THE COURTESAN OF JAIGARH (Complete)

Part 35-In The Palace

 Days had passed since Hassan had left her arms, leaving her with an ache that was hitherto unknown to her. It was like a physical pain in the depths of her womanly core. She had never felt so empty, never felt such longing for a man that it seemed that she had been denied the very air to breathe. What was it about him that made her feel so, she wondered. He was handsome, and his face had a classic beauty, a perfection, that made her think that god had sculpted him with his own hands,  though she had known handsome men in her lifetime and even lain with some, but none had affected her so.

Neelanjana dipped her feet in the pool of clear water, savoring the coolness as it soothed her burning soul. She fanned herself with a palm leaf, then let out a sigh of frustration. The problem was that Hassan was not only handsome but also a charmer. His artless words, his sweet smile, the caring and admiration in his eyes when he looked at her, and the reverence in his touch as if she was the most precious to him in the world, were qualities she had never encountered in another man. On one hand, his touch had disarmed her with its sweetness, while on the other, his passion had left her burning with a hunger that she had never experienced before.

Neelanjana wondered where he was and what he was doing at this hour. Had he made his sale and left for his home? The thought was enough to bring a surge of moisture to her eyes.

She was pondering on these questions, her heart sinking with each thought when a messenger was shown in by the servant.

"His Majesty, the Prince, has summoned you to the palace immediately, my lady," the messenger let her know, pointing to the palanquin that stood inside the gates.

Neelanjana nodded, but a thought struck her mind. Harshvardhan was married now. Would he be so heartless as to bed her in the presence of his wife under that very roof? There was a time when she would have considered it her victory over her rival, but now that she had met Hassan, her heart was no longer in her profession.

Neelanjana donned the robes laid out by the maid, her mind still preoccupied with the man who had rejected what she had offered so generously. She glanced at the polished bronze mirror. The cyan fabric highlighted the color of her eyes, making them appear more vibrant. The skirt fell down to her ankles in waves, while the bustier, emerald-hued and studded with sequins, lovingly followed the curves of her body. Jewels adorned her body and with her lips painted in the deep red of berries, she knew that she looked good.

The palanquin took her to the palace gates, and from there she was shown into the audience hall. Neelanjana followed behind the guard, puzzled. Did the Prince not wish to lie with her?

Prince Harshvardhan was sitting on the throne, gazing into a glass of wine. He looked up when she approached, her anklets ringing with an echo around the hall.

She bowed before him, a question in her eyes.

"How may I serve you, my lord?" she asked, her gaze taking in the morose and pensive look on his face.

"Aah, Neelanjana, my dear. You're just what I need at the moment. I have a pressing desire to hear you play your divine music," the Prince commented, calling for musical instruments.

She chose the flute, bringing it to her lips and putting her soul into it as she played a tune on it, but it was no joyful melody that came out, rather one that touched at the heartstrings, stirring deep emotions.

Harshvardhan closed his eyes and leaned back on the seat. The cup of wine was forgotten, as he was lost in the melancholy strains. Still, his mind wasn't at peace. He was repenting the blunder he had made in judging his wife, Princess Priyadarshini. What had led him to think that she or her father was behind the recent rebellion in Jaigarh? Of course, he was still skeptical about Somdutt. That man was his sworn enemy, but his wife? She had never given him any reason to suspect her of conspiring against his kingdom. Why had he, then thoughtlessly, consigned her to the dreaded dungeons?

Harshvardhan's heart ached as he recalled her pinched and wan face when he saw her in her cell. Her slim frame seemed to have shrunk even more. The moment she had swooned at his feet, he had felt like a fiend for having punished her for no fault of hers. His parents had questioned his decision, his mother demanding to have her set free immediately, but he had turned a deaf ear to their words. He had resented the enemy's daughter and so had been ready to believe the worst of her.

A deep sigh left his lips. Who would have thought that it was his uncle, Prince Rajyavardhan, who had conspired against his own brother? What did he think he would achieve by such chicanery? He wasn't popular among the citizens. None wished to see him as the king. He was bound to fail. Now, he languished in the prison, waiting for the king to pronounce his punishment.

"My lord, the guards have brought a miscreant. They seek leave to present him before His Majesty," a sentry broke into his thoughts.

"Bring him here," Harshvardhan said with a casual wave of his hand.

Within moments, the guards dragged in a man who appeared to be a foreigner from his clothes and manner.

"Who is he and what has he done?" the prince asked, puzzled. The man did not look like a thief or a lout.

The leader of the guards sank down on one knee, bowing his head in respect.

"We found him causing a ruckus in the marketplace, my lord. He was trying to cheat a poor shopkeeper," the man told the prince.

"It's not true, Your Majesty," the foreigner spoke up for the first time, his words heavily accented, but his voice pleasant and cultured.

"You mean to say that my men are lying?" Harshvardhan inquired with a raised brow.

"Not at all, my lord," he replied, his stance not submissive yet respectful. "I mean, that there is some misunderstanding. I wasn't the one causing the dispute. It was the other way round."

Harshvardhan sat up and stared at the man with some interest. He had seldom seen a man display such courage and pride when brought before royalty. Most men shook and trembled in their shoes, stammering and whining, while the foreigner stood ramrod straight and with a confident look on his face.

"What makes you think that we would believe you instead of our own guards?" Harshvardhan asked strictly. It was one thing to admire the man's confidence, but it was necessary to find out the truth.

The man took a deep breath, then launched into his version of the incident, his voice clear and unwavering.

Harshvardhan listened carefully, his mind telling him to trust the stranger's version. He scarcely noticed that the woman beside him was staring in dismay at the goings on, her flute forgotten, her gaze fearful.

"My lord," she called out, an entreaty in her tone. "I know this man."

Harshvardhan turned to Neelanjana. What did she mean that she knew this man? Had he shared her bed in the past when she lived at the inn?

"Pray, what do you mean by that?" his voice rang out in displeasure.