As Pakhi processed this new piece of information, Gehlotji told her about his youngest sister’s woes. Married at a young age, she was widowed within two years. She refused to marry again, and had stayed on in her in-laws house, taking care of them until they passed away. She didn’t have any children of her own, but was loved by all her nieces and nephews. When Abhimanyu heard her story from Gehlotji, he’d insisted on meeting her and had urged her to keep herself busy. With a little coaxing, she had agreed to set up a small textiles shop in the market area. Today, almost two years after the opening of her store, she couldn’t imagine a life without it.
‘I rarely get to see her nowadays. She’s so busy! Her shop is always packed,’ Gehlotji said with great pride.
‘What is the name of her store, Gehlotji?’
‘Zenana Designs, Bai saa.’
Pakhi made a mental note to visit the store if she had the chance. Their flight to Mumbai was scheduled to depart in the evening. So she presumed there would be time for a little more sightseeing. She still had to visit the City Palace and Jal Mahal, which was her father’s recommendation.
As she drained the last of her coffee, she spotted Abhimanyu walking towards her table. He seemed a little preoccupied so she took the chance to almost devour him with her eyes. Dressed in beige chinos, a blue polo T-shirt and tan moccasins, he looked good enough to eat.
‘What happened?’ Abhimanyu asked as he reached the table.
‘What?’ Pakhi retorted, a little blindsided.
‘What what? Your eyes look like saucers!’ he teased.
‘Arre! My eyes, my saucers,’ she replied, smiling.
Abhimanyu threw his head back and laughed loudly, making many heads turn in their direction.
‘Where’s Gehlotji?’ he asked, as he sat down opposite her.
‘Oh, he just left to get some kachori. I told him I’m stuffed to the gills. But he doesn’t believe me,’ she said, trying her best to look shocked.
‘Oh well, you can have one or two, I’m sure,’ his eyes were dancing now.
‘Are you insinuating that I eat too much?’ she said in mock anger.
‘No way! I’m not going down that road again,’ came his smooth response.
And this time, Pakhi threw her head back and laughed loudly.
Three kachoris later, Pakhi was sure she would be waddling around all day.
Taking a sip of her iced tea, she asked Abhimanyu if he had anything planned for the day.
‘That is what I wanted to talk to you about before you distracted me,’ he told her.
‘Hey!’
‘Oh, all right,’ he said in a pacifying tone. ‘OK, so the thing is I have some things to look into here. Basic administration stuff, actually. Boring but I’ve got to take care of it. You mentioned a few places that you wanted to see yesterday at lunch. Would you be OK going with the driver?’
‘Umm … yeah, sure,’ Pakhi was crestfallen, and her face said as much.
‘I’m really sorry, love,’ Abhimanyu reached across the table to cover her hands with his. ‘But I’ve got to finish things up before we leave.’
‘Yeah,’ she replied, ‘I guess I can’t keep you to myself all day, now can I?’
The words were out of her mouth. She couldn’t take them back. From the look on Abhimanyu’s face, he didn’t want her to either.
The driver, Rathod, told Pakhi that they would first go to Jal Mahal. It would be too hot to explore by noon. Since it was only 10 a.m., she would have ample time to look around. Rathod told her they would visit the City Palace on their way back to the hotel.
On the way to Jal Mahal, Pakhi rang up her father’s landline number. The maid picked up on the second ring, and told Pakhi that her father had gone to his friend’s house. She tried his mobile phone but as usual, there was no response. So Pakhi called Subhash, her driver in Mumbai, and reminded him that Abhithi needed to be picked up from school. Subhash assured her that he had not forgotten.
When she reached Jal Mahal, Pakhi was surprised to learn that an exclusive tour had been organized for her. All part of the Abhimanyu Dev hospitality package, she mused. Sitting in an elegant, handcrafted wooden boat, she fell in love with her surroundings. As the boatman ferried her across the Man Sagar lake, Pakhi paid close attention to every word he said. Built in red sandstone, Jal Mahal had five floors. Four of these remained under water when the lake was full, leaving only the topmost floor exposed. The four chhatris, also known as burj, on the four sides of the palace were octagonal, and the one on the roof was said to be inspired by patachitra, traditional scroll-based painting originating in the eastern part of India. Over the years, as restoration projects were undertaken, a unique blend of plaster was applied to the walls consisting of jaggery, cumin powder and other organic material.
Pakhi also learnt that although the structure, originally a dam, was built somewhere in the sixteenth century, it was Maharaja Jai Singh II who gave it a makeover in the eighteenth century.
The topmost floor of Jal Mahal housed the magnificent Chameli Bagh. Designed in the traditional Charbagh style, each corner of the beautiful garden has a raised marble flower bed in the shape of a scrolling arabesque with several fragrant flowering plants. At night, Pakhi was told, the water fountains that cascade down over the traditional Chinikhana walls create a beautiful display of lights and glitter. In the centre of the garden stood a raised platform designed specifically for music and dance performances.
As Pakhi closely observed the various tibaris, she decided that her favourite was the Raas Niwas Tibari which had beautiful frescoes depicting the romance between Lord Krishna and his gopis.
The beauty and romance of her surroundings were not lost on her and she wished Abhimanyu was with her.
As if on cue, a voice whispered in her ear, ‘Have you decided to take up residence here, Ms Mehra?’
Abhimanyu!
Pakhi whirled around and was enveloped in his warm embrace. He was here! He’d come here. For her?
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, pulling away only enough to look up into his eyes.
‘Oh, well … I just happened to be in the neighbourhood.’ He pretended to look around him and admire the flowers.
‘Abhimanyu?’ she coaxed, squeezing him with all her might.
‘Ow! That’s quite a bone-crushing hug you have there, Ms Mehra,’ he said immediately.
‘Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here or not?’ She really wanted to know.
‘Well, you see, as I was leafing through some boring papers and trying to analyze finances, I realized that is exactly what I pay some of the country’s greatest analysts to do. And mind you, I pay them a bomb!’ he said in all honesty.
‘So?’ Pakhi could feel disappointment edging closer. He was bored, and that’s why he’d come. Not because…
‘Also, I’d rather spend my last day in Jaipur with you than remain cooped up in a bloody room that was stifling me despite the air conditioning.’
The heat in Mumbai was just the same – humid, sticky, filthy. He tried to concentrate on the job at hand. Seated behind the wheel of an old blue Maruti Omni, he wiped the sweat from his brow as he peered through his binoculars. Fifteen minutes more, and the school gates would open.
Placing his binoculars on the dashboard, he took one last look in the cracked rear-view mirror and checked his appearance. He hadn’t seen water in days. His beard was dirty, with remnants of last night’s khichdi lodged between the strands. He didn’t bother to wipe them off.
He got out of the Omni and quickly crossed over to the other side. Parents were already lining up outside the gate. He knew this was going to be tricky. But he’d been waiting for this day for a long time. He’d been waiting to make the little bitch’s life miserable. She was the sole reason for the hell he now called life.
The little bitch was going to pay!
‘I can’t decide which one is my favourite palace,’ Pakhi declared as she and Abhimanyu got into the car. ‘The
City Palace is undoubtedly beautiful and very grand, but Hawa Mahal … oh, I think I have a favourite after all.’
Abhimanyu had enthralled her with stories from his childhood a little earlier. He had come here with Daji every summer. This was where his grandparents had met nearly seventy-five years ago. He’d heard the story from Daji so many times that now as he told it to Pakhi, he almost felt like he had been there with Daji and Dadi all those years ago.
‘They’d met inside the Diwan-i-Khas. Daji was on a holiday with his parents and Dadi had come here with her friends. She was a Rajput, you know,’ he told Pakhi.
‘Really? Wow! And then?’ She leaned closer to him. Abhimanyu tugged her gently towards him, her head coming to rest against his shoulder.
As the car sped along, Abhimanyu continued with his story.
Pratap had been visiting Jaipur with his parents and they were staying close to the bazaar. The moment he laid eyes on Maalti, he decided that he would marry her. By the time he mustered up enough courage to talk to her, however, she was nowhere to be seen. Pratap searched every inch of the palace that was accessible to visitors but there was no sign of the young girl in a yellow and blue sari. That evening, on his way back to the lodge, where he was staying with his parents, he spotted one of the young girl’s friends near a tea stall. He immediately crossed over to the other side of the road. He didn’t even turn around to see if his parents were following.
When he reached the girl, he asked, ‘Were you at the City Palace this morning?’
The girl’s brows cinched with worry as she wondered if Pratap was stalking her. And she asked him as much.
To which he replied, ‘No, no. I’m not stalking you. But your friend … the one in the yellow and blue sari … where can I find her now?’ With every word he spoke, his courage seemed to be growing.
‘Why?’ The girl was now positive he was a mad man.
‘I want to marry her, that’s why.’ As soon as he said the words, he heard his mother gasp. He turned around to see his parents also staring at him like he’d lost his mind.
‘Pratap!’ That was his father’s way of warning him not to continue. Pratap knew that tone all too well.
But for once he didn’t care. He wanted to meet his girl. He had to tell her that he was going to whisk her away.
‘Please,’ he pleaded with the girl, ignoring his father. ‘Can you help me?’
Before she could tell him to get lost, a voice called from inside the tea stall.
‘Who are you talking to, Lata?’
Pratap tried to peer inside the dark stall to see who the voice belonged to. His prayers were answered. There she was – the girl. His girl.
‘Someone is asking for you, Maalti,’ Lata replied in a tone that said that the someone was obviously insane.
‘Who?’ Maalti stepped out of the stall then, her hair askew, sweat trickling down her neck and into her blouse. Wiping her brow with the back of her hand, her eyes finally fell on Pratap.
‘Ji, chai peeyenge?’ she asked in a soft voice.
Pratap could only nod his assent. He watched her as she turned and went back into her stall. She poured tea into three small glasses, obviously having seen his parents standing behind him. She placed the glasses on the counter and asked, ‘Pakoda lenge?’
Again, Pratap could only nod. He watched her move inside the tiny stall with such easy grace. He was mesmerized to say the least.
Finally, after being forcefully fed tea and pakodas, his father cleared his throat loudly as a second warning to his son.
This time, however, Pratap did pay heed. He turned around to face his father and said, ‘Just a second, Babuji. I only want to speak to Maalti for a minute.’ He stepped to the side of Maalti’s tea stall and addressed her directly.
A little more than a minute later, Pratap walked back to his parents, pure joy etched on his features. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, smiling.
Four months later, Pratap and Maalti were married.
‘What?’ Pakhi burst out. ‘How is that a story?’
‘What do you mean how is that a story?’ Abhimanyu said even though he knew exactly what she wanted to know. He’d wanted to know that all his life, but Daji had never told him more than what he’d just told Pakhi.
‘What did Daji say to her, Abhimanyu?’ Exasperation laced her voice.
‘I have no idea, Pakhi,’ he said.
‘Err … you don’t?’ Her face was a kaleidoscope of emotions. One minute she was excited and incredulous, and in the very next, disappointment shone in her eyes.
‘I don’t,’ Abhimanyu told her sincerely. ‘Daji never told me. I’ve asked him countless times,’ he added when he saw her about to protest. ‘But the old man is so bullheaded.’
‘I’m going to call him now and ask him,’ she declared.
‘Be my guest, Ms Mehra.’
She fished her phone out of her bag and unlocked the screen pattern. A frown suddenly creased her forehead.
‘What is it?’ Abhimanyu asked, worried.
‘There are seven missed calls from Papa,’ she replied even as she dialled her father’s number. But there was no response again. She dialled again. But her father didn’t answer.
‘That’s OK,’ she said putting her phone back into her bag. ‘I guess Papa must have called to say that he remembered to pick up Abhithi from school today.’
‘OK,’ he said, visibly relaxed. ‘Don’t you want to call Daji?’ he asked playfully.
‘No,’ she said as she looked out of the window. The stores on the street were abuzz with activity.
‘I’ll go back and ask him,’ she told him.
Abhimanyu saw her brow crease again. But he didn’t ask a second time. He could sense that she was worried about something. He decided he would wait for her to tell him of her own volition. He was quite happy with the way things were progressing between them. Every day he found himself moving a step closer towards telling her how he felt. In the short time that he’d known her, she’d come to mean so much to him that he couldn’t imagine a life without her now. It was incredible, this feeling. It was liberating.
Pulling him out of his thoughts, he heard her say to the driver, ‘Could we stop here for a bit, please?’
He looked out of the window to see what she meant by here and read the signboard – Zenana Designs.
Damn! Gehlotji and his big mouth!
16
‘Yeh bahot sundar hain, Maithileeji,’ Pakhi exclaimed, admiring the intricate mirror and embroidery work on the red dupatta Gehlotji’s sister was showing her. She’d already set aside a lime-green sari with gold zardozi and mirror work. From the corner of her eye, she saw Abhimanyu standing outside the store. He had insisted on not coming inside with her and Pakhi hadn’t forced him either. She didn’t want it to be awkward for him and Gehlotji’s sister.
She understood his reticence. Her respect for him had grown ten-fold when she’d entered the store. Not only had he financed the business, but he also hadn’t let his name be used anywhere. If Pakhi had read him well, she was sure he’d insisted on keeping it that way. Maithileeji was a small, sturdy old lady who knew her way around fabrics and textiles.
‘Thank you, Pakhiji,’ the old lady smiled. ‘Shall I keep this aside as well?’ Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.
Maithilee liked this young woman who had come here with Abhimanyu Banna. She had seen the two of them getting out of the car and was preparing to welcome them both when she saw them exchange a few words and then only the young lady entered the store. She knew Abhimanyu Banna did not want to embarrass her. She had been immensely grateful to him when he had offered to help her set up a shop. As the years had passed, he had slowly coaxed her into supplying curtains, duvets and other fabrics to Dev Intercontinental as well. Her brother would always boast about his sister’s handiwork being an integral part of the hotel. Her store didn’t offer furnishings. And Abhimanyu Banna had asked her to stock them as well. But she had insisted on supplying furnishings only to
his hotel.
This young woman, Pakhiji, seemed very nice, she thought. She wondered if there was something going on between her and Banna. She secretly hoped there was. She was sure Pakhiji would be good for Banna. He’d been alone for too long. He was almost forty-three now. He should settle down, she thought and Pakhiji complimented him well.
‘Yes, Maithileeji,’ Pakhi said, pulling her out of her thoughts.
‘But that is all,’ she added. ‘I cannot buy more! I don’t have any space in my suitcase,’ she laughed.
Maithilee nodded and proceeded to pack the sari and dupatta. She didn’t want to charge for the purchases but knew that Banna would be embarrassed. But she quoted a price which was only half of what she would have charged others. Thankfully, Pakhiji did not notice as she was busy checking her phone.
She bade Pakhiji goodbye and went to the storeroom at the back of her store. There was a small idol of Lord Shiva in her office.
‘Let these two find their way to each other,’ she prayed to him.
Unaware of the prayers being said for them, Pakhi and Abhimanyu went back to the hotel. She was busy on her phone, so Abhimanyu took the opportunity to look at her. Her long dress which fell down to her ankles was in simple white with small red-and-yellow flowers. When he’d spotted her standing amidst all the flowers in Chameli Bagh, the breath had whooshed out of him. Nothing could have prepared him for her beauty. She’d left her hair loose, and the thick black curtain only added to her flawlessness. No, Abhimanyu thought. She had her flaws. Her eyes were too big for her small face, but they were the most expressive he’d ever seen. They couldn’t hide anything. And right now, they mirrored her concern.
Immediately dropping the idea of going to Amber Fort, he asked her, ‘Pakhi, what is it? You’ve been quiet for a long time.’
She didn’t respond immediately. He prodded her again, ‘Pakhi?’
‘Hmmm?’ she said, finally looking up at him.
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