What could she have told him? She knew her heart very well. If there were any doubts at all, those had vanished when he had invited her to ride in the jungle. She was in love with this man. But how could she have told him that she did not want to marry him because she did not want to be a rival to her sister. Her own sister did not understand her sentiment, thinking it was her naiveté. How could he be expected to understand it? And she didn’t mind being made fun of by her sister. But she wouldn’t be able to tolerate being ridiculed by him. What was she to do?

For now, she had to obey him. She let the maids dress her and joined her sister for lunch. She also waited for him in the courtyard and took sword-fighting lessons from him. Despite initial awkwardness, she started enjoying the lessons and practice. And she did not hide her pleasure from him. It became part of their routine. Every alternate day, he practiced with her.

—

Madhumita had delivered a baby boy that morning. There had been some scare in the beginning as the midwife had declared both mother and son to be in danger. But Vaidyaraj had brought the situation under control. The mother and the baby were still in the delivery room under observation. The announcement would be made only the next morning. The night was hot and stuffy and Bhumimitra was unable to sleep. He was keen on seeing his son, but Vaidyaraj had not allowed it yet. Feeling restless, he went to the garden and paced there. Faint light of a lamp filtering through a window caught his attention after a while. Who could be awake at this time? He walked towards the light and found himself standing at the window of Chandrika’s room. Unable to hold back his curiosity, he glanced through the window. She was painting. What was she painting? He squinted his eyes to focus. What he saw took his breath away. He would have to confront her. Right away.

He went inside the antahpur, straight to her room. Her maids were asleep. He tried the door. It was not bolted. He didn’t give a damn about the proprieties of knocking or informing about his arrival at that time. He flung the door open and found himself face to face with her. Her surprise was so great that she stood still like a statue for a while. He bolted the door from inside meanwhile. When she came to herself, her first thought was not to greet him, but to find something to cover her canvas.

“Let it be,” his deep voice boomed in the stillness of night, “I have seen it already.” She had been painting his portrait.

She gasped and the brush fell from her hands. He went closer and held her by shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be here, Maharaj, at this hour,” she objected in a trembling voice.

“This is my palace and I can be anywhere I want, Chandrika,” he drew her even closer and could feel her breath growing uneven, “I have always known that your heart has no objection. Stop me today if you have any.” He engulfed her body in a tight, passionate embrace. Her heart pounded so hard and her breathing was so labored that she felt giddy. She had to hold him to support herself. And once she did that, she lost all her ability to think.  She could feel though, and feel a little too much. She could feel where his hands were roaming over her body, and how she was feeling the heat of burning coal and chill of frozen ice at the same time at those places. She was unusually aware of her breath and her heartbeats. And of the electric current running through her spine. Spine? Who had ever been aware of spine? But she was, at that moment. She tried to open her eyes. Everything was blurry. She was on her bed for sure, but her body was alien to her. It was feeling and doing things she had never known before. This could not be real. Yes – it wasn’t real. She was either intoxicated. Or she was sleeping and dreaming of him. It had happened so often recently. It was just a more powerful dream. Nothing untoward will happen with anything she did. And so, as she had often done in her sleep, she addressed him like she did only in her dreams. “Priya!” Beloved. That made things even better. His nails dig deeper into her skin, and his kissed grew more urgent , more demanding. She was tempted. She could die to live this high. “Priya!” she called again. And the result did not disappoint her.

—

She stretched languorously on waking up. She had woken up earlier than usual, but still felt well-rested. She sat up and quickly did her morning prayer. Her eyes fell on her canvas as she made to get down from the bed. And with that the memories of last night came crashing over her. She slumped back on the bed as she remembered every bit of what had happened. Then she got up with mad urgency. She covered the canvas and hid it in one corner of the room. She wondered if there would be enough water in the bathroom for her to clean herself up without summoning the maid. She checked and managed with whatever was available. She rubbed her hands and face mercilessly. She smoothened the bedsheet and then suddenly her frenzy died. What was she trying to achieve? Removing the signs won’t undo the deed. She had destroyed it all. She had destroyed herself and betrayed her sister. And how would she ever face him again after this?

She moved from the bed to a rocking armchair. She sat there immobile for more than an hour. Then she looked at her hands. The ring on one of them had the solution to her dilemma. One ring that had a pinch of potent poison in it. Royal women always wore one such ring. To protect their dignity when it came to the worst, they would use this poison to kill themselves. The time had come for her. She took off  the ring and carefully pulled out the stone from it.

—

To be continued