Tanu Jain - His Runaway Royal Bride

‘But he will be all alone!’ Meethi said through the lump in her throat.

‘I will ask him if he would like to come and live with us. And if he doesn’t I will take you to meet him as often as you want!’ Veer said easily.

Meethi looked at him in surprise. He was making short work of all her objections. Why was he so keen to marry her? He could have his pick of any girl. So why her?

‘But why me…?’ she began, but the words died in her throat at the look in his dark eyes. She felt feverish and chilled at the same time and couldn’t tear her gaze from him.

She stared at him, mesmerised, as he tugged at a lock of her hair, pulling her towards him, and lowered his head, capturing her mouth gently.

Meethi closed her eyes in shock and felt his lips move over hers tenderly, softening them, caressing them and coaxing them open.

Despite her sheltered and protected upbringing, Meethi had a fair idea of the physical intimacy between men and women, thanks to the knowledge passed on amidst giggles by her married friends. But the actual reality of being kissed blew her mind.

His lips slid over hers, nipping her lower lip gently, pushing and prodding seductively and then deepened as he kissed her possessively. One hand moved to clasp her head closer while his other hand slid over her waist, cupping her bottom and pulling her into a snug fit.

Meethi went up in flames. All thought was erased from her mind, her body became a mass of dizzying sensations and she began trembling and shaking in his arms.

Feeling her tremble, Veer broke off the burning kiss and, placing a tender kiss on her forehead, said, ‘Now you know how suitable we are for each other.’

Meethi was red with embarrassment and couldn’t meet his eyes.

But her heart did a strange flip-flop when he pulled her close in a tight embrace and said softly, ‘Don’t worry! I will always ensure your and your father’s happiness. You will never regret marrying me.’

Meethi stilled in his embrace, held in the thrall of inexplicable, mysterious emotions. She felt as if she were walking on air.

They returned to her home, and her father’s ecstatic expression was Meethi’s undoing. She stifled her fears and accepted his proposal.

But her fears had eventually come to roost, and Veer had come to resent their hasty marriage.

She had thought that by running away she would set them both free.

She slid into an uneasy slumber but woke all of a sudden, catapulted up, perspiring heavily, her breath coming in gasps.

Her eyes alighted on unfamiliar surroundings and then it all came back. Veer had found her and brought her back to Samogpur.

A sudden movement beside her, she saw the maid, a young girl, hovering solicitously, bowing down low in greeting. ‘Namaskar, Maharani Saheba!’

Her breath sticking in her throat, Meethi asked her, ‘ Maharaj Saheb?’

‘He has gone riding, Maharani Saheba ,’ she replied deferentially.

Some things never change , Meethi thought, feeling old wounds buried deep down begin to tauten. He had always preferred the company of his beloved horses to her. She recalled numerous occasions when, after a disagreement, he would simply storm off to the stables and go for a long wild ride.

‘And Maaji Saheb ! Where is she?’ Meethi asked haltingly, dreading the answer.

‘Maaji Saheb is at the haveli in Haridwar. She has been living there for the past two years,’ the girl said confidingly.

Meethi looked at her incredulously. Maaji Saheb was no longer at the Mahal ! How was this possible?

Seeing Meethi’s confusion, she said in a low voice, ‘ Maharaj Saheb had a huge row with her and he ordered her to go to Haridwar!’

Meethi felt a slight easing of the clenched-up feeling inside. She wouldn’t have to face Maaji Saheb. Though one part of her mind clamoured to know the details, a nameless dread, familiar and omnipresent, kept her silent.

What would happen now? she thought dispiritedly. Where did she go from here? She couldn’t relive the terrible ordeal that their married life had been.

What did Veer want? Questions clamoured in her brain till it felt as if her head would burst.

Meethi tried to pull herself together. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked the maid.

‘Simran,’ the girl answered with a shy smile.

‘I haven’t seen you before,’ Meethi said thoughtfully. The girl seemed very young and sweet.

‘ Maharaj Saheb appointed me a year back. He said that I was to look after you when you came back,’ Simran offered tentatively.

Meethi was stunned to learn that Veer had been completely sure of finding her a year ago and bringing her back.

‘I think I’ll have a bath,’ she said. Simran’s revelations had confirmed her dread that Veer wouldn’t let her go. Maybe her brain would start functioning better and find a way out of the current predicament.

Simran brightened up and said with a smile, ‘ Ji , I will show you the dressing area.’

She went into the adjoining room and Meethi followed. It was a huge double dressing room divided by a thin wooden partition.

‘ Maharaj Saheb ’s dressing area is on that side,’ Simran pointed out. ‘All your clothes are neatly arranged in the wardrobe,’ she said.

‘My clothes! Where did they come from?’ Meethi asked, stupefied.

‘ Maharaj Saheb had them moved here from the old mahal. And I was given the responsibility of arranging them,’ she added with a note of pride.

Meethi opened her wardrobe. It contained all her old clothes. Since she had feigned her death, to avoid any suspicion, she had left all her belongings behind and taken just a couple of old churidaar kameezes , a pair of jeans and some tunics. Memories came rushing in when she looked at the rows and rows of opulent and expensive banarsi saris , antique brocade lehangas and elaborate anarkali churidaar kameezes. The best designers had put together her trousseau, as befitting her position as the Maharani of Samogpur.

Simran bent and took out a silver chest from the bottom of the wardrobe. It contained jewellery—necklaces, earrings, bangles, nose pins, toe rings and anklets that she was supposed to wear every day. There were several heavy jewellery sets that were kept under lock and key but which she had to wear periodically.

As the wife of Maharajah of Samogpur she had to always remain dressed to the hilt in a nine-yard saree or a lehenga , dripping with jewellery, her head demurely covered. She couldn’t leave her chambers dressed otherwise.

She had no say in choosing her clothes. And she hated her wardrobe down to the last piece. The clothes were gaudy, elaborate and cumbersome and she had always felt trussed up in the heavy fabrics.

There were no jeans, trousers or skirts in her wardrobe except for the ones she had owned before marriage. And once or twice when she had tried to wear clothes of her own choice, her mother-in-law had frowned and looked askance before acerbically humiliating her so that she had given in and changed.

Turning away from torturous memories, she rushed to the bathroom in desperation.

Veer was galloping furiously. For a Rajput , pride was paramount, and his wife had insulted him in the worst possible way.

She had played on his weakness for her.

She had seemed so sweet and innocent… Unbidden, his mind went back to the first time their paths had crossed.

He had driven down to Jaipur to attend the wedding of his school friend, Gauravendra Singh. Itching to drive his new Jaguar at full throttle, the Delhi-Jaipur highway had seemed perfect, and he had set off with his driver and bodyguards.