THE COURTESAN OF JAIGARH (Complete)

Part 2-Caught!

 Neelanjana sobbed with her face hidden in the straw mattress. She had continued to bawl as she watched her mother leave her with the hateful old man who forced her to sit on his lap, fondled her hair, and kissed her cheeks. When she wouldn't stop crying, he swore violently, dragged her into this room, and bolted the door.

Hours passed, as the little girl fell into a fitful sleep, exhausted from the storm of weeping and drained emotionally. The sun progressed on its westward journey, putting the room into semi-darkness as shadows lengthened outside. The tavern was abuzz with activity, full of locals and travelers. A few women of ill repute plied their trade, eyeing the men with come hither looks.

The old man ordered his son to keep an eye on the business. None should leave without paying their dues. Then, he made his way to the upstairs room where he had locked the girl. What a piece of temptation she was, but he would have to discipline her into obedience first. He needed someone to wash, clean, and maybe cook a few meals. She should come in handy for that at the moment. She appeared not a day less than seven. Many girls were married by that age and managed their households.

Neelanjana woke to the sound of the rusty bolt. The door opened and the same old man stood there, watching her with his beady eyes. He entered, then shut the door behind him. Coming closer, he stood above her, his stance belligerent.

"Get up, girl," he barked.

She shook her head, refusing to do his bidding. If she acted stubborn, maybe he would let her go, and she could search for her mother. She was sure that her mother would soon come back to fetch her. How would she live without her beloved Neelu?

The old man brought his face near to hers, then showing his rotten teeth in a snarl, whispered in a menacing tone.

"If you don't get up and do as I say, I'll cut you up and feed you to the dogs," he threatened, then dragged her to the window and pointed to the two fierce-looking hounds sitting by the door of the tavern below.

A shiver of fear ran down her spine. With their mean eyes and lolling tongues, they looked straight out of hell. She whimpered at the thought of those dogs let loose on her.

She nodded mute acquiescence, dusted her clothes, and stood attention.

"Go to the kitchen below the stairs. I'm in the mood for some porridge. Clean after you," he commanded, pushing her out of the door.

Once she had cooked the porridge, burning her fingers in the process, a young boy, a few years older than her, came to fetch it. He smiled at her kindly.

"Hello, there. Are you the new servant?" he asked.

Neelanjana nodded, then curiosity got the better of her.

"Who are you?" she asked, noting his pleasant features.

"I'm Dhruva, the old man's son," he replied. "Don't anger him. He is very free with the stick," he cautioned, winked, and then walked away with the bowl of porridge.

Neelanjana digested this piece of information with some trepidation. At that moment, her stomach growled with hunger. There was some porridge left in the pot. She glanced out the door, saw no one, and polished off the porridge with some cool water. Later, she cleaned the kitchen and waited for her next task. The old man dismissed her for the night an hour later, and she retired to the same dusty room.

The mattress was scratchy, but she would soon get used to it, she thought. Many plans came to her mind to escape, but none seemed easy. How would one walk past those dogs? What if she was caught by the old man and he cut her up? The thought was enough to make her break out in a sweat.

That day set the tone for the days to come. She would wake at the first light of dawn, clean fowl, peel vegetables, and cook meal after meal. Many burnt fingers later, she was almost an expert at the task. There was also the tavern to be cleaned before it opened for business. Neelanjana hated that job. Men would sometimes drink too much and vomit all over the place. She wrinkled her nose, tied a cloth over her face, and continued with her work. The old man wasn't fond of excuses. She knew that very well. His beatings meant that she couldn't sit comfortably for days. Her back was full of bruises.

Her only friend of sorts was Dhruva. He would tell jokes to make her laugh, or smuggle sweetmeats under his robe. They would eat them on the sly, lest the old man find out. By midnight, she would be dead tired.

In the dead of the night, she would wonder just what she had done wrong that her mother had forsaken her. The question troubled her, and then she would break down in a fresh storm of tears. Though her parents were alive, she was no better than an orphan, living her life at the mercy of a cruel old man.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, till Neelanjana blossomed into a young woman, almost fourteen years of age. Her scrawny figure had grown curves in the right places, her hair long and lustrous, falling to her flared hips, her complexion pink of the lotus flower, but most strikingly, her blue eyes were her best features, most talked about and admired by the men who frequented the tavern.

"There's a fair in the grounds outside the city gates. Will you come?" Dhruva asked her one morning while they were having their breakfast of dry millet bread.

He had turned into a young lad of seventeen, tall and lanky, with wild hair and shining, kindly eyes. He must have taken after his mother, thought Neelanjana, for the old man was as ugly as he was mean.

"Won't he find out?" she whispered, though they were alone, his father having gone to see his ailing aunt.

"I hope not. We'll be back before he returns. Please say that you'll come. It's no fun to visit a fair alone."

"I would love to," she nodded in agreement. It would be a welcome change from the monotony of backbreaking work.

The fairgrounds were lighted with hundreds of lamps, with vendors selling their wares and bards singing songs of heroic deeds by kings and girls dancing to the tune of drums. The aroma of delicious foods filled the air. It was a scene full of excitement and revelry.

Neelanjana watched in fascination as the dancers matched their steps with the beat of the drums, their colorful skirts billowing around them. She looked down at her own drab clothes and grimaced. What fun it must be to wear such beautiful clothes and dance merrily, she wondered.

Night had fallen by the time they returned. No light was burning in the old man's room, so they heaved a sigh of relief. Still, Dhruva decided against going in through the gates. There was a tree outside her window. They climbed it and jumped in through the open window.

"Thank you," she whispered shyly, rising on tiptoe and kissing Dhruva's cheek.

He pulled her near, their bodies touching, and Neelanjana felt blood rushing to her womanly parts as he hid his face in her hair and caressed her body with his hands, his fingers finding her and exploring. Her heart pounded like the beat of the drums in the fair, and she shuddered with pleasure. Her legs seemed lifeless, unable to support her. She whimpered, trying to pull him down on the mattress, till the loud bang of the door tore through their passion-hazed brains.

With a yelp, Dhruva turned to see the old man standing at the door, a thick stick in his hand.