and she had left it with Guruji because it was too painful to face the memories it roused.
‘How did you find it?’ she asked.
‘He donated it to a charity I patronise. He must’ve been ecstatic when you ran to him. It is, after all, what he always wanted. He always had a vested interest in you,’ Veer said condemningly.
Meethi looked at him with dismay. ‘How can you even think such thoughts about Guruji? He has always been unselfish in his support and encouragement.’
After high school, Guruji had helped Meethi win a scholarship to a prestigious art college in London, and she had been thoroughly excited at the prospect.
But, to her dismay, her ever-supportive father had put his foot down, saying he wouldn’t let her stay abroad alone. She had been trying to convince him to let her go to college when her marriage to Veer had come about.
Veer had promised he would let her go to art college but she’d gradually realised that he hadn’t wanted her to go either. He had spoken to the college authorities and they had agreed to hold her place for a year but, as the months rolled by, there was always some excuse why she could not take her place. And her duties would keep her so busy that she found no time during the day to paint.
A few times when, late at night, she painted at home Veer would find ways of distracting her. Low heat coiled deep down inside when she remembered how he had often carried her off to bed in the midst of painting.
Guruji had been disappointed at her inability to go but he would bracingly tell her to continue painting. He had, in fact, been the only one who had supported her passion unstintingly.
Veer looked at Meethi with dark scorn. ‘His support was never unselfish. He wanted the fame of being known as your teacher, the one who spotted your talent and trained you. He encouraged you to the extent of ignoring your responsibilities and vows of marriage. And so you spun your web of lies and ran away. How you must have laughed at fooling me! I have never in my whole life come across such a duplicitous person. You have besmirched my honour and the family name!’ he castigated her.
Meethi listened to his diatribe, and bitterness filled her. He hadn’t once mentioned his feelings on losing her. It was only about his loss of face, his honour, his reputation. It would always be the same.
Family name and honour were the only codes he lived by and that still remained unchanged. He simply considered her another of his possessions, an object he owned that would be relegated to a back corner the moment she outlived her usefulness.
And she had proved a failure. She couldn’t provide the heir that he wanted. A heart-rending cry almost left her throat as painful memories of her miscarriage threatened to inundate her, but she ruthlessly pushed the door shut on them.
There was no point trying to sort out the convoluted mess of their relationship. Let him rave and rant and say what he wanted to, but when the time came she would run away again. She let his acrimony wash over her, wiped all expression from her face and turned away slightly.
She was dismissing him. She had run off. Fooled him. Her betrayal had blown a hole in his soul. And she didn’t care! The heartless manner in which she had tricked him by concocting the story of her fatal accident slammed into his memory and his fury reached mammoth proportions.
Veer wanted to demand further answers but he didn’t trust himself around her any more. He walked out of the room, leaving her alone. He had always been clear-sighted and decisive but Meethi managed to disturb his cool and left his thought processes completely tangled and in disarray. His formidable control always deserted him when she was around and she had managed to do what no one else had ever managed to do—hurt him where it mattered most. His head was spinning and he needed to put things in perspective.
MEETHI CURLED UP on her side, utterly drained and trying to stifle the sobs rising in her throat. She had been so happy when they got married. It had seemed as if she had found her sapno ka rajkumar—the prince of her dreams.
She remembered their first meeting, when she had saved a puppy from being run over by his car.
When he’d alighted from the car, his dark, smouldering looks had taken her breath away. He’d stood there, broad-shouldered and so tall that she had to crane her neck to look into the midnight-black eyes staring out of a chiselled face. He had been the most handsome man she had ever seen and, for a moment, her voice had threatened to desert her.
But his haughty, disdainful expression and regal air had angered her. She had sensed he was royalty by the way he carried himself and by the subservient attitude of the three men who had jumped out of the car with him. She had dismissed him as a typical royal, full of swagger and self-importance. And, not being kindly disposed towards royals in general, despite her thudding heart she had lambasted him.
Later, when she’d encountered him at a wedding she had gone to, she had felt his eyes following her and had tried her best to ignore him, feeling breathless and nervous. Inexperienced though she was with men, her senses had been aware of his dark sex appeal and the charged heat which seemed to shimmer whenever their glances met.
He had approached her the next morning when she was out early jogging and, striking up a conversation, had apologised for the car incident. Floored by his sincere apology, she had acquiesced to his invitation for breakfast and, before she knew it, they had driven down to a nearby heritage resort.
He had proved an interesting conversationalist and, over a sumptuous breakfast, they had talked about a variety of subjects. Though there was a difference of nine years between them, they had discovered a common love of music and cricket and there had been humorous bickering over favourites.
She had so thoroughly enjoyed herself that time had flown and she had been aghast to realise that it was already afternoon when they returned.
On their return, Veer had met her father and asked for her hand in marriage.
Her father had been ecstatic. Veer’s impeccable lineage and spotless reputation had bowled him over. He had approved wholeheartedly of the match.
But Meethi had felt piqued at what she considered Veer’s high-handed, archaic behaviour. The entire morning, he hadn’t given a single hint of any such interest and then he had suddenly gone behind her back to talk to her father.
She was also upset because she didn’t want to get married at nineteen.
Since she’d been seventeen her father had been inundated with proposals from well-meaning relatives. But her father had withstood the pressure from family and relatives and remained firm that she would complete her studies first.
Meethi had wanted to go to college and graduate with a degree in Fine Arts and Baba had always supported her desire but, worryingly, he had recently started hinting at finding a suitable match for her. And now he was serious about Veer’s proposal.
Though his dark good looks had mesmerised her and her heart beat loudly when he was around, she was deeply scared of giving up her life as she knew it. She knew life changed for a girl when she married. She had seen her friends married off young, freedom curtailed, circumscribed within the four walls of their sasural—their marital homes. Their lives revolved around their husband, in-laws and huge joint families and
