White Lilies

Burning Inside

He sat naked on a stone slate, and she sat naked on the floor, his legs towering her like high armchairs, her head leaning on his thigh. It was a humid summer.

She looked up at him, "I want you. I want you as mine."

Every prayer came back to him with the force of winds through the ventilators. Every complaint, every cry, the questions on justice, the fairness of existence, the faith of God. His breaths came back.

She wanted him as hers.

"I have wanted to be yours from the moment my fate had me look at you. Make me yours."

He bent down with caution, and she turned around with passion. Their lips still touching when she pushed him down on the bed and climbed over.

""So, you're mine from today. Do you want something too?" She asked.

"Nope. This fish is in your net." He grinned.

"Be a little selfish, Mirat," she pulled his cheek. "It won't be fair if you're the only one to give your all. So, I'm yours too."

"Understood, Queen!"

"And why did you agree to be mine?"

I love you.

Such simple words to say but his throat was a blackhole today. It sucked in the words, took away his air, and left him cold and desperate. He was relieved from this. For long, he had not known to express, and her questions often brought out unfamiliar experiences. And as much as he loved it, he could not predict his emotions then. He was scared of getting addicted to it and losing her in future. He wanted to live, even if the price was killing his soul.

She looked at his struggling self and eased him into a kiss. "You don't have to answer."

He didn't speak much but when he did, she knew he loved her.

A gong rang through the peace. She had to leave.

The walls were stony grey again and they taunted him. She got up and put on her heavy blouse. "Help me tie these laces."

His hand moved over her bare back leaving every inch lively in its wake. He pulled the laces tight and tied them as she sighed under the burden of expectations. Even her lehenga was worth the annual salary of a court minister.

She wore her underwear and looked at him with tears in her eyes. Her lip tint was unkempt and so was her heart. Her white gold lehenga was worn properly. Their luck was rotten. He did not want to see her leave. Even though she returned twice a day, the possibility that she might not return one day, and he would be executed here the moment she got forced into a marriage with someone else often haunted him.

He liked to see her free. No matter how pretty she looked to others, he knew luxury was not her style of expressing herself. Her confidence often came from knowledge and individuality rather than the mold she tried to fit these days.

Why did they not run away when he was free?

There was no chance of escape. His only crime had been to love Mir. And then, like an enchanted lovestruck fool, he had followed her to land. He couldn't regret it even if he tried. And like every awful tale, he had gotten himself caught - accused of something no Queen was allowed to ignore. The fact that she had had his sentence converted from execution to life imprisonment was a feat in itself.

Sometimes, he cried after she left. He missed his family and friends so much. But in truth, he could not. She was not free either. If her enemies were found out, she might be dethroned in favour of an oligarchy. The politics were intense in her court these days and rumours were bound to spread sooner or later.

"I love your voice, Mirat. You should speak more."

He replied in an expressive silence and with the golden edges of her lehenga brushing the floor, she walked out of his cell.

Mir had to get him out anyhow; the nights he had been up crying had been driving her mad. Her patience had reached its end and she had been growing furious day by day.

Mir. Mir. Mir.

He called out to her in his head.

---------

The court was adorned in red curtains and yellow chandeliers. With white being considered the colour of the mourning, a Queen every day greeting the court in white shook the ministers. And yet, it had since a week ago. Her wardrobe never ran out of white.

The ministers could not stake the reputation of the monarchy more. A bold minister from the court spoke, "Apologies, your majesty, but there is a rumour going around in neighbouring lands that the Queen is grieving the loss of a secret husband. We cannot let that happen!"

When mice step into the lair of a cat, the cat is not to play too eagerly lest the mice should get scared away.

After all, no one wore the crown for decorative purposes. They had forgotten what she was like before her responsibilities grounded her. "Oh, Foreign Minister Junka. Why is such a rumour going around?"

Mir was playing right into the hands of the court minister, making her feel like she was to win.

"Your majesty has been wearing white every day. We were hoping for a suitable marriage for her highness and such rumours will make your majesty look like a widow. No ruler will send any proposals. If we do not get the support of a ruler from another monarchy, neighbouring lands will think us weak and alone!"

The minister had crossed the line. Mir was staring right into her eyeballs, baring the woman's soul. However, Junka was a woman of ability herself. She exuded confidence as she waited for her Queen's answer.

"Since when did white become a colour signifying death?"

Junka was taken aback both from the nonchalance in the Queen's attitude and the unexpected question she put forth. It was common knowledge that widows wore white!

"I thought our statues have all been installed in white? The colour of the Hindus' teeka in this court is white? Our medical teams also wear white? I don't understand the problem here."

Mir was in her essence. Hardly anyone in the palace did not know about her favourite subjects. However, they had forgotten it during the time of her hardships. She was busy surviving on her two legs while the businesspeople were busy setting up the foundation of an oligarchy under the guise of a weak monarchy.

The minister shamefully disappeared into her seat.

"Does anyone else have any more problems?"

It was a terrible day at court. They should've never pinned their eyes upon Mirat. Traditions, culture, laws... can never be worth more than an actual innocent life.

The Queen was not in a submissive mood. There was no mercy from the sun outside as it shone its rays into the courtroom.