THE COURTESAN OF JAIGARH (Complete)

Part 31-The Dilemma

 Neelanjana raised her long lashes and stole a look at the man sitting in front of her. What was it about him that drew her so? She searched his face closely. She had never in her five and twenty years, seen such kind and guileless eyes. It was as if she could glimpse the beautiful soul inside.

As for his physical attributes, she could only admire in awe. He was tall, taller than even Harshvardhan, but that was not all. His body seemed to be all rippling muscles, well-honed by the hardship of his travels and his upbringing in the mountains. His hair, now that he had removed his headdress, was not overly long, yet thick and dark, enticing her to sink her fingers into it. His features were sharp, classically beautiful with soulful, dark eyes that seemed to harbor a deep-rooted sadness. His full lips hinted at a sensual nature, but strangely, there was no naked lust in his eyes as she was used to seeing in the eyes of the men she came across.

Now, she waited, her heart drumming in her ears, for his answer to her invitation.

He thought for a moment, then with a slight nod of his head, accepted her offer.

"It is too kind of you, my lady, to offer shelter to a stranger," he said, his smile touching a chord inside her, releasing its own sweet music.

Neelanjana mused on his words, then voiced her thoughts.

"Strangely, you don't seem like a stranger to me. I can't believe that we have just met. I have never, in my life, made such an offer to anyone," she said, wondering at her own conduct.

It was absolutely true. She had felt an unfamiliar attraction for Hassan as soon as she laid eyes on him. The lost look on his face as he searched for a place to rest, had prompted her to invite him to her mansion. It was as if she was leading him to the place he was looking for. It occurred to her if some god had taken pity and sent him to fill the empty place in her heart that made her melancholy.

"You are as generous, my lady, as you are beautiful," he said with a twinkle in his eyes, "but I guess many men might have told you so in the past."

She gave a wistful smile. Yes, many men had told her that she was beautiful, but they had all looked at her with a hunger for her flesh, while this man had a mix of respect and admiration in his gaze. It made Neelanjana realize that more than being told that she was pretty, a woman valued the respect that a man accorded to her. She had received that respect for the first time in her life from this man, and it gladdened her heart more than any valuable gift she had ever received from her patrons.

The servant came to lead Hassan to the gatehouse. It was upstairs, and spartan in its furnishings. A narrow bed, with a board on the side. A pitcher of water and an oil lamp. The window was open to let in the night breeze. Hassan gazed at the busy street below. Horses, camel carts, and palanquins made their way over it. Hassan could hear the noise and bustle of the street. It was in sharp contrast to the serene silence of the hills to which he was habitual. Still, it was more than enough for him to spend the night.

There was an ewer and a stone basin under the bed. Hassan decided to take advantage of it to wash off the dirt and grime of travel. Then cool water refreshed him and he felt ready to face his hostess once again for dinner.

Half an hour later, he made his way down the wooden stairs to the main building. It seemed to him like a scene from a fairy tale with myriad lamps lighting up the grounds and the path that led to the doorway. As soon as he reached the hall, a delicious aroma tickled his senses. His stomach rumbled to remind him that he was famished.

His hostess met him in the sitting room where they had previously partaken of the sherbets. This time she was dressed in flowing silk robes, a long skirt, its vivid blue color vying with the hue of her eyes, paired with a bustier of the palest rose, studded with pure water pearls. Her lacy veil partly covered her head and dazzled with its intricate embroidery. With her kohl-rimmed eyes and lips that had been dyed a deep red, she looked like a vision of loveliness that surpassed his imagination.

Hassan found himself seated once again opposite her, regretting that he had not changed into something better. Oh, how he missed his ceremonial dress made of the softest wool and studded with rare gemstones for buttons. But here he was, attired in the traveling trader's garb. Of course, he had never thought while embarking on the journey that he would find himself in such a situation. He found himself tongue-tied before such exquisiteness.

The servants brought out dish after dish, placing them on the carpet. The lids were raised to reveal wild pheasant, succulent and flavorful, aromatic curries, some mild, others laced with different spices, some of which he couldn't even guess, as well as fragrant rice, fruits, and a creamy milk pudding.

"Tell me about your home," she said, biting into a soft fruit.

Between bites of the excellent food, Hassan told her about the small town with its grand view of the snow-covered peaks, the valley below, and the river running through it. He talked of his home and his business, making sure to leave out his personal life. That was something he found difficult to share with anyone. No, he could not mention Salima to this woman he had just met. That would be like revealing his innermost pain, and he wasn't yet sure of her. He did not wish to appear a laughing stock, mourning a long-dead wife.

Neelanjana digested the information he had given about himself, but her mind was in turmoil. He had made no mention of a wife or child. Was such a handsome specimen of manhood not married yet? Were the women of his land blind? Unable to bear the suspense any longer, she decided to ask him outright.

"What about your wife, sir? She must be waiting eagerly for you to return home from your travels?" she asked him, trying not to show how anxious she was for the answer.

Hassan sighed deeply, pushed away the half-eaten plate, and then looked at her directly. There was no way out of this. He could not lie to her after she had shown him her generous hospitality.

He cleared his throat and then searched for the right words.

"I lost my wife years ago in an accident. She was about to give birth to our first child," he spoke, almost to himself.

"... And the child?" she couldn't help asking.

"Died at birth...." he whispered.

Neelanjana did not know what to feel. Should she feel happy that he had no wife, or should she feel sorry for the woman who had died so tragically? Of course, as a woman she couldn't help feeling pity for the woman who had died so young, yet a tiny seed of hope lay in her heart, waiting to flower at the right moment.

The rest of the meal passed in small talk, till it was time for him to retire for the night. Neelanjana felt loath to see him go, but the prince would be there at any moment and she could never explain the presence of another man in her home. He would surely behead anyone in whom she showed an interest.

Reluctantly, she watched him go, hastily leaving for her own chamber as the guards announced the arrival of the prince of Jaigarh.

Neelanjana felt torn in two between her duty toward the prince and her newly stirred interest in the handsome stranger. What would the night bring, she mused, as for the first time, she felt unwilling to serve the prince in bed.