My brows creased in disbelief, and he chuckled, prompting me to push him away.
“Hum kyun darenge sasural jaane se,”“Why would I fear going to my in-laws’house?” I asked, and he laughed merrily, wrapping his arms around my waist to help me mount the horse.
“Haan waise, tum bhala kyun darogi? Tum to sasural me hi rehti ho,”“Yeah, why would you fear? You already live in your in-laws’house,” he said, then added,“Ghar chalein, Suman?”“Shall we head home, Suman?” His voice took on a serious tone, and I nodded.
“Ji,” I responded, and he stepped closer to kiss my head while directing Ashwait to move.
Even though the surroundings felt unfamiliar, the ride was brief. Darkness surrounded us as we approached the forest's edge, where our bonfire was still lit.
Confused, I watched him dismount, stepping forward to take my hand and lead me closer to the still-burning fire. I glanced at him, adding more wood to the fire to keep the flames alive.
“Is this home, Kunwar-sa?” I asked.
He smiled faintly, nodding.“Yes, this is home,”
He affirmed, and I felt a nervous gulp, turning to look at the small cottage, comforted by the fire’s warmth.
“Who lived here?” I asked, intrigued, turning back to find him seated beside me.
“Us. My brothers and I,” he responded, and I looked up at him.
“You didn’t live in the palace?” I asked, and he shook his head.
“No. I didn’t even know I was a prince until I visited the palace for the first time,” he said, making me frown.
“You didn’t know your parents?” I asked, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, shaking his head.
“No, to me, my brothers and Maasi-maa were my parents. I never knew that a mother and father existed for me. I saw Rudra Bhai-sa as my father and Ranvijay Bhai-sa as my mother. They love me, and sometimes I feel I don’t need parents; they provide everything I need. But sometimes…” he paused, inhaling deeply.
I held his hand and questioned,“Sometimes?”
He weakly smiled.“Sometimes, I wish I could at least meet my mother. There are no stories of being breastfed, no lullabies to sleep to, no warmth of a woman’s embrace,” he continued, and I tilted my head against his shoulder, lowering my gaze.“And…” he drawled.
“And?” I prompted curiously.
“And the first woman I encountered in my life was my Maasi-maa, whom I had seen sleeping with a man for money, for needs. As a child, my thoughts contrasted between a woman as a comfort provider and a woman driven by needs. I used to love her, but she would often choose a man over spending time with me. She preferred sleeping with a man to feeding me with her own hands. My brothers were there to ask if I had had lunch or dinner, but there were no hands to feed me. Sometimes, I feel I have everything—everything a man could ask for, but nothing.” His voice turned hoarse, and I silently listened, stroking his hand.
“I started running from that emptiness with a big smile on my face and jokes at the tip of my tongue. It was becoming easier to hide what I truly longed for rather than express it in words. Then, the second woman I encountered was that married princess,” he said, and I inhaled sharply at her mention.
I didn’t know why, but I felt a heaviness in my chest as I listened to him. I bit my lip and continued stroking my thumb gently over his hand.
“The way she used to look at me made me feel as if she were a source of comfort. I wanted to talk to her; I wanted to share what I felt, what I longed for, and desired.” His voice trembled, and I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes. His cheeks glowed from the fire. Tears glistened in his eyes, on the verge of spilling over.
“But she stripped my clothes instead of my heart. Once, twice, and it became too late to realise that this was just it. I… I didn’t know… what was hap… happening,” he stammered, clenching his fists.
“I thought she found comfort in me, the way I did in her. But when we’d be done with our physical session, she would ask me to stand outside her door again. Back then, I thought maybe, with time, she would ask me in, would wrap me in her arms and ask about my life—what I was feeling—but it never happened, Suman.”
I felt a lump in my throat as I watched tears streaming down his face.
“It never happened, Suman, and I ran away from emptiness with guilt. Then a friend of mine asked me to join him at a place—a place that people call a brothel,”
I gasped and looked down at our joined hands.
A jolt went through me as he pulled his hand away and spoke,“There, I encountered a woman in her mid-fifties who assured my friend that she would groom me. I accompanied her inside, where she asked me my name and age. I faked my responses. She then inquired about my intentions. I didn’t want to do anything; I just wanted to talk. I said I wanted to talk. She smiled at me with tears in her eyes. She told me I was the only man who had asked her to talk. I was both afraid and helpless. The bubble in my heart felt huge, on the verge of bursting. But I listened to her. She shared her life story, explaining that she was the child of a court dancer and how her life had led her there. She had five children; it was a compulsion at first, but after giving birth to them, staying in that line of work became a necessity. I listened to her all night and felt comforted knowing that I wasn’t the only human struggling through life. The next morning, she smiled brightly and bid me adieu with a warm hug. I didn’t know what to do. I was still young, only sixteen,” he said, and I smiled weakly, listening to him talk about her.
“Then?” I asked, and he let out a soft chuckle.
“Then, I ran again, Suman. I longed for another escape, where I could truly be myself. The hole inside me was widening; it held me captive, and the more I tried to run away from it, the stronger its magnetic force pulled me in. It distracted me. And there was this guilt within me; I was betraying my brothers. I was lying to them and had done something I could never share with anyone. They would hate me if they knew,” he said, and I inhaled deeply, looking at the golden flames dangling mesmerisingly to comfort us from the cold that hit my back, chilling my spine.
