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जागे-जागे, सोए-सोए, तेरे नैना
सपनों में खोए-खोए, तेरे नैना
तन्हाइयों की परछाइयों में तुम ही हो ना
तेरे नैना, हाय नैना
They were children, he thinks, when he first saw her. He was 15, she was 13, and Mukta had gone to her house for a sleepover. She came out talking to Mukta, her eyes still heavy with sleep, her hair still messy. She looked…. peaceful. Calm. Dreamy, even. But his gaze, after roaming across the courtyard, where the other girls were waiting for someone to pick them up, after checking to see that Mukta was ready to go, settled on her eyes. She was pretty, he thought absently, and then went back with Nirmukta.
He didn’t think much about her after that. He was travelling and training with Mama and ketu dada and his other cousins, and used to get so tired at the end of the day that he scarcely had time to change his clothes before hitting the bed. A lot of times, though, he’d find a fresh set of clothes neatly folded by his bed and a pot of warm water ready for him to bathe when he woke up. Ketu dada didn’t really say anything but he knew who it was. It was hard, dirty and he complained and whined, but no one, including him, could say that the time away from the palace wasn’t helping. For starters, the guilt he had about living in luxury while his mother and father lived in the forest decreased because a part of his training did take place in the forest. In fact, he began to think they had it better because at least they were staying in ashrams and with other people. He was barely surviving. The second thing that happened was that without so many people’s expectations, he finally got time to figure out who he really was and what he really liked. But the days were long and hard and so, so, lonely. There were some nights when he felt alone despite the five people sharing the room with him, when he could not fall asleep no matter how tired he was. There were times when he missed home. Those nights, Divya would find him outside and sit with him. Those days, he would wake up on the grass, his head on his cousin’s lap.
When they returned to the palace, Nirmuktha still hadn’t returned. She met him, remarked about how nice it was that she happened to bump into him– he knew it wasn’t an accident– and asked about when Mukta would be back. He said he didn’t know. On one of his visits, Dada mama said something about a tapasya, something about a grandfather. When he looked quizzically at Ajoba, dada mama shook his head and mouthed, “Not him, Shatanik. The- the others-”. He didn’t understand, then, because, weren’t the Ashwins his grandfathers too? Shouldn’t he have been doing it as well? No, this is different, apparently. So he began meeting her more and more often, both of them awkward as they did their own thing, Mukta’s absence hanging in the awkward space between them.
“What’s your name, by the way?” He asked.
“Kritika,” She said. “And I already know yours, Prince Shatanik.”
Her voice kept echoing in his head for a long time.
It felt good to hear his name in her voice. It felt good when she called him Prince. He wanted her to call out to him again.
Almost eight months later, when Mukta walked into their room, wearing a new face and bandages under her chest, he realized what was going on. The next morning, Vindhya Dada tells them that they’re supposed to call him Shrutasen now. Dada mama looks at Shrutasen funny these days. And Shatanik? He found Kritika moping in one of the training room after her lessons with Shalaka mami.
“She’s not talking to me….” she said in a small voice. “Or- he, I guess. I know it’s the same person underneath it all, but I miss Mukta so much… and my father shoots dirty looks even at your uncle- at Prince Shikhandi- and only talks to him when he absolutely has to, what makes you think I can hang out with Shrutasen anymore?”
“And then he looks so happy that you don’t have the heart to bring it up that you miss what was there before!” Shatanik put in. “Still, I’ll try to tell him to talk to you, okay? He’s busy, they’re saying that since he can shapeshift, he would be a good spy, and like- he has no free time these days, he’s travelling and training like I did, but I think he misses you too.” He said gently.
सूनी-सूनी, सूनी-सूनी सी ये रैना
आजा पिया, आजा पिया
तेरे बिना नहीं चैना
ऊँचाइयों की गहराइयों में तुम ही हो ना
तेरे नैना, हाय नैना
They were 23 and 21 now, and had been going steady for almost two years. They regularly snuck out of their homes at night to meet each other, usually at the back of an abandoned temple, on the steps of what Shatanik thought was once an amphitheatre. That night, Krittika made her way through the broken stone structure, walking extra slowly. In the light of the half moon, Shatanik could see that she was holding something in her hands. As she came closer, he realized it was a pot.
“What’s in that?” He asked.
“I made this,” Krittika sighed. “Saved some for you,”
“Oh, what’s the special occassion?”
“Nothing, just. My mother says I’ll need to know how to make sweets to keep my future husband happy, that’s so insane! Why can’t I make sweets because I like sweets regardless of a future husband? What logic is that???”
“And you brought them directly to him, huh?” He teased.
“Shut up!” Krittika groaned, burying her face in her hands. He could still hear the smile in her words though.
“Come on, give it to me, give it to me!!” He wrestled the pot out of her hands.
Sutasoma needed to make something to cleanse his palette. SHE HAD MANAGED TO BURN SOMETHING WHICH DIDN’T EVEN NEED HEAT!! He was going to wake his brother at some bumfuck hour of the night because of her cooking. This was her fault.
“It’s great!” He said through a mouthful.
“Really? I knew you’d be honest! My mom said it tasted burnt… ugh.. And I can’t even tell her it was good because she doesn’t know about us yet. Wait, can I taste it? I made it and I haven’t tasted it,”
Shatanik grimaced.
About thirty birds squawked and flew from their roosts.
“WHY WEREN’T YOU HONEST WITH ME YOU JERK???”
She punched him in the arm. Ow.
पाया तुझे तो सब मिल गया, हाँ
एहसास ऐसा कि सब खिल गया
जैसे हिमालय ख़ुद पिघल के सागर बन गया
हाँ, इन पलों की रानाइयों में तुम ही हो ना
तेरे नैना, हाय नैना
Shatanik heard the clatter of hooves outside his tent. He hastily got up to see who it was. And in the light of the full moon, on a pearly white horse- Krittika???
“Go, go, I’ll cover for you!” Sutasoma whispered, poking his head out of the blanket.
Shatanik stepped out of the tent.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” She said simply. “You know the campsite, take us somewhere hidden. I want to give you something,” She let go of the reins of her horse, looking at him expectantly. Shatanik held the reins and guided their horse behind a large banyan tree.
Krittika got off the horses and tied the reins to a branch. She pulled off a package tied to the saddle. “This is for you,” She pulled out a sword.
When he looked closer, he realized- this wasn’t just any sword. It was her sword. He shook his head.
“Krittika, I- I can’t-”
“You have to,” She said emphatically, leaving no room for argument, practically shoving the sword in his hands.
“Also, I know you have probably already had dinner, but…”
“Did you bring food again?” Shatanik asked. No no no no no-
“For me! I haven’t had dinner! I snuck out all the way here and this is the thanks I get?”
“No, no, it’s okay, sit down here-”
They sat. He fed her the rice, bite by bite, even amidst her protests- “I am a grown up I can do it-”
“I know you don’t need me to do it, but I want to,” Shatanik said softly. His rough, calloused hands scooped up the rice and it ran down his hand. Before she could reach across, he licked it up and gave an appreciative grin. “Huh, that’s good!”
Krittika ducked her head as she blushed.
“Eight years, krittika, and you still blush? Wow!”
“Nine now, but we won’t be meeting on our anniversary….”
“The war will have been going on for what? 20? 21? Days by then..”
Krittika sighed. “I know, I just wanted to have this one last meal with you, you know?”
“This- this is not going to be our last meal together Krittika! The war will finish and we will get married and then you’ll-”
Krittika just nodded.
They huddled up on Shatanik’s shawl, under the base of the banyan tree, bodies pressed so close together that one couldn’t tell when
As the moon inched nearer and nearer to the horizon, as birds started chirping and the sky began to lighten, Krittika got up.
“Tanu, I- I need to go,”
Shatanik didn’t speak. The lump in his throat seemed to grow larger and larger- to the point where he couldn’t swallow across it anymore.
He gave krittika a tight hug and stood absentmindedly at the entrance of his tent gazing at the white horse disappearing into the distance.