62

-• the unexpected welcome •-

Taranya

"Alright guys, we're wrapping up!"

The crew moves. Cameras shut down. Tripods are uprooted and shoved in the office van.

I love reporting live from the site, and I had always volunteered for outdoor shoots, but when my Boss told me about the location I was being sent to, for a moment I had shut down.

I've never been to Ratangarh. Heck, I've barely gone past Jaigarh and Rajgarh. I live in the state of Maharajas and Maharanis, and I'm Rajkumari myself, but I was never enthusiastic about my state's history. I don't know what I was expecting when I drove to Ratangarh this morning. Maybe I was imagining the city being different, I was wondering if it's as tech-savvy as my husband is, if it's modern and as much of a workforce as him, if it unstoppably works and goes on, not pausing for a moment, not even to breath.

But it's the opposite.

Ratangarh is as close to its history as history is to its architecture.

It's slow, but not in a lazy kind of way, it's slow in the kind that it lives, looks around, smells the air, watches the day go down, laughs in the evening, eats one bite at a time, shares moments and makes memories and sleeps peacefully.

And it hit me.

What if my Rudra had grown up here? What if he had lived this life? Where people stop to smile at each other, where people are not as much power hungry as he perceives them to be.

"Ready to head home?" Nitya swings her arm around my shoulders, smiling at me. We're of the same height. Thank God for that. Because most of my female colleagues are shorter than me. I wonder what Agastya will call them. Shorter stuff? Because apparently, 5.7 is still short to him. When you're a six foot giant, everything is short to you. "God, I'm starving. We gotta stop somewhere to eat," Nitya whines softly.

I look around the place.

We were outside the police station. Apart from being attuned with its roots and culture, Ratangarh is also the only crime free city of Rajasthan. So when a daylight murder was committed, it had to be featured on the front page of every newspaper, and become the headline of every leading news channel. I was sent to interview the on-duty police officer. We're heading back home now that the interview is done and dusted. The only problem is? I'm not really willing to leave this city. I want to look around. But it's five pm. Rudra wanted me to come home early since the Chairman hates me staying out late. I swear to God, I wanted adulthood so bad because I was fed up with my brothers' rules and lifestyle, but here I am, a working independent woman, worrying of an old bloke's reaction for breaking the curfew. Why are women's lives so fucking tied down? I'm not answerable to anyone except my husband. And he has no God damn problem with me staying out late.

"Taranya!" Nitya waves a hand in front of my face.

I blink.

"C'mon, we're running late." She tugs at my hand.

I give in. It's not that I can act much on my own whims. No matter how much I hate the man, I've to act accordingly, be the textbook definition of daughter in law to please him. I don't want Rudra losing his favour because of me.

"Yeah, I'm hungry too," I smile at Nitya, allowing her to lead me down the stairs. We meet the remaining crew. The men of the team have already shortlisted a few options to eat at, and they ask us, the only ladies of the group to finalise one. While Nitya and I go through ratings and reviews, the police officer I interviewed comes rushing down the stairs. Initially, I thought he's hurrying out to reach a crime scene, but then he stops in front of me and I've to raise a brow in question. "Is there something I can help you with, Officer?" I ask politely.

"You can't go." He huffs out breathlessly.

"Excuse me?" I frown.

"Oh, no, that came out very straightforward, I meant...." He trails off as three black Maseratis drive inside the station premises, stopping in a queue.

The entire police station comes to a standstill. I think so does the air. A driver steps out from the second Maserati, purposefully moving around the car in long, clear strides, and leans over to open the door of the backseat. I tilt my head to the side curiously, holding my breath as a dark brown cane hits the floor, before a man in royal traditional overalls reveals himself. A thick, white mustache sits atop his lips, curled at the ends. His face square, eyes hollowed with wrinkles of experience and age, framed behind thick round glasses. He's a frayed, fragile man from the outside, but the way he commands attention, he knows the power he holds, and the effect it has on people around him. He wears a Rajputi Safa on top of his head, his neck accentuated with long, heavy jewels and his clothes professionally designed, cut out from the finest pieces of fabrics from all around the world and stitched to perfection for his body alone.

He's regal to the last inch of his existence. And the way he controls his environment without lifting a finger? I've only ever seen that with my brother.

My spine straightens when his eyes fall on me. Then he starts to walk towards me. I look to my right and left, wondering if I've mistaken his attention, or perhaps blocking someone else, but then he stops right in front of me and says, "Khamma Ghani, Bindani," My stomach hits a new low.

"Thakur Sa," the officer removes his cap in respect and holds it in his arm pit, lowering his head to the man in front of me.

But his eyes don't leave me. Not until I bring my hands to my chest and join them together, "Ghani Khamma, Tha- Thakur Sa," I swallow dryly. Bending, I touch his feet, and that's when his posture relaxes, his hand comes to pat the top of my head. Standing straight, I move back, just a little so I can breath freely.

"Rathod," the old man shifts his eyes towards the officer. "Thank you for your hospitality towards my guests."

My brows shoot up to my hairline.

The officer shakes his head, smiling coyly, "No, Thakur Sa, I'm just doing my duty, that's all."

Is he who I think he is?

Is he Rana Singh Rawal?

I flinch feeling a hand touch mine. Nitya eyes me weirdly, confusion etched across her face as she raises a brow at me. I shake my head, having no idea myself. This is new to me too, and as my luck goes, I'm in the middle of it without my consent.

"Shall we, Bindani?" My head whips to Rudra's grandfather. I blink.

Shall we where? Where are you taking me?

God damn, I had forgotten what it feels to be this nervous. The last time I felt such was around my brother when I was a teenager.

Nodding obediently, I gesture Nitya to get my stuff from the car. She is quick to get the hint and scurries to where her car is parked. I left mine back at the company. Didn't feel the need to waste gas when we were driving to the same place.

"Are your friends comfortable to join us?"

I look up at him, my hands restless as I wring them together and run my gaze around the little group of my colleagues huddled near the office van. They collectively shake their heads, intimidated and scared out of their wits. "No, they've to be at the office." I mutter timidly just as Nitya returns with my things. I go to take it but an older man, close to Rudra's grandfather's age, who had been standing behind the old man and I just took notice of, steps forward and receives it on my behalf.

"This way," Mr. Rawal steps aside and motions me towards his car. I fall in the step beside him and we walk together. His driver opens the door for me. Getting in, I slide to my extreme left, my hand itching to dive for my bag so I can call Rudra. But I don't have it anymore and I don't think I'm getting it back anytime soon.

Rudra's grandfather slides in next to me, the handrest dividing the seats. I look down at my lap, before glancing outside the window, and inhale a deep breath.

The car revvs, and soon we're driving down the busy roads of Ratangarh.

"Where are we going?" I muster up enough courage to ask.

"Rawal Haveli," he answers.

I fall back on the seat, trying to normalise my breathing, but fuck it, how can I be normal when nothing about this situation is?

I stare outside the window for the rest of the drive, wondering how my day went from boring to eventful in such a short span of time. I wanted to stay in the city and explore it, but not with the ruler of it sitting right next to me.

The roads start to clear up. We veer around a hilly road, on top of which sits the magnanimous, huge, beautiful Rawal Haveli. It runs for miles. The wall fences form a pear-like shape, the large curve of which opens to a grand entrance, while the squeezed end of it houses the main haveli. I watch in awe. There's not a trace of modernity to the architecture, it's not a fusion of contemporary and traditional like Veer Mahal, neither polished to suit western tastes like Rajawat Palace. It has stayed true to its roots, to its Rajputi essence to this day and time.

Constructed of red sandstone and marble, the attractive, opulent Rawal Haveli is laid out on four levels, each with a courtyard, overlooking the glorious, clear lake that surrounds the majestic architecture, as if it doesn't need the world or the luxuries, for its self sufficient and a world of its own.

The large antique doors, made up of oak and fastened together with steel studs, strengthened with steel iron bands, open with an echoing grunt, revealing the grandeur of Rawals.

I lower my window, looking out and towards the courtyard overlooking the driveway, as girls and women of my age, wearing traditional clothes crowd around to watch the car drive in. They giggle and smile, waving eagerly at me. I smile in surprise and wave back. When my eyes move to the front, I see older women line the main passage, but one of them stands out and I just know she's the wife of the man sitting next to me. She exudes the same air as him, of regality and confidence.

I feel out of place the moment I step out of the car. The people around me are dressed traditionally, in bright colours and heavy jewellery. The women have veils covering their heads, thick bangles adorning their wrists, a nose ring attached to their gold earrings, maang tika drooping to their foreheads, and chokers and rivières encompassing their necks.

I'm dressed in one of my worn out pair of blue jeans and a white blouse. After the interview, I didn't even check myself in the mirror but I'm sure my hair is all over the place. This is not how I imagined my first meeting with Rudra's family will go. Fuck my life.

When Rudra's grandfather walks ahead, I'm compelled to follow him. But then he steps aside and allows the women to crowd me in. I'm startled with so much attention, but hardly given the chance to breath or react as a heavy dupatta falls over my head, and draped around my shoulders. I hold it in place as the woman in charge dips her finger in the wet vermillion and raises it to my forehead, waiting for me to lower my head. I touch my chest and obey.

When she's done welcoming me as per the rituals, she hands over the thali to another woman, and cups my face. "Padharo, Bindani, tharo swagat hai." And she drops her hand to my wrist, sliding it through my fingers as she holds my hand firmly and leads me inside the Haveli, as if this is where I belong, and have finally reached home.

As expected, the place has zero touch of modernism to it. It's well designed, suiting the taste of ancient Rajputs, filled with antique interiors, hand made, rare crafts, from the cushion covers to the carpet covering the floor, every fabric here is knitted and embroidered by hands. But nothing takes the beauty away from it, not the worn out wooden furniture, neither the many people living in here. If anything, it adds to the beauty of this place, for despite being a palace, it actually emits the warmth of a home.

I look around the main hall in awe, my attention sticking longer than usual on the paintings and frames hanging on the walls.

"Come here, Bindani, let me introduce you to the rest of our family." Thakurani Sa welcomes me deeper inside and makes me face the many faces staring at me curiously. I'm introduced to each one of them, but I feel they already know me, and were only waiting for the familiarity to be two way.

"This is Devyani, thari nanad."

I know I look the epitome of confusion because Devyani steps in and clarifies, "I'm Rudra's first cousin, his mother was my father's elder sister."

"Don't call your elder brother by his name!" Another woman, who shares features with the girl standing behind slaps her arm in a chastising manner.

"Ow, Maa Sa, I was simply clearing Bhabhi Sa's confusion." Devyani tuts in annoyance, sending me a sheepish smile that I awkwardly reciprocate.

"Ulta jawab - "

"Okay, enough," Rudra's grandmother holds up a hand and the woman falls quiet. The introductions continue, and everytime I get stuck on honorifics, like Devrani, Jethani, Kaka sa, Kaki sa, Devar ji, Jeth Ji, my recently found nanad helps me figure out the meaning behind them.

"Treat this as your Sasural, because we consider Rudra our eldest grandson, and you to be his wife, our first granddaughter in law."

I nod softly.

"Now that the introductions are over with, may I show Bhabhi Sa around the Haveli?" Devyani asks excitedly.

"Sure, take her around, and then show her the room she's staying in. The clothes she needs to change into are available there. Beendaniyon, join me in the kitchen." The old woman instructs sternly.

Did these people just kidnapped me?

Am I even allowed a say in anything?

While the men depart to their own doings, women assume their typical role of being the caretaker, and follow the old woman into the kitchen.

Devyani grabs my hand and beams up at me. "I've been waiting to meet you. You're so much beautiful in reality." She compliments, her eyes shining as they peer up at me, as if she's in awe of what she's seeing.

I blush. "Thank you, you're very pretty too."

She grins. "Thank you so much! Now c'mon, I'll show you around the Haveli. It's so big I'm afraid we won't be done before dinner. We need to be quick." And she drags me to God knows where.

Devyani is a textbook definition of extrovert. She's outward with her personality, very blunt, and a bunch of good things shoved together in a 5.2 body. She doesn't stop gushing about how she has been following me on social media ever since I got married to her Bhai sa and how she has been boasting about having the prettiest Bhabhi Sa to her friends, though she has resisted exclusively taking my name in front of the outsiders. I should be terrified that his entire family knows of his truth, but I'm not, because if these people have protected the secret for so many years, I'm sure they're not a threat.

The entire tour of the Rawal Haveli lasts for over two hours. And I'm not exaggerating. It actually lasts over two hours. By the end of it my feet are aching, I'm in dire need of a warm shower, and my throat needs to be quenched with a glass of chilled water.

"Who is this?" I pause in front of the painting that's next to Rana Rawal Singh's, and is slightly bigger than his.

Devyani comes to a halt beside me. "That's Late King Jaisingh Rawal, Thakurani Sa's first husband, who jumped off this very courtyard and commited suicide." I gasp softly. "He's Bhai Sa's blood grandfather."

"So Rana Singh Rawal -"

"Her second husband, Jaisingh Rawal's younger brother. Rawals were in huge debts then, we owed a lot to Rajawats. By the time Mohini Devi, Rudra's mother came of age, we were drowning in debts. That's when they offered us an alliance, and while Dada sa, Rana Singh Rawal was in denial of the proposal, Bua sa stepped forward and accepted it. In less than two weeks, she was married off to Rajawats, and we were cleared off the debts." Devyani sighs. "Dada sa still hasn't forgiven himself for it. He blames himself for failing his elder brother, and the duties of a father he had stepped up to carry out when his brother died."

That's a lot to take in.

Like a fucking lot.

"Can you show me to where I'm staying?" I ask awkwardly.

She blinks, "Oh, yeah, this way," while she takes the lead, I follow her.

We descend to the second floor and she takes me to the west wing, passing several doors and corridors before stopping in front of the one at the end. "This is it," she opens the doors. I step in, and everything inside instantly reminds me of the melodramatic Indian period dramas I've watched just to see a glimpse of Rajput history. The canopied bed, an open balcony draped in curtains and antique furniture. "You can take a bath, and then change into this," she hands me clothes that eerily match the ones I've seen beendanis wearing in the haveli, "and then come down for dinner." Devyani smiles up at me. "I'll see you in the dining hall!" Then she's out of the room, closing the doors gently after her.

Rationality kicks in and I drop the clothes on the couch, haphazardly moving to my stuff on the dressing table and digging through it for my phone. I scroll through my contacts, find Rudra's number and press the call button. He answers on the third ring.

"Where are you, Esther? I've brought us a new box of condoms -"

"I'm stuck." I blurt out.

"Where?"

"Rawal Haveli." I answer.

Nothing except silence greets me, and then a determined, firm, "I'm on my way," before the line goes off.

How did you find the Rawals? Too much? Too intimidating?

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to vote and comment. Makes my day.