The Unventured Passions

Heir to the Throne (3)

Feeling empty is the invitation to refill one's soul with whatever brings them joy and a sense of purpose.

'What fills me up?'
Raimoti wondered, walking aimlessly across the busy palace corridor, eyes vacant, hair flowing down and the reminiscence of the loose end of her red saree dragging on the floor, following her steps.

'Why such emptiness?'
She questioned herself.

Raimoti had always been a giver, warm and loving. Even as a child she never cried, seeking to make others happy, wiping her mother's lonely tears. And, when she was five, she had realised the redundance of her existence in her father's eyes. He wanted a son, and there she was, a daughter! And thus became her constant struggle of seeking approval in her father's eyes.
She grew up fast, beautiful and intelligent, and often people sought her in times of trouble and she gave all she had - her whole heart and showered love upon them... By age nine, after she lost her mother, adults leant on her, told her first of their woes and that she was their spark of light. And slowly she realised how it always ended. She hated their touches, she hated how her father's friends squeezed her tender body at the slightest of opportunity. And by twelve she learnt the hard truth of life. She learnt to seek refuge in books, in the world of fairytales. Yet when her time to suffer came, when her world felt like a hurricane of ice, every light but one switched off. All but one offered a skinny love, shallow and brief, before finding a reason to excuse their flight. That love was death!
But maybe that's the way it had to be, one light to follow, no choice but to walk forward, and that's when she met him... Satyakirth!
Perhaps the road toward heaven feels like hell, Raimoti reasoned with herself,  because she could tell that she never felt more empty in mind, body or soul, never so bereft of any comfort, yet she knew it was the only way.
She loved Satyakirth with all her heart, and she knew he loved her too.
But at that moment, as she walked the steps of his household, posing as his wife, all she could feel was how empty she was! With all her love she won't be able to hold Satya back, and with all her will she won't be able to give life to the idea that was perhaps budding inside her stomach.
Raimoti whimpered and touched her stomach, as a drop of single tear rolled down her cheek, bringing her back to the reality.
She quickly wiped it away, as infront of her stood a Mouni with a strand of Jasmine in hand.
Jasmine had been her favourite since she arrived in Raipur, as it was Satya's, yet when the Mouni held it up to her hair, Raimoti politely declined.
She stepped ahead, and unknowingly stepped on a plate of red alta, smearing the sole of her feet in it, and then she walked up the staircase of the RadhaMadhav temple, lonely after the Sandhya aarati, oblivion to the beautiful red foot prints that she left behind.

This part of the palace courtyard was considerably deserted as the Mounis mainly focused on decorating the front of the courtyard and the stone balcony above, handing thick chains of garlands all over. It was there that Raimoti was meant to stand, and show herself to her subjects...
Her subjects?
The thought pinned her heart like a prick of a poisonous needle, subtle yet fatal, and fat tears of hurt drenched her eyes silently.
None of these was hers, nothing...
She was just an outsider, an intruder, an imposter holding up a facade, a facade that was punishable by death as per the Royal law.
Then why holding behind?
Why even trying to latch on to something which wasn't hers?
Satyakirth never promised her marriage... Never togetherness or life... He promised her freedom and empowerment, and that's exactly what he gave her.
Then why should she complain?

Raimoti breathed out loud. She pulled out the small glass bottle from inside her saree and kept it infront of the gods, embraced in each other's arms.

Satya said he can't recognise her anymore, was it the sindoor on her forehead? Or the ornaments that she wore, or was it...