❝"I refuse!", was her deafening scream. The temple full of people stood in silence. He watched her, taken aback at the audacity, but not out of his icy cold composure.
He took a step towards her.
"Step back! Step away-"
He yanked her by her wrist...
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NEXT morning I woke up, on his bed, in his bedroom. He had left last night, and never returned.
Of all things, I knew he would keep his promise.
I walked into the bathroom. That bathroom was the size of my whole bedroom in my own house. With a golden tub for bathing, gold and white interiors that looked traditional Rajasthani architecture. I walked down to the basin. I looked back at myself, looking almost devastated.
I touched the tap to turn it own. "Ouch!", I winced realising the palm of my hand had been blistered by yesterday's torch stunt. Using my left hand, I turned the tap on.
I splashed water on my face.
The cool water, made me feel slightly better. I looked back at myself again, realising his blood and the sindoor of his name had started to wash away.
It's sight reminded me of the nightmare that yesterday's evening was.
And I immediately started wiping it away, washing it, removing any speck of it from my hairline. When I walked out, a clean cotton saree had been placed on my bed.
I took a step towards the bed when a servant startled me.
"Forgive me, Your Highness. The clothes have been sent from your home.", She indicated the worn out suitcase near the table lamp, by the bed. "And this saree is a present from the King. He recommends you to wear this."
Saying so she took my permission and left.
I sighed.
Wow. So my father and sister instead of fighting for me, sent me my clothes. How awesome is that!
I took my clothes and towel, and of course the recommended saree of the so called King. I had no wish to annoy him anymore.
•
The moment I stepped out, dressed and ready, I heard music.
The echoing music of Veena. From my musical knowledge I could tell it was the Rudra Veena.
The sharp chords strung in a beautiful symphony. The kind that gave goosebumps.
And then the voice.
“Jata Joot Bhairav Viambar Shivoham Sada Shiv Nirakaar Shankar Shivoham”
The sanskrit shlokas, in praise of Lord Shiva, pronounced to perfection, in tune with the beautiful music. I immediately rushed out of the bedroom, almost drawn by the magnetic power of the music.
I followed the music to a huge room. Guards stood before it, heads bowed low.
The moment I stepped close to it, the guards and servants moved to a side.
“Yeh Tu Ki Main Hoon Yeh Main Hoon Ki Tu Kahaan Koyi Antar Shivoham Shivoham”
I stood still, as I watched the man. His fingers working seemlessly on the chords, the Rudra Veena resting on his shoulder and his lap. His eyes shut as he sang.
