Dua

Summary: Kissi ki ibadat banjaau itni meri aukaat nahi.

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The mirror keeps stealing her eye.
It gets fogged by the smoke of sandalwood and smudges the image the two of them makes. Softening the edges of contrast, the lines of reality.

If not for the brushes of his fingers against her skin from time to time, it could have been a vibrant dream.

Veer hums a tune under his breath as he works through her hair. Allowing the strands to soak the smoke and dry in the heat as he combed through them.

His fingers are deft, methodical, and rather gentle. It fills her heart how each task he does, turns into a sort of worship.

It scares her at the same time. Amrit doesn't want to be venerated for she knows better than anyone her feet are made of clay. Her faults sometimes eclipse her virtues and her good intentions often pave paths to hell. She reaches out to touch his hand.

"Aise matt dekhiye mujhe," her words are hushed. "Kissi ki ibadat banjaau itni meri aukaat nahi."

He stops humming and draws her hair over her shoulder setting the smoking censer away. Amrit watches as he sinks to his knees, holding her eye, reaching to take her hands.

"Tumhari mohabbat banjaaye humari bhi toh itni aukaat nahi," he tells her.

Tips of his fingers press against her parted lips, thwarting the reply that lingers at the tip of her tongue.

"Humare zindagi jee kar dekh lo, tum kya ho - samajh jaaongi." His thumb draws along her lower lip, his palm moving to caress her jaw.

"Tum humari nahi hoti toh kasam se, cheen letha. Ab joh hamari ho, humari jaan ho, kaise na dekhein tumhe?"

She draws in a breath, his words leaving her wordless.

Veer, satisfied with her teary eyed silence takes her hand and slides a heavy kangan on her wrist. Amrit fidgets slightly thinking he would remove the chooriyaan and Veer shakes his head.

"I won't," he says meaningfully. "I know what it means for you. Hum aisa kuch nahi karenge jisse tumhari dil toote. "

Amrit turns to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair is still unbound, and she is yet to put bindi or sindoor. Still, she looked every inch the queen Veer wanted to see her as.

His queen.

Veer in the meantime opens the final unopened box laying on the dressing table. Amrit notices the faint frown between his brows. He shuts the box with a sharp click.

When she tries to reach him the jewellery make melodious complaints. Veer snatches hold of her hand before she could touch him, their fingers entwine and hold.

"Kya Hua?" Amrit asks.

Veer smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. They are no longer the sunlit brown. Amrit opens her mouth but Veer reaches in and presses a kiss on her hair parting.

"Bohut kubsoorat ho," he tells her. "Bindi rakhlo, hum abhi aatein hai."

He leaves before she could hold him back and takes that box with him. The way he leaves, his frame rigid with some kind of a tension, makes her heart clench. One secret had almost torn them apart. Now there was another.

Slowly, Amrit fills her parting with sindoor, trembling fingers coming off dusted in that auspicious red and she prays to any kind hearted God who is listening, "meri pati ki raksha karna."

*

The royal guard knows when to dissipate and when to reappear. The agitated footfall of their kuwar is enough of an indication.

Veer merely makes it to the entrance hall of Ranimehel and Shravan Singh is there, flanked by his two subordinates, waiting to be commanded.

"Aadesh dijiye Chote hukum."

Veer hands him the box. Shravan Singh looks at him for permission and he nods once.

The older man opens the intricately carved box with care. It looks like it belonged to a lady of the rajparivaar. Not something Shravan Singh would usually handle.

But the box is full of broken chooriyaan, ominously shattered, the auspicious red bleeding into a warning of sort. There is no need to ask who would have send something like that to Dulhan Rani, who hadn't taken off her own chooriyaan yet. It was a horrible thing to do with a young woman who had been through too much, still in her newlywed phase.

Shravan Singh feels his hand clenching on the edge of the box. Dulhan Rani was such a sweet person, she had called him kaka with so much familiarity.

Shravan Singh had been reminded of his own daughters back at home for a moment then. Shravan Singh is tempering his own fury that he barely hears Veer, but when he does he is surprised at the command.

"Try to call Huzenabadh estate, Nawabzade Anwar se aaj humare baat hona zaroori hai."

The two estates, in fact the two families hadn't seen eye to eye in generations. Apart from borders there were nothing that they shared.

However, Shravan Singh was aware of the unlikely friendship his Kuwar had with his fate designed rival, the son of the neighbouring Nawab, Anwar. And  the late king before him, with the old Nawab himself.

"Is he in the estate Chote hukum?" Shravan Singh was uncertain. He knows that Anwar was at Shrighar a few days ago, but he had gone without a word which made the older man think that perhaps urgent business might have called him back to the city.

"Wohi honga woh. Unse bass yahi kehena hai ke Noor katre mein hai. Aur humne unhe bhulaya. Huzenabadh ke logon se kehe dijiye, jiss duniya mein bhi nawabzade Anwar milein, yeh baat un taq pohochwa dein."

*

Rukzaar plucks at the zithar, wanting, no - dying - instead to lift it and bring it crashing down on the head of the morose man sitting opposite.

Huzenabadh had plunged into an uneasy silence around Anwar, something even her music could not liven up.

Heder and Omar are still in the city, along with their father. The commitments kept them busy. Instead Farida Khala had brought her of all people to make sure Anwar does not make a fool of himself.

As if a fool needed any more making. As if Rukzaar had ever managed to stop Anwar from doing anything.

"Ab woh jaam bhi kudh par tharas kha gayi hongi, ki jiss ke haat mein hai woh na peete hai na chhod the hai. Bechaari jaam - kismat mein koi anjaam hi nahi."

Commenting offhandedly, but knowing full well that Anwar heard every word, Rukzaar gets up, and makes a show of walking off.

Her anklets chime, and she walks with the grace of a dancer.

Before her marriage to the Nawab Usmaan Hussain Siddiquie Farida was a dancer herself. It is a lesser known truth, that the woman with all her intelligence, grace and beauty risen from the dust of streets.

Rukzaar had no relation to her, except that of a mentor and a mentee, a foster mother and a foster daughter.

Farida had always wanted a daughter, in Rukzaar she had found that. If only, the blessing came with the tragedy that had left Rukzaar alone in the world. Her father had died saving the Nawab's life. An act of valour that made sure that Rukzaar became an unofficial princess of the nawab family.

"Trying to get me drunk?" Anwar calls after her. Still twirling that offended glass, with its untouched measure of alcohol. "Rukzaar jaan, kuch jaam aise bhi hai joh aankon se piya jaaye."

She turns to him sharply.

"Oh, dekho kisse humari yaad aagayi!" She throws her hand in the air dramatically.

"Thank you for your benevolence your grace. Iss nacheez par aapki nazar toh padi - hum aabaad hogaye. Three days! Since three days I've been trying to get a word from you. But it doesn't matter now. Hum jaa rahein aap peetein rahiye aankon se!"

"Don't go," he mutters, hoping that she doesn't hear him, addressing the glass instead of her.

Anwar doesn't want to be left alone to the company of his thoughts. Now that there is nothing more to do, nothing more to distract him with, the pain of first heartbreak had come to torment him.

Rukzaar had been a nice distraction, her easy laughs, abrupt music and many tantrums had filled the deadly silence he was drowning in.

He had not intended to speak with her. But Anwar knew the girl had been packing since noon, making a show of going back to Delhi.

Rukzaar is known for her drama. Sure enough it is all done to scare him into doing something. But he is scared alright. He is terrified of this choking sense of loneliness.

Veer is busy with Amrit, Anwar had no business there. Noor was married now. He had no business thinking about her. Politics of his mother never interested him.

Suddenly Anwar realizes that he has nothing to do and so much to mourn. It is frightening.

Rukzaar has walked upto him, and she stands there hands on her hips, head tilted like a bird.

"Humse kehe kar toh dekhiye, agar dard ki dawa na karein woh dost kiss kaam ki?"

He laughs bitterly at her words.

"Of all people I don't want you laughing at me."

Something in her face changes. For a moment she isn't the Rukzaar he had known all his life, the one he had watched growing up.

No, she is someone else, with sharp eyes and an angular face that he could no longer read.

"Kyun humein Yun gair banatein rehete ho? Ek din chali jaaungi phir yaad karte rehena."

Anwar doesn't say anything. The silence stretches and Rukzaar comes to sit beside him.

"Do you still love that foolish boy who doesn't love you back?" Anwar asks suddenly, he is not looking at her. Or he would have seen the way Rukzaar clenches at her hands at the question.

"Haan. It's love. You can only begin the end is in the hands of God."

"Why do we even begin something that is not in our hands?"

"Shaayad humein banaya hi issi liye ke mohabbat mein mitt jaye."

"Dard hota hai na?"

"Bohut."

"Uss ne bhi shaadi karli?"

Rukzaar blinks.

"Who?"

"That foolish boy?"

She laughs at the irony Anwar is unaware of. The hints of bitterness in that laughter lost on him.

"Nahi toh. His own heart is broken."

"Oh," Anwar ponders upon that. "Then why are you sitting here instead of trying to console him? Paagal ladki!"

Rukzaar's heart picks up.

"Wohi toh kar rahi hoon," she wants to say. It is in the tip of her tongue.

She will say it today, be as it may, she did not want to carry this burden anymore. But just then, someone comes in running, in the hall the old telephone is ringing.

"Daulathabadh ke kuwar sahab aap ko dundh rahein hai. Suna ke -"

Rukzaar hears the last of the message with a sinking heart. Words melt in her sigh. The words she hear as well as the words she never gets to utter.

"Suna ke Noor katre mein hai."

Noor and Anwar, even their names fitted against each other while Rukzaar was left behind watching the retreating back of her unspoken first love, leaving once more.

"Ya Allah, unhe waspas lekar aana." Rukzaar mutters to herself and closes her eyes on that prayer. "Salamat ho, chahe humare ho ya na ho."

*

Randheer's head reels. He doesn't want to believe it, doesn't want to allow anything to uproot him from where he thought his roots were.

But the truth comes crashing upon him, undeniable when he sees glimpses of his own younger self scattered all over the carefully kept photographs.

Rani Sahiba - Rani Ma - gathers him against herself, shaking with all her supressed emotions, decades worth love and grief.

"Maaf kar dijiye humein," she says kissing his hair. "Hum aap ko pehechan nahi paye. Hum aap ke madat nahi kar paaye."

Those words draw memories. A sharp pain strikes through him.

"Amrit," Randheer says pulling away from his mother. "Where is she - how is she?"

Watching her face, her contorted expression he is reminded of more.

"Did you really send people to harm her? Aap aise kaise kar sakthi hai? This is not what you promised me! Did you use me? Did you use me to hurt her? Did you -"

"Veer ke saat hai woh," Rani Sahiba cuts him off. Unable to contain her fury she gets up, wringing her arms. "I brought her here, made her see the condition you were in. Tried to open her eyes to the danger she was getting tangled up in. But no - like a blind fool drunk on few sugar coated words, she has fallen into Veer's bed. She did not give you a second look."

"Nahi - meri Amrit..."

"Aapke nahi rahi. Usse koi qadar nahi -"

"No. I know the truth now. She was coerced into it. He made a deal with her!" Randheer informs her, through clenched teeth.

Rani Sahiba turns to him sharply. Assessing his words, her face changing as she takes it in.

"Amrit married him to get me released from jail. Amrit did it because she loves me. She loves me!"

"Prem," her hand caresses his hair, regret is heavy on her tone. "I did not know."

Randheer's eyes close to the comfort of her hand, but he cannot remove the regret of hurting Amrit.

His Amrit. Amrit who decided to offer herself to that monster to free him.

"He played you both then," Rani Sahiba says slowly. "I always wondered why he played such a long hand, if all he wanted was to hurt my pride. But no. Perhaps what he wanted was Amrit herself. Amrit who loves you."

Her voice softens, like a slow poison.

"He is like that since young. He always wants what you have - always plays elaborate games to get them."

Despite his regrets, his reservations about this woman's motive, her kindness begins to seep through the cracks of his soul and unwittingly Randheer is reminded of Veer's warning.

"Hum aisa khel khelenge ke woh sapne mein bhi tera naam nahi lengi."

"And when he gets it, he would put his seal on it. Chahe woh khilona ho, khitab ho ya kuch aur. Jo usska nahi hota woh barbaad kar deta. Apne bap par joh gaya hai."

"Ma," Randheer says slowly. Rani Sahiba turns to him with teary eyes, no matter how rough around the edges that word is with unfamiliarity, her heart brims to hear it. "Are you saying that Veer planned all this to get Amrit?"

Rani Sahiba doesn't answer immediately.

"Are you saying that Amrit went to the arms of the same man who plotted to ruin her? Those men at the station - they were his?"

"Try to find a single one of those men now, try to find what or who happened to them. You will have your answer. Veer is meticulous about wiping his tracks. Kabhi apne papon ka ek nishaan nahi chhod tha. Prem - aap kahaan -!"

"I need to stop Amrit!" Randheer had already risen to his feet. Rani Sahiba holds him back.

"There is no need for you to go. I have seen to it. Aap se aap ki Amrit koi nahi cheen saktha. Aap ke ma ki wada hai yeh."

*
Ah a new week, a new phase of the story. Rukzaar has made her entry, and soon she will be meeting Amveer too.
We are again heading for a storm. But as usual it will only give us more Amveerlicious content. Trust me!😉
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