into his embrace and settling herself on his lap, her back leaning against his chest, cheek pressed to his shoulder and hair cascading along his arm. Veer wraps the fur around both of them after pressing an open mouthed kiss on her shoulder.

"I don't hunt. The thought makes me sick. Once when I was young ..." he begins.

*

Randheer opens the door tentatively. He has refused Rani Ma's offer to move into these chambers.

True enough, its occupants are gone. But ghosts of their laughter and conversations, traces of their scent linger. Randheer did not want to plague himself in a space that Amrit has shared intimately with another man.

Her bangles are strewn on his dressing table, dropped in abandoned manner among Veer's various possessions. In the far corner, the door to her chamber is left open. As he crosses the room Randheer is immediately reminded of how Veer never allowed him any further than the threshold of these chambers. He has never seen the inside of Amrit's room.

The moment he sees it however Randheer realizes that it is maintained only for the sake of appearances. The bed hadn't been slept in, in weeks maybe, its covers had drawn dusty due to the slacking servants. Amrit has left books strewn all over her bed, she might have searched for something particular by taking out all her books and never bothered to put any of it back.

Steeling himself against the unexpected hurt the realization caused as it sank in, Randheer turns back to Veer's room. He has things to be done here, other than mourning the loss of his first love to a manipulator.

He cannot help but wonder how she could be happy? He is not, he is burning. Amrit he knew would never be happy with a dominating man, will never be happily ruled over and commanded. Amrit he knew would never fall prey to her desires so easily that she lost her sense so utterly. Apparently, Amrit he thought he knew is an illusion.

This Amrit - Veer ki Amrit - was a creature of a different sort, foolishly biddable, utterly blind to her senses - following after a man who no doubt enjoys her devoted submission. Everywhere he looked he saw things that fanned the fire in which he burns. The servants had not touched these chambers after the kuwar and his Rani had left them - and those two had left them in a state of disarray.

Her blankets and his pillows are interchanged between the rooms, bringing tones of ivory and peach to disrupt the red and black of Veer's room. Beads of a broken string of pearl are scattered around everywhere and Randheer does not want to think how it might have broken. There is a palm impression on the mirror, of a larger hand that could only belong to Veer.

Randheer feels like a trespasser. This is somebody else's life and he felt as if he has breached some uncrossable line. The room itself, with all its implications seemed to be mocking him. Inviting him to imagine how intimate and happy its occupants were, how easily they seemed to have forgotten his existence in their lives.

Shaking his head to physically rid himself of that thought Randheer set to his task, which was to search through the room for any writings and research that would point Veer out as Akif. Such evidence, his mother has stressed that could possibly convince Panchayat of Veer's betrayal of his own family.

Instead what he comes upon in the first of Veer's drawers are all Amrit's writing. Drafts, he realizes as he reads through them, of articles Ranjhan had written. They are brutally edited and commented upon by another set of handwriting that he only vaguely recognized.

The spark of bitterness that sear through him Randheer recognizes rightfully as jealousy. Amrit has allowed her writing to be dissected and criticised by this man. Allowed him to mold her ideas to suit his purpose, allowed him to ruin her gift. They had not just discussed the articles or writing in general - they had made a mockery of the craft. For there were conversations on the sidelines, totally unrelated to what they were writing about.

Take this entire thing out, reword - chop off whatever.
One had a scrawl of that citrusy ink.

Then as if to add to the insult, he had written beneath the comment rather offhandedly the following.
Khule baalon mein achchi lagti ho.
Then on another draft a marginal note asking,
Naaraz ho?

Nahi.
Amrit had written beneath it. Then as if it occurred to her later she had further jotted.
Meri itni himmat?
Veer had circled it and answered right beneath.
Hum aa rahein hai.
...
Kya kar rahe ho?
Amrit had written in another.

Kaam.

Zaroori hai?

Tum se zada nahi.

Randheer crumples that piece of paper in his fist, before shutting that drawer with a snap. Maybe those notes exchanged back and forth are the reason why those rough drafts had made their place in the top most drawer. It is childish and unbecoming, he thought rather petulantly. How old were they - six?

"Katham Singh!" He called, fed up. "Katham Singh!"

The short man took his sweet time to come.

"Ji chote kuwar sahab?"

"Veer sahab apne kagazaat kaha rakhte the?"

"Chote hukum?" Katham Singh corrected him instantly. "Ji - mujhe nahi patha."

"You know how to read?" Randheer asks his annoyance mounting.

"Yes," Katham Singh nods excitedly. "Chote hukum taught me. I know English as well!"

"Good," Randheer keeps it short. "Look through these drawers and find me writing that has -"

"These drawers? Arre na na chote kuwar sahab. Chote hukum hum dono se hi naaraz hojaayenge une patha chala toh. Kissi ko ijazat nahi hai yahaan ched chaad karne ka."

Randheer pulls open the next drawer annoyedly.

"Unhe Kaise patha chale?"

*

"Aise nahi," Veer chuckles, correcting the position of her fingers.

In the wall opposite Amrit's outstretched fingers project the shadow of a fluttering butterfly. She grins, entertained while Veer kisses a line down her throat, her grins turn into giggles as the butterfly dissolves.

"You are distracting me," she complains, "this is unfair."

Veer's larger hands make a better impression of an swooping eagle, all the while his chuckles warm her ear.

"Learn to multitask," he tells her, nipping at the soft flesh of her ear.

Amrit's lips part in a rewarding sigh and she nuzzles against his throat. The eagle too dissolves as his hands trail along her spine.

"You know there is one thing I want from daulathabadh," Veer tells her after a moment.

They are still wrapped in each other and those furs that no longer brough a bout of horror over either of them. It amazes Amrit, how the simple fact of his presence beside her chases away those ghosts that threaten to overwhelm her darker moments. The knowledge that she meant something similar to Veer and the shadows of his past makes her feel rather warm inside.

"What?" She asks, making her head more comfortable against his heart.

"Baba sahab's violin."

She closed her eyes, recalling the hauntedly beautiful tone that Veer played on it once. She imagines the king playing that tune, with its overwhelming sadness that had seeped into his very soul; a lament dedicated to his failed marriage perhaps.

"Why did she do it?" She muses softly. "Rani ma?"

"Do you think she has a reason?"
The bitterness in his words has a resigned sorrow to them. "Maybe she was always like that. Kuch log aise bhi hote hai, jino ne kabhi kush rehena nahi seekha."

Amrit says nothing. Veer settles his face on the crook between her neck and shoulder.

"Woh na kabhi kush rehe sakte hai, na kissi ko kushi de sakte hai. Badnazeeb hote hai aise log. Hum bhi aise the. Kismat ko manzoor nahi tha toh tum mil gayi."

Amrit takes his hand that smoothed along her shoulder and kisses it.

"Humare naseeb badalne wali," he mutters kissing along the shall of her ear. "Humari Amrit..." he pauses to look at her. "Kahaan khoi ho?"

"You might think me crazy," Amrit hides her face against him. "I'm curious to know what went so wrong between them? What was so badly broken that nothing could heal it? Aap naraz toh nahi hai na?"

Veer says nothing for a moment. Then when he speaks his voice has a tint of darkness.

"I don't want to learn her reason," he says softly. "Dar sa lagtha hai. What if I was wrong about both of them? What if he has hurt her so much that it was only natural of her to hate him so? Hurt him so? I've seen ma sahab's darkness. I'm accustomed to it. But what if baba sahab was -"

"Shh," Amrit mutters, hushing him with her lips pressed against his. "No one who loved their children so could be a bad person."

"You don't know. Think of the things I did to you - have you forgotten already? Will you ever forget? Woh paayal?"

"I haven't," she tells him. "I haven't forgotten. But I have understood. You were afraid and you reacted to your fears. Sahi nahi the aap lekin zulm bhi toh nahi the woh sab. You did not cause me any physical harm."

"Kher chhodo," Veer waves that thread of discussion away. "Aap se apne pati ke bhurai dekhi nahi jaati Kuwar Rani sahiba." He kisses her shoulder once more.

"Haan, unse nazarein joh nahi hatt thi," Amrit replies saucily, before turning back to the lantern. She makes a shadow of a kitten on the wall. "Ha! See I did it!"

"Shaabash," Veer says distractedly, dragging his mouth along her nape and drawing her hair over one shoulder to reach more of her skin. He uses his free hand to add to the shadow her hands made, making her cat into a lion with a mane.

"Let's go to daulatabadh," Amrit says suddenly, watching as their lion prowled the wall rather proudly. "Let's being that violin home."

*

"Why don't you check the library?" Katham Singh had suggested. "That's where chote hukum and Dulhan Rani used to work most of the time."

And Randheer had allowed the shorter man of no consequence to push him out of that abandoned chamber and lock its doors rather pointedly. He would never get these people to fear him the way they did towards their chote hukum and his infamous wrath.

But in the library archives Randheer had found something he had not expected to at all. It happened because of his over smartness. Instead of starting to check shelves and drawers of the library's study area Randheer had wanted to first find out if the two had indeed worked there.

The library like the one he was accustomed to during the time he worked at daulatabadh had a log to record comings and goings. While it annoyed him how long the two had spent shut inside this place, Randheer being the curious soul he had been found it fascinating that the Shrigar library had logs that ran back to bloody 1880s. They were all leather bound books, arranged rather meticulously in a wing of its own, chronicling meetings and itineraries of kings and queens, written and maintained by secretaries of those times.

He reads up about his grandfather's lavish lifestyle in the logs of all his parties and banquets and trips. Then his father's rather modest but regal style of living. It is in the 1920s that Randheer finds something that gave him pause. He is still thumbing that entry when Rani Sahiba comes around looking for him.

"Aap kya kar rahe ho beta?" She asked.

"Rani ma," Randheer speaks without raising his eyes from the page. "Do you know one Deenanat Chauhan ji?"

Rani sahiba frowns.

"Haan. Of cause. He was maharaj ji's personal solicitor. Kiyun? What about him?"

"In September 1928 he came to meet baba sahab?"

Rani sahiba flinched a little at the reference to the late king and inched closer.

"What is this about?"

Randheer pushed the log towards her, pointing at the entry made by the said solicitor.

Meeting with HM Rana sahab regarding his testament.

"Maharaj ji made a last will?"

**
Ooh things are beginning to get interesting indeed. What do you think? Oh my usual requests to follow, please vote and comment. This is a lonely place without your responses.
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