Chapter 24
4:26 AM
Shyam was probably at his happiest; second happiest, he amended, grinning, when he was among his mouldy old books in the dustiest Library known to Man. His sanctuary. There was a tarnished Venetian Mirror with elaborate gilt frame consisting of scrollworks and angels that hung beside the door - a holdover from the days when one of the ladies of the house had been an actress. Shyam had often wondered what was it that his great-grandmother had done with the mirror in the library, exactly. Some answers where a little obvious and more than a little scarring. All thing considered - he didn’t want to know, really. There were carved wall sconces for fat bottomed candles and cutwork bronze oil lamps hung from here and there, waiting to be lit, accruing dust and cobweb. He preferred the starkness of the flickering tube light here. There was an antique bookkeeper’s desk in the middle; probably belonging to one of his grandfathers - who in their heart were all bookkeepers more than artists. The desk was a dark stained oak with gilt work associated with Islamic art - probably Mughal inspired. Well, Shyam smiled, running his hand over the satiny finish of the wood - a jeweller always needs the gilt. For the past eleven years, his Rani Sahiba had never come in here - well, hardly ever. She hadn’t felt that she had the right. The servants came, when they did and because Shyam preferred being here as often as he did, it rarely was cleaned - the thick layer of dust over everything stood a mute witness to that particular truth. However, he smiled - the flash of glamour that would make a woman’s heart pound - she had decided this morning that the Library required a thorough cleaning. Whether he liked it or not, she had told him, nose in the air - she would not have her husband wallowing in that dusty, unaired room like a thriving mushroom project. Shyam had laughed out loud at the image her words had projected and had gracefully given in. Who in their right mind argued with the Begums of the house anyway? Not him. He was well aware, he chuckled again - who held the true power in the households.
Shyam sat, in his old hatch-backed chair, waiting for a particular Begum to come in. His. He smiled, as he doodled the same thing on the dusty layer on his desk. His. How had he missed out on this? Eleven years. His, he wrote again. Anjali Jha. Shyam almost laughed out. Next he would be drawing hearts and butterflies in the dust, around her name like a love struck little girl. This time he did laugh out. Quite loudly, too. Was it funny that she made him feel like like that? Like a boy in the throes of his first passion? First love, how maudlin, he thought grinning, teeth flashing again. Maybe he had been a little too loud, because Anjali peeked in. She looked, to his dazed eyes, as beautiful as the day he had first seen her. Menaka. She had worn a tourmaline pink cotton Gadwal saree with zari works teamed a cream blouse with gold zari borders to lounge around the house. Elegance, he smiled, shimmered in all that she was. Chic. A glittery little butterfly. The deeply hidden poet’s heart in him twinged with the pain one associated with influx of happiness. How had he ever gotten so lucky with her? How did he even deserve it? Her hair up in a thick knot at the base of her neck, lips pursed with impatience, she asked, “Suniye, what are you laughing about here in this poorly lit room?” her lips, a moue of distaste, she said, “This is not healthy! We are cleaning this Library whether you like it or not then, the electrician is coming in to install some decent reading lights! What if you harm your eyesight? What then? Do you think I am going to like it if....” His wife was on a tirade, the tyrant, he thought with an affectionate smile twisting his lips again. If he didn’t divert her now, she would be on his case for the better part of the next two hours. Shyam took great pleasure in riling his Rani Sahiba up, just to see what she would do but today - he had other plans for her, he thought, a secret smile sparking on his lips for a moment. She looked so eminently delicious with her nose flared in frustration and cheeks and neck stained with red that his mind was taking a detour down a far more pleasurable lane. “Of course Rani Sahiba. As you can see, this room needs a proper scrub down. Years of filth, you see!” She was immediately distracted. “Yes. That’s why Nanda will clean while you and I will sort through that mount of paper on your desk. This is not healthy... you never listen to me! Nanda!” she called out to the silent man standing at the door. Nanda had been a part of their household for the past 20 years, ever since Shyam himself was young and he was well aware of just how much Nanda could talk. Yet, in the presence of the bhabhi, even after 11 years, Nanda was a tongue tied youth. As Nanda slowly walked into the room with a bucket of hot water and Lysol, Shyam could almost see all his well laid plans concerning his lady love evaporating into the thin air. He had to do something. The act of a desperate man, he thought, as he quickly dialled the house phone, hand behind his back. When they heard it ring, as was her habit Anjali quickly rushed towards it. He never knew why but she couldn’t seem to bear the sound of a ringing phone. He looked at Nanda, and smiled.
When Anjali came back, Nanda was nowhere in sight but the steaming bucket remained with the jar of lysol. “Where’s Nanda?” she asked her husband who looked a little worried. “I am so sorry Rani Sahiba. When you left, I got a call from my Chambers. I accidentally brought a file home. They need it immediately and you know how it is with Delhi traffic. Since there’s nobody home today, I had to send Nanda with it. I hope the judge understands...” he trailed off harriedly, and watched as his wife melted. “Oh! I hope everything’s all right! The poor person!” she murmured. “His family.. I hope everything is okay... Oh! Oh! I hope Nanda gets there in time!” Shyam hid his grin. His wife was really a child at times. A man had to treasure that particular fact. “Yes. I hope so too,” he said solemnly, shaking his head even as his wife turned into a veritable puddle in front of his eyes. “Don’t worry about it Shyamji! Everything will be wonderful! I know it. Until then, let’s just clean!” She picked up the washcloth, wet with warm water doused liberally with Lysol and in her saree, looking like she was about to step out for a tea party somewhere, his dainty wife started to clean cheerfully. “It always helps me think you know, “ she added enthusiastically as Shyam sat back and watched her antics. Her pallu got in the way, which she quickly tucked in around her waist. Anjali cleaned. Shyam looked at her widely smiling face and sighed. He picked up a washcloth, dipped it into the bucket and he too, for the first time ever in his life started to clean. Wiping every surface free of dust. He cleaned while she giggled just watching him do it. He cleaned while she doubled over in laughter watching him squeeze the wet cloth dry. She squealed as he flicked her with dirty water and she retaliated with squeezing a larger amount of it down the back of his shirt. They eyed each other, laughing and then called truce. She cleaned and he cleaned, with pearls dotting her nose and her forehead while Shyam plotted on seducing his wife with a warm smile on his face.
And just like that, he saw his chance. She had securely tucked in the Pallu of her saree at her waist now- giving him a tantalizing view of that slim, white stomach of hers, as she picked up a dry cloth and stood on her tiptoes by the bookshelf. One hand clutching a rack, she had stretched the other above her- and his eyes had flitted down to that teasing stretch of skin again. And then back up to her face, which was screwed up adorably in an expression of the utmost concentration as she tried to dust off the old books on the highest rack on the shelf. He watched her lean higher to reach it again- and anticipating her next stumble he was behind her in a quiet flash. And as he had known she would, she stumbled slightly- gasping as she closed her eyes and Shyam Manohar Jha grabbed the golden opportunity with both hands.
Anjali felt the air around them shift from teasing and lightly cheerful to heavy and sensuous. And in the moment that she gasped and closed her eyes, she knew as only a woman completely in love with her Man knows, that he would be there- that he wouldn’t let her fall. She opened her eyes, and turned her head slightly as she felt his arms go around her- trapping her to the shelf, her back against his hard chest- as her heart stuttered and her breaths almost ceased. She gulped, nervously, marvelling at how even after 11 years of living and sleeping with the same man, she could have such a ‘first-time-ever reaction’ to him. She swallowed again, her throat feeling inexplicably dry. “Sh-Shyamji,” she whispered, not having the slightest idea as to why she was whispering- but then no one can blame her for it, can they?
“Hmm?” he asked her- his tone low, as he dipped his head suddenly and caressed her bare shoulder with his lips. Anjali stiffened. A strangled sound that was a half moan and a half gasp leaving her, as her hands gripped the shelf tighter. “Aap...” she tilted her head as he nibbled the junction between her neck and her shoulder, her eyes falling shut- her voice deserting her mid-word. “Hum... Kya, Rani Sahiba?” He asked her. His amused voice humming, thrumming through her entire body, even as his lips smiled into her now hot skin. His hands came up, still trapping her- now gripping her own on the shelf, and her head fell back against his shoulder as he lightly freed the grip of her fingers around the edge. “Boliye, Rani Sahiba? Hum, Kya?” And this time, she could hear the amusement quite clearly in that deep voice.
She gathered her wits around her- well, as much as she could- and turned around, or tried to, in his arms. Her mouth opening indignantly, a sharp reprimand ready on her tongue- before she was arrested by his arms, her head only turning slightly to look at him- and her voice was lost now, completely. As he captured her mouth in a sizzling, soul-burning kiss. His arms tightening around her, keeping her in the same position as he continued with his achingly slow ministrations. As his mouth left hers, a disappointed groan escaped her- leaving her mortified- and he chuckled, his lips pursing against her neck- as he continued down her neck- his fingers slowly inching up her spine- catching hold of the dori at her back- unraveling it with one expert pull.
She gasped, as she felt her blouse giving way, and her hands struggled within his hold, desperate to cover herself before he could go any further. But his hands stayed firm- holding her wrists tightly even as she struggled against him- turning and twisting- until she stilled completely as his hot breath washed over her shoulder- his voice almost a groan, as he pressed himself into her. “Rani Sahiba, moving against me is not going to help... your... cause...” And as she felt exactly what he meant by that- her breath left her in a whoosh.
Her eyes lowered, her cheeks a deep scarlet, as he turned her around- still pressed against him. She didn’t know, understand, why! She had been with this man- for the past 11 years, no less! And yet she still felt like a brand new bride, for the first time in her Husband’s arms. Her hands clutched his forearms, her eyes still downcast- as she blushed again, feeling his hot gaze on her. “Rani Sahiba...” He whispered, and she felt a shiver run through her- a spasm of... was that electricity? She looked up- and at that particular moment, time ceased to exist for Anjali Shyam Jha.
Intense. Her hands tightened at his forearms, her nails almost digging into the skin, as she felt his intent gaze rove over her. She felt heat race across every contour of her being following his gaze. Taking her in. Making Love to her with his eyes alone. And she gasped again- her chest heaving rapidly as his fingers ghosted over her bare back, up to her shoulders, His eyes still holding hers. She felt the pallu of her saree float away from her chest, the soft cool fabric kissing her hot skin intimately as it ghosted away from her. She felt his arm go around her waist now- firmly pulling her against himself. Almost lifting her off the floor- only the very tips of her toes now in contact with the floor, and she still stared. Transfixed.
Tender. Those inky back depths, for the second time in her entire life, betrayed an emotion that she could relate to. His hand came up to caress her cheek, his fingers lightly trailing along the apples of her cheeks, down to her chin, up again- brushing the corners to slightly parted lips, up her nose, to her forehead and back down again. Catching an escaped lock of her hair and tucking it behind her ear, caressing the shell of her ear as he did so.
Her eyes closed of their own accord. A slave to the feelings coursing inside of her. A slave to the molten heat boiling in the pit of her belly. And just as she surrendered- he stepped back from her. Leaving her feeling cold. Bereft. Empty.
Her eyes snapped open- and met his. He stood still. Back Ramrod straight. Gazing at her, her hands hanging by her side, one reaching up to lay against her rampaging heart. She stuttered again, “Aa-Aap...” but her voice was lost again as he had caught her fingers and pulled her into him again- with one swift tug. Her hands went around his shoulders as his lips lowered to hers again. As their lips mated, their tongues danced, her hands buried themselves into his thick locks- gently pulling and tugging at them as his soft mouth slanted over hers again and again. She didn’t realize when his hands had reached up and tugged her hair free of the bun at her nape. Sifting through the silky strands, his hand tightening in her hair as she gasped against his lips and made to pull away. Her hands already going to her unraveling long hair. And in that moment, he had turned her around again. Her back against his chest, his lips near her ears, his hands gently pulling down the sleeves of her blouse, even as she gasped.
His teeth lightly nipped her ear as he whispered. “Look up Rani Sahiba. Look at us.” His fingers under her chin, lifting her face up... and Anjali saw it. The most amazingly sensuously beautiful sight she had ever seen. Them. The mirror, large, glinting and beautiful- subtly poetic, as everything about her Shaymji was- reflected... them. Together. And today, Anjali Shyam Jha was too dazed to notice the beauty and elegance of the mirror... too dazed to notice anything apart from the sheer beauty that was being reflected back to them.
A while later, she looked up, eyes wide, lips quivering... her breath still hadn’t slowed down. A contented smile stretched her mouth in a dazzling smile. The kind she hadn’t smiled in a decade - the kind she hadn’t been without for the past few days. All because of him. Her Husband. Her Shuamji. The Prince of Diamonds, she thought with a sudden smile - has been well and truly caught. Who would've thought it would have been her? Not her. She thought, even as she looked at his beautiful face. He was chuckling, somewhere around the middle of his chest - she could feel the vibrations; so closely were the fused to each other. Bemusedly, she looked up again - eyes on that mirror that had perhaps witnessed something very ethereal between them. Anjali did not want to belittle what they had done, what they had felt by calling it earthy - although, she coloured; there were moments she felt as elemental as the first woman to his first man - a journey. A discovery. She looked up again into the mirror, to find him staring at her speculatively, an absolutely naughty smile on his lips. “Well... haven’t done that in a while,” he stretched, still holding her he flipped around so that she was on top of him now. “A while? But we.. we...” she finished the sentence in an outraged gasp because he was laughing. A Deep bellied laugh that signified absolute joy. “You are so easy to tease Rani Sahiba...” he murmured affectionately to his miffed wife, rubbing his lips along the lines of her delicate shoulders. She looked up into the mirror again, fascinated. Drawn to the sight of his lips caressing her body. Struck by the love in that simple act. He saw her looking and smiled, “You have a little bit of dirt there Rani Sahiba,” he rubbed his thumb against the side of her neck, slowing down to caress the elegant, almost swan-like column where just a smidgen of dirt marred the creamy skin. She stretched to give him better access, “now?” she had asked worriedly. How would Anjali step out looking a mess? Shyam laughed inwardly. What a woman! “A little on your back,” she quickly flipped around and gave him full access to a glorious view. Shyam almost laughed. He ran his fingers, then his palm over the smooth stretch of skin, caressing her delicate spine along the way, whisper soft. His Rani Sahiba wiggled. “Did you get it all Shaymji?” she asked again, and Shyam, the lawyer known for his poker face couldn’t hold it in any longer. He burst into an elated laughter, earning a murderous frown from her. She finally looked up to check in the mirror. Finally, he smirked to himself. “There was nothing there Shyamji! You had me so worried... I can’t believe it... you tease me all the time! It’s not fair! Why would you....” Shyam covered her soft mouth with his fingers - more for his ears than anything. His lovely wife’s vocal octave was rising exponentially with her love for him, it seemed, he thought with a small inward smile. Looking up into the mirror again, he met those stormy eyes and whispered, “Tun Shaheen Hain Basera Kar Pahadon Ki Chatanon main. Nahi Tera Nasheman Kasre Sultani Ke gumbad par.” Shyam saw the exact moment her eyes softened. Melted. He smiled again, letting go of her mouth, he reached for her hand, holding it against his heart. “I love you Rani Sahiba...” and twined his fingers with hers, while she lowered her forehead against his, a beautiful soft smile playing around her lips- her eyes shining with her love for him... nearly brimming over. Therein, he realized, lay their perfection.
Payal used to love eating Pakoras once upon a time. Rainy days, with a hint of chill all about, the beautiful aroma of wet earth in the air... She would have an earthen cup of overtly sweet masala tea in her hand, from some roadside dhaba and happily eat away with a man who would... who could smile. Smile with his heart. Smile with his eyes. He would join in, on the eating. The rich boy, she smiled, You wouldn’t know it. You couldn’t tell by him of course. NK was anything but spoilt. He approached Dhaba food as he would approach life. Ahh, the joys of Dhaba food, she thought with a small smile - he would dive in. Head first. Mouth extended. He would eat, she smiled. Oh how he would eat! Sometimes, she would find him staring, as if transfixed. An ever present, beatific grin on his lips. His heart in his eyes. Those beautiful warm Mocha eyes. They would sometimes glint as if speckled with bronze bits when he was incredibly happy. Filled with joy. Like... she swallowed... that moment when they had met two years ago at the Rustam-Shekkhar wedding. Akash had been very very suspicious the moment he had found her alone in that room. He had... She swallowed again. Not now.
She remembered those thickly lashed eyes. Fringed with the darkest, lushest lashes you could see - almost as if he was wearing falsies, she smiled. What would a man do with those lashes, she would like to know. She really would. Payal had often teased him about it, causing him to cry out hey! Good naturedly of course. NK had been nothing if not good natured. Loving. Warm. Kind. Kind eyes. She thought of those eyes again. Crinkling as he smiled down at her. Biting into the spiciest pakoras known to man, probably spiked with bhoot mirchi (she had often privately thought, amused) having been dared into it - tearing up as the heat of the spices caught up with him. Panting, gulping down chilled lassi, and cold, cold water at a go to soothe his offended tastebuds. How he would sulk afterwards, much to her eternal amusement. NK had... Well, he had been joy. She sighed. He had taught her to take joys from the little things.
Smiling wistfully, she looked down at the wok on the stove. She never got much time to indulge in those simple tastes of hers from back... then. That beautiful, magical time of her life... of their lives, where she had been that carefree young girl... where her heart had not been afraid of flying high... the time when she had been in love... with him.
Some besan, she smiled, a few tears rising to her eyes, Cut up the onions... she tucked the pallu of her saree at her waist. Add some water. She let out a small laugh as she mixed it all around in the pan, her hands getting all yellow. Now some spices. Only a pinch! she watched as the powders sprinkled over the mixture even as she continued to mix it around. Now salt. She mixed it in. Her eyes tearing up some more. Taste it a little- just one drop. It should be perfect! She smiled again as she threw her back and raised a sticky hand, allowing a small drop of the delicious and slightly spicy mixture go down her throat. Ah. Perfect. She picked the semi-solid lumps of the mixture and gently let them into the boiling oil in the wok, six to seven per lot. She mouthed, even as she flipped and stirred them around with a spoon. Now, Drain the oil. She dutifully obeyed. Keep them on the Paper laid out there on the counter. It will soak the rest of the leftover oil. She smiled. As she repeated the surprisingly calming process over and over. And soon a pile of delicious looking, hot Pakoras was ready beside her.
What fun are Pakoras without a little Green Chutni? Look at the Romance, Payal! She remembered him laughing that hearty, lifting laugh of his. And a similar one bubbled up her throat, as she got her favorite green chilli chutni out of the Refrigerator. Arranging the Pakoras around the glass bowl containing the green chutni carefully. Presentation, love. It is almost as important as the taste!
She picked up the plate and made her way to the terrace outside her Bedroom. Watching the waves of the distant looking sea slowly rise and fall. Feeling the wind on her face. Keeping the plate down on the small table there. Picking up one Pakora, carefully dipping it in the chutni and smiling wistfully. “I Love you,” she whispered, and closed her eyes as the wind around her seemed to whisper back to her. “Always, love. Always.”
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