129. PaRud OSes: Intoxication, The Missing Mat

OS 1: Intoxication

 Paro looked anxiously out in to the darkness. Where was Major Saab? It was late, so late at night that all the other residents of Ranawat haveli had gone to bed. Was he out on a mission? Or was he drinking wth Aman bhaisa?

He must be drinking, Paro thought.

It had been four days after their wedding and he had returned home drunk all four nights. He had staggered in late, stumbled in to the house, needing Paro's arms around him to help him to bed.

She sat down on the floor by the open door, leaning against the warm stone walls of the haveli, her mind filled with thoughts of her husband. She was not scared of Major Saab. Drunk or sober, he never hurt her. In fact it was easier to manage him when he was drunk. A small smile trembled on her lips. Like a child. He was just like a child when he drank too much.

The smile vanished.

But how could he put his life in danger by riding that monster of a bike at night through empty roads winding among desert sands when he was drunk?

"Hey Bholenath, please protect him. He is incapable of looking after himself. He knows only to take care of me. Please, please look after him. Bring him home safe. Bring him to me," she pleaded, her head turned towards the idol of Lord Shiva in the hall.

   

                                                

Paro heard the sound of her Major Saab's bike. Her heart chanting prayers of gratitude, she sprang up from the floor and ran out of the door.

Yes, he had reached home. The bike was silent but Major Saab was still seated on the vehicle. Was he so drunk that he could not alight without her help? she wondered. If he was drunk, she could go to him without fear of being called a loose woman. If he was not, then she would get an earful...

She walked to him on silent, hesitant feet.

"Major Saab?" she called softly.

"Parooo," he replied, his speech slurred.

She rushed to him and threw her arms around his broad shoulders.

"Shall we go in?" she asked.

"Yes," he stuttered.

Rudra let her warm arms tighten around his shoulders. He felt the breath leave his chest as she pulled him to rest against her soft bosom.

"Major Saab, you have to get off the bike," she whispered in to his hair.

"Yes," he murmured. He lifted his right leg over the seat of the bike, taking care to rest most of his weight on his left leg. Paro was as strong and stubborn as God made women, but was physically frail. He coiled his left arm around her, pulling her snug in to a side embrace.

"Major Saab, all are asleep. We have to go in without making a sound," she said softly.

"Why?" he asked, dragging out the word in a drawl.

"We shouldn't disturb them," she said, humouring him as they made their slow way in to the house.

"It is my house," Rudra pouted.

"Yes, it is," Paro said as her anxious eyes scanned the hall. There was no one to witness their waddle.

"I will shout... I will scream... It is my house..." Rudra chanted.

"Let's go to our room," she said in a low voice, clasping him close.




"Our room," he repeated as he let her lead him towards it.

"Yes," she said.

"Yours and mine," he whispered.

"Yes," she pushed open the door panels and helped him inside.

"Parooo... you are my wife, Parooo," he drawled against her hair.

"I am your wife, Paro," she repeated obediently.

They reached the bed. She helped him to sit on it, almost falling on to his lap in the process. Once he was safely seated, she tried to move away from him.

 He caught hold of her odhni.

"Major Saab, let me shut the door," Paro pleaded.






"No," he stated.

"I will shut the door and return to you. I promise," she swore.

He looked at her, letting his eyes roll slightly. He shook his head in the negative.

"Look at me, Rudra," she whispered, cupping his face in her hands. "You can see me walk from the bed to the door. I will shut it and come back to you."

"No," he slurred, tightening his hold on her dupatta.

Paro looked at the open door with anxious eyes. She looked at a stubborn Rudra clutching the fringe of her dupatta.

"How can I leave the door open? What if someone sees you like this?" she asked.

He stared at her with bloodshot eyes.

"You will return to me, Parooo?" he asked, his tongue rolling around the words.

"Yes, I will. I promise," she whispered.

He nodded his head jerkily.

Paro swooped down and dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Look at me, Rudra. You can see me walk to the door and back," she said against his temple.

"Hhmmm," he agreed.

Paro moved to the door on quick feet, shut and locked it and returned to her husband. He was looking at her, his eyes trained on her figure.

"See, I returned to you," she said softly, brushing back the hair flopping against his temple.

Rudra smiled, his lips twisting unevenly.

"Let me help you out of your clothes," Paro suggested.

"No," Rudra pouted.

"How can you sleep in this jacket and shoes?" Paro scolded. "They have all the dust in Rajasthan on them."

Rudra chuckled weakly.

Paro pushed the jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. He sat still, neither helping her nor impeding her. Paro soon discarded the jacket on a chair nearby and reached for his white T-shirt.

"No," Rudra tried to brush aside her hands.

Paro glared at him, her hands on her hips.

"Let me do it," she insisted.

"No," he repeated.

Paro pursed her lips. "I have been changing your clothes for four days now. Why are you shy today, Rudra?"

"If you want to remove my clothes," he paused.

Paro frowned at him.

"You have to give me a..." Rudra pointed at his cheek with an unsteady finger.

Paro's lips trembled in a smile.

"Doongi," she promised. "As many as you want."

Rudra smiled and lifted his arms for her to remove his T-shirt. Paro pulled the white fabric off him to reveal his sculpted, muscled body.

"You are so strong," Paro whispered, touching the warm skin of his shoulder. The muscles rippled under her touch. He turned his face away, clenching his jaw.

Her fingers traced the scar of the bullet wound he had taken for her. She swallowed in pain. How hard he had tried to protect her!

"You put your life on the line for me, many times. Why, Rudra?" she asked, cupping his face in her palms.

"Because you are a bewakoof ladki... my eklauthi gawah... my eklauthi patni... like Rukmini, you don't have any sense of self-preservation..." he slurred. "No wonder you are friends with her... a blue butterfly..." he chuckled.

"Don't tease my friend, Rudra," she warned him.

"What will you do if I tease her?" he challenged her, laughter underlying his slurred words. "What will you do?"

"I will..." Paro did not waste words. She tickled him mercilessly.

"Paro, stop. Parooo..." Rudra chuckled, trying to roll away from her. But she was an experienced hand and he was naked without his shirt. After wrestling with her, he managed to overpower her, crushing her beneath him.

"Parooo," he said, waiting for his kiss.

Paro lifted her head and kissed him on his cheek.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked.

He nodded.

She squirmed out from under him and reached for the covered plate by the bed. Sitting on the bed, Paro fed him his dinner with her hands.

"Is the palak good today?" she asked, placing a morsel in his mouth.

"Yes," he mumbled.

"I made it for you," she smiled. She lifted the glass of water to his lips.





"I am sleepy," he yawned.

Paro arranged the pillows at the head of the bed to his maximum comfort.

"It is late. Lie down, Rudra," she invited.

He leaned forward and placed his head on her lap. After a moment, Paro put her arms around him and hugged him close. Slowly her fingers ran through the lush fall of his silky hair and she caressed his forehead and jaw.

"Why do you drink every night, Rudra?" she asked softly. "Is it so difficult to see me as your wife? Do you need to drink to tolerate me in your room?"

Rudra smiled.

"What if you have an accident at night?" she asked, the fingers of her right hand on his heart. "Do you know how much I worry about you?"

He turned his head in to the soft, silky skin of her waist. His hand came to capture her fingers and hold them pressed against his heart.





                                             



Rudra took the bottle of whisky from the cupboard in his official quarters, broke the seal and poured a little of the amber liquid in to a crystal glass.

He lifted the glass to the light, his sharp eyes savouring the golden brown, honey-like shade of the potent liquid that had helped him forget many a stab to his heart, propped him up when things were going bad, warmed his body as he had led missions on cold Rajasthani nights over the years.

It would help him today too, as it had done for the past five days.

He took a sip of the spirit, rolling it in his mouth before spitting it out. He dipped a finger in the tawny water of life, brought it to his face and coated his cheeks and chin with it. He sprinkled a few drops of the alcohol on his uniformed chest, discarded the glass and strode out on quick feet.

He was intoxicated with his wife. He didn't need whisky anymore.

He wanted to get home as soon as possible. His wife would be waiting for him to stagger in to their house, waiting to help him to their room, waiting to feed him, shower him with her love, a love that she could show only when she thought that he was out of his senses.

A love he could accept only when he pretended to be out of his senses.

He smiled.

OS 2: The Missing Mat

Paro opened the cupboard to take out the mat, but her hand remained hanging in the air.

 Her green mat was missing.

 She pulled out her pillow and sheet and bent to look for her mat. It had vanished in to thin air. A frown creased her forehead as she turned to look around the room. Had she placed it elsewhere in her preoccupied and troubled state of mind?

She looked at the top of the almirah. There were suitcases piled there, but no mat. She walked to the other cupboard in the room and rooted around in it.

There was no mat there.

She stole a glance at the man sitting on his bed. Dressed in his white kurta with the first three buttons missing, he sent a lick of fire through her, beginning somewhere in her mouth and ending at her toes.

She averted her eyes with great effort. He had sent Laila baisa out of the house that morning, but that did not mean he knew what Paro’s place in his life was. She had to find her mat.

Rudra’s incendiary eyes ran over her slim frame with intense possessiveness. Dressed in a white skirt and blouse, her bosom inadequately covered by a red silk odhni, she was standing before the open cupboard looking for her mat.

As he watched, she turned away and marched out of their bedroom, shutting the doors after her.

‘Now what is this bewakoof ladki up to?’ he wondered. 'I have thrown Laila and the mat out. Can’t she just join me in bed without any fuss and let me sleep in peace?’

She returned a few moments later, her arms curled around a red mat.

‘Where did she get this from?’ Rudra fumed. ‘Must be from Ranawat, the devil born to plague me.’

As he watched, she spread the narrow red mat on the floor, placed her pillow and blanket on it and proceeded to lie down to sleep.

“Paro, come and sleep on the bed,” he ordered.

She turned away from him, showing him her delectable back covered only by two narrow doris.

Rudra looked away in exasperation. Managing her was more difficult than managing a roomful of fractious kids, not that he had any experience with kids, irritable ones or not.

He took a deep breath.

“Paro, the chooha will bite you at night,” he tried to scare her.

There was no response from her.

Rudra grit his teeth. He had gotten rid of the pest Laila. He had confessed his sordid past to her. What more did she want him to do?

The uncomfortable picture of her tear-filled eyes as she asked him, “Do I have any haq over you? Am I really your wife?” rose in his mind to be pushed aside ruthlessly. Why did she want to know the answer to this particular question? Wasn’t it enough that he had averred that he had no heart and that Laila had never had a place in his life or his head or his thoughts? That she had just been a convenience that had grown in to a mammoth inconvenience?

Why did she want to know her place in his life? He had married her. He had tied the red dhaga around her neck in the presence of his family. Why wasn’t that reassurance enough for her?

“Paro, sleep on the bed,” he ordered.

Paro did not move a finger to let him know that she had heard him.

“How many times should I tell you to look at me when I speak to you?” he thundered.

Paro lay as if lifeless.

He marched up to her, caught her shoulder with his one good hand and turned her to lie on her back.

She was asleep. Really, genuinely asleep.

He stared at the lines of exhaustion on her face with troubled eyes. He had managed to get rid of Laila but there was no way he could wipe away the last eight years that had meant nothing to him but meant a lot to his wife or take away the pain his past caused to his wife.

“My Patni…” he whispered. 

Paro stirred slightly.

“Paro,” he called.

Her lashes flickered and her eyes opened. He looked in to deep pools of grave wariness and felt a weight settle on his chest.

“Paro, sleep on the bed,” he said huskily.

“No,” she replied.

“Do you want me to carry you with my one good arm?” he threatened.

She looked at him, reading his determination in his eyes.

“No,” she replied.

“Then get on the bed,” he instructed.

“I don’t want to sleep on the bed,” she said, the edges of her lips drooping.

Rudra looked around, an odd mixture of helpless fury and empathetic anguish burning holes in his gut.

She looked away from the angry, tense figure of her husband.

The next thing she knew, Rudra was plonking his pillow and sheet next to her on the mat.

She sat up in shock, the sheet falling away from her chest to her lap. “What are you doing, Major Saab?” she asked, her voice a thin thread.

“Can’t you see? Then why are you asking stupid questions?” he asked as he sat down by her right side on the mat and lying back, placed his head on the pillow.

He shut his eyes.

Paro swallowed hard. Then she slowly picked up her sheet and pillow to leave the narrow mat.

An iron hand manacled her wrist. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, his eyes still shut.

Paro stared at him.

“Don’t think you can escape me, Paro,” he whispered, his eyes still shut. “I guarded you from Tejawat for weeks. Don’t forget that, Paro. I know when you breathe, when you turn, when you move, when you are in danger….I know every thought that goes through your head.”

Paro drew in a shaky breath.

“Chup karke so jaa,” he said brusquely.

“The…the mat is small,” Paro whispered.

“You should have thought about that before you disobeyed me,” he retorted. “Ab bhugto.”

He tugged at her wrist lightly. Paro gave in, replaced her pillow in its place and laid her head on it.

She turned her head to look at him. He was too close to her. She could feel the heat emanating from his muscular body through the flimsy cover of the white cotton kurta without the three buttons.

She tried to draw in a deep breath, hoping to still the clamour of her heart.

His left hand was folded under his head. His right arm was held close to his side and his face was turned to the ceiling of the room. Her head was ensconced in the hollow of his raised arm. A warm sandalwood scent rose from his clothes and body to invade her senses. She frowned. She washed his clothes along with hers. She had never added anything special to them to make them smell so good. So it wasn’t the clothes. The heady fragrance must be from his body, she surmised.

No wonder Laila baisa still loved Major Saab, she sighed. She must have slept like this every night for eight years, savouring his warmth and his scent.

“Can I ask you something?” Paro asked.

“No. Go to sleep. Don’t strain your brain by thinking,” Rudra growled.

Paro swallowed hard.

“She spends the whole day working and crying and the whole night worrying. Bewakoof, pagal ladki,” he muttered.

Paro stared at him.

“If you are so fond of staying awake at night, I will make you a watchman in BSD. Phir shauk se khadi rehna near the gate all night, looking out at the desert sands to see if any chooha is trying to enter the camp,” he bit out.

Paro pursed her lips and turned her head away.

They lay silently in the dark. Slowly her lashes fell over her tired eyes and she slipped in to oblivion.

Once he was sure that she was asleep, he brought his left arm to turn her to lie on her back. His eyes ran over her moon-like khoobsoorat face, her long, dark lashes shielding her brilliant hazel eyes from his gaze. He looked out through the open window at the full moon in the dark sky. The real moon had dhabbe, was ugly in comparison to the pure soul lying by him. There was no stain on his Paro, no blemish on her soul, not an ounce of meanness, not an iota of self-preservation in her.

A gentle breeze blew a few strands of hair on to her temple.

Rudra frowned. How dare the wind disturb her rest? He moved the strands back in place with gentle fingers.

What if she turned her head in the other direction at night and hit her head on the hard floor? He was there to take care of her if she turned to the right, but what about her left side? Rudra got up from the mat, found the softest of pillows and placed it to her left. He then resumed his place.

She snuggled closer to him as though missing his warmth for the few seconds he had been away from her.

He lay looking at her, his face close to hers. His tender eyes lingered on her bindi, on her brows, on her straight nose, on the nose ring, on her rosebud lips, on the smooth, blemishless, creamy skin of her cheeks, the stubborn chin that she lifted in the air when she was in the mood to pit her wits against his. Her ears were free of the colourful jhumkas she used to wear during the day time and her arm was adorned only by his and her rudraksh chains. The red thread he had tied around her neck caressed the swan-like length.

 He swallowed hard. Maybe he needed a glass of water…or a jug of it.

He tried to sit up, but Paro moved even closer to him. He lay back, his loving eyes on her. 

Her hand came to rest on his chest. He drew in a shaky breath, his chest rising with the effort.

Her fingers moved across his chest as though searching for something. His eyes locked on her fingers.

Her fingers reached the open neck of his kurta and slipped inside to touch the bare expanse of his neck and upper chest. His heart stopped beating for a moment.

But his torture was only beginning. She moved closer to him till she was lying on his left shoulder.

He squirmed.

She moved her body closer to his to still his mutiny.

She buried her face in the open neck of his kurta and breathed in his sandalwood scent. He shivered at the feel of her hot breath on his bare skin.

Paro woke up in the morning to find that she was lying on his left arm. His eyes were shut and the sheet covered him to his waist. She got up slowly and moved away gingerly so as to escape his nearness before he woke up.

As her warmth left him, Rudra’s lashes flickered and he opened his eyes to see her standing by the mat, her pillow and sheet clutched in her hands.

He sat up slowly, his long fingers massaging his temples.

“My head is aching,” he grumbled. “I couldn’t sleep a wink at night. The nuisance you create in my life,” he said.

“What did I do?” she asked, her eyes wide open, guileless.

He averted his eyes.

“I don’t want your mat drama tonight. We will share the bed. If I see this mat again, I will burn it in the courtyard or throw it away like the other one. Samjhi tum?” he barked.

Paro nodded uncertainly.

“Why did you throw the other mat away?” Paro being Paro asked. Why was he so angry with the mat?

Rudra fumed at the realisation that he was on a very slippery wicket.

“Are you going to feed me questions this morning or will I get a cup of tea?” he asked, pretending anger.

Paro moved towards the door on hasty feet.

“I will bring tea in a moment,” she promised. “Then I will ask you about the mat.”

Rudra looked around like a hunted animal. There was no other go. He ran to the bathroom to freshen up. 

A few minutes later Paro came in to their bedroom with a cup of tea on a tray.

“Major Saab?” she called.

There was no answer.

Wind blew errant strands of her hair on to her temple.

She placed the tray on the table, lifted her hand to brush back the hair and stopped.

She could feel his fingertips brushing back the hair, his palm cupping her cheek. A rosy hue rose to colour her cheeks as she stood there, her hand to her forehead.

Major Rudra Pratap Ranawat alighted as Aman parked his phatphatiya before the BSD headquarters. He removed his kadai helmet, relief flooding his heart.

He had escaped Paro.

‘Give me a battle at the sarhad. I will take that over her innocent questions any day,’ he thought as he moved towards the building. He had time till evening to think up answers for his patni’s never-ending questions.

 He walked in to the hall to see a vase with wildflowers arranged in it. His feet came to a halt near them.

His fingers touched a pink petal gently.

His Paro’s cheeks were softer. A slight smile twisted his lips as he walked in to his room.

                                             ***

OS 3: