THE COURTESAN OF JAIGARH (Complete)

Part 3-A Cruel Night

 Neelanjana nursed her swollen cheek. It hurt badly, but she ignored it, preparing a late-night meal for her master. Dhruva was in worse condition. He was beaten black and blue. The old man had hurled abuses at her, each one the choicest epithet he could find. Then, before leaving, he had threatened her with a dire punishment the next day. He had said that she would rue the day she was born.

Neelanjana wiped her tears angrily. Why was it her lot to suffer so? Now Dhruva would think twice before talking to her. She would lose the only friend she had. As for the old man's threat, she wondered what punishment he had planned for her. Maybe, he would really cut her up and feed her to the dogs, or break her arms and legs. Who knew, what that spawn of the devil would do?

The tavern was crowded with patrons. Men were drinking the local barley wine and singing crude songs. A group of travelers had arrived from the far-off dark continent. Neelanjana cast a curious glance at them, as she served the simple meal of rice and fowl. Their skin, dark like ebony, shone with sweat. In their flowing robes and white headdresses, they looked intimidating. She would do better to steer clear of them, she decided.

"Is the hospitality to your liking, sir?" the old man approached the group of travelers, addressing their leader. He had picked up a few languages in the course of his business.

They were merchants from the dark continent, who came to trade their ivory for native spices and muslins.

The burly, strongly muscled man, nodded. He had closely cropped curly hair and coal-black eyes, his countenance fierce to behold. 

"The food is excellent, innkeeper," he said, biting into the succulent meat.

"Would you care for something else?" the tavern keeper asked, showing his gold-capped tooth.

"No, I'm replete."

"I mean that other hunger, sir. Would you like something for that too?" the old man smiled an insinuating smile, rubbing his palms together, his greed evident in his stance.

The man burst into laughter, as did his companions.

"What do you offer?"

"A true beauty, sir, and untouched by human hand," the innkeeper said, lowering his voice.

"For what price?"

The old man named a sum, causing the merchant to raise his brows.

"That much?"

"Not a coin less, sir. Believe me, you will get your money's worth."

The man took out a pouch of gold coins and handed them to his host.

"Bring her to me, then," he said, rising and climbing the rickety stairs to his room upstairs. The tavern did boast of a couple of rooms that they let out to travelers.

Neelanjana was cleaning the kitchen, longing to retire for the night and rest her aching bones. The sooner she was done, the sooner she could go to her room.

She was in the process of shutting the kitchen door and leaving when she walked straight into the old devil. Mumbling an apology, she tried to escape.

"Not so soon, my girl," he caught her by the hair. "I have some more work lined up for you."

"What?" she asked through watering eyes. What new torture was this? Did he mean for her to clean the tavern now?

"Follow me," he said.

She could do nothing but do as he said. It wasn't good to anger him, she mused, rubbing a hand on her cheek which still stung from his slap.

Neelanjana climbed the rickety steps after him. Usually, she kept well away from that part. It was Dhruva who saw to the men staying there. Her heart beat with a nameless fear as they neared one of the doors.

The old man knocked on the door, then opened it, pushed her inside, closing it shut after him.

A few lamps burned in the average-sized room, furnished with a bed and a board containing an ewer of water. Some clothes hung on a peg, but other than that, there was nothing remarkable about the room. Except for the dark man reclining on the mattress.

Filled with panic, she turned and tried the door, but found it locked from the outside. The old devil had cut off her only means of escape. She swore under her breath. She could kill him right now.

In the meanwhile, the man had risen from the bed. He beckoned her, crooking his finger. She shook her head, too scared to speak. If he took a step forward, she would scream with terror, she decided, but before she could do anything like that, the man, with great agility, pounced on her, placing his hand on her mouth.

She whimpered and tried to bite him but to no avail. In the blink of an eye, he had disrobed her and himself. He pushed her onto the bed, and stood for a moment, staring at her milky skin.

Neelanjana found her gaze, against her will, drawn to a certain part of his body. What she saw, made her head swim. What would he do to her?

"Please, sir, let me go," she pleaded, the tearful words not more than a mumble.

He said something, and she realized that she couldn't follow his language, nor he hers. It was no use pleading with him.

The next instant, she found his body lowering to hers. His hands roamed her body, kneading her curves, while his lips plundered her sweetness. She struggled, but he subdued her, then parted her legs, taking her.

The excruciating pain was enough to make her almost swoon. She wished that she could black out, but by some twist of cruel fate, it wasn't so. She felt every painful movement, as the man pleased himself, shuddered, and then flopped over her.

She lay under him, helpless and sobbing. A moment later, he rolled away, and she let out a sigh of relief. Maybe she could leave. But how wrong she was. He was ready again, she saw with a sinking heart, as he drew her under him.

It was at the first light of dawn that Neelanjana limped out of the room, bloodied, torn, exhausted, and reeking of him. She hobbled down the stairs, akin to an old woman, walked into the tiny alcove that housed the bath and washed herself with cold water, scrubbing fiercely. All the while, tears coursed down her face. The old man had kept his word. She rued the day she was born. What use such a miserable life?

By the end of the month, she had been sold twice more, once to a passing soldier, and then to an aging minister of the king. Each time the old man made a handsome sum, while she died a little. And along with it, died her self-respect and her dreams. No prince on a white horse was waiting to rescue her from this life of misery. The likes of her were cursed to live and die in ignominy. Little did she know that things were about to get worse.

A fortnight later, she realized that she had missed her monthly course.