THE COURTESAN OF JAIGARH (Complete)

Part 16-Salima

 Valli pressed her fist against her mouth, trying to stop a sob from breaking. Neelanjana lay on the floor in her own vomit, her skin tinged with a sickly bluish hue. Was her friend alive, she wondered, but hesitated to check for herself. By that time, Menaka had arrived, followed by Lakshmi, Madhulika, and a couple of maids.

"Move aside. Let me see," said Menaka, pushing the others to enter the room. She bent over the unconscious girl and checked her pulse.

"Call the vaidya. Be quick," she told one of the maids, who ran to do her bidding.

By the time the doctor arrived, Neelanjana had been wiped clean and placed on the bed.

"Poor girl," commented Madhulika. "What do you think could have happened to her?"

"Only the vaidya can say, but I guess it might be the effect of poison," replied Menaka, pacing the floor in her anxiety.

"Do you mean to say that someone has poisoned her?" Madhulika asked, her eyes wide in disbelief.

Menaka shrugged her shoulders, but the same thought was running through her mind. Who could hate the girl so much as to do this to her?

The doctor came, a middle-aged man, carrying his bag of herbs. He examined the prone girl, then shook his head.

"What is it?" asked Menaka.

"A bad case of poisoning. She is fortunate to be alive," answered the doctor, mixing herbs in a bowl. "Do not worry, lady, I have seen worse cases of poisoning by dhatura."

"Oh, how strange," commented Menaka, her mind trying to work out the meaning of it. So, it wasn't something she ate by mistake, for everyone was familiar with the plant that was offered to Lord Shiva. Who could have planned to harm her, for whoever it was, had wanted her dead. She shuddered to think that a potential killer was in their midst. They would have to be cautious from now on.

An antidote was administered to her, and the doctor appeared satisfied when her skin lost some of its bluish color.

Valli offered to sit beside her friend, waiting for her to open her eyes. The others left, but Menaka decided that she would have to get to the heart of the matter. Neelu was under her protection. Had she died, the prince wouldn't have lost a moment before punishing her for negligence. Had she been fortunate, she would have been exiled, but had her luck decided to abandon her, she would have spent the rest of her life in the dreaded dungeons. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

None of them noticed that the silver jewelry box gifted by the prince was missing from Neelanjana's bedside.

Hassan hastened his steps, his heart pounding sickeningly. He was sweating even in the cold weather. As he neared his home, he could see a group of women gathered at the door. He made his way through the crowd, anxious to see Salima.

His breath stuck in his chest as soon as his gaze fell on her. She was lying on a rug, her face contorted with pain, as she clutched at her swollen belly. Sweat ran down her forehead and her color was ghastly. Hassan ran to her, kneeling beside her and calling her name.

"Call the midwife," he threw over his shoulder.

"She'll be here shortly," said Miriam, directing the maid to bring hot water and clean cloths.

"How did it happen, Mother?" Hassan asked, an anxious tremor in his voice.

Miriam explained how Salima had been eager to spend the day cooking his favorite dishes in the kitchen. She had planned to make a feast before he arrived home in the evening, for she wanted to surprise him on his birthday. In her eagerness, she had hurried down the steep stairs, missing a step and rolling all the way to the bottom.

Of course, it was his birthday. How typical of her to remember that, but forget to be careful of her condition. He had forgotten about it, as had the others. Even his mother. Was her love for him, then to be her undoing?

Tears gathered in his eyes, clouding his vision and flowing down unchecked.

The midwife arrived, and he was shooed out of the room. The women gathered around Salima, handing the hot water and the cloth. The midwife, an old woman, with vast experience, examined her and shook her head, a worried frown on her lined face.

"She'll have to deliver the child," she told Miriam.

"But....but....it's not her time yet...." Miriam stuttered.

"The child may already be dead, for all we know, Miriam. I'll give her something to make her birth the child."

"Oh lord," wailed Miriam, her heart breaking. She had been so excited at the prospect of becoming a grandmother.

More than an hour later, an hour filled with loud screams, as Salima bore excruciating pain, Hassan was allowed into the room. All the time he had been pacing the floor, reciting holy verses, calling upon god to save his wife.

His gaze zeroed on Miriam who held a newborn in her hand. He bent over to see the baby. A beautiful boy, as fair as his mother, with rounded cheeks, tiny hands and feet, and brown curls like him.

"I'm sorry, Hassan. The baby could not survive the fall," said the midwife, with a comforting hand on his arm.

Was there any comfort for him? No, for Salima was still groaning, lying exhausted, her pallor becoming worse by the minute.

"Look here, she's bleeding profusely," exclaimed Miriam.

The midwife bent over, seeing the blood pool out of her body at an alarming rate, and trying to stanch it with layers of cloth.

Hassan sank by her side, holding her hand in his and calling urgently to her. She looked at him, her gaze hazed with pain, trying to speak but failing.

"Stay strong, Salima. Stay with us, my heart. I'm here with you," he cooed, pushing the lank hair away from her sweaty forehead, and placing a kiss there.

Hassan did not remember how long he stayed there, by her side, calling her name, long after it was all over, and her heart had stopped beating. The midwife stepped forward and closed her eyes.

Hassan stared at her in disbelief. She lay there, like in a deep sleep, looking ethereally beautiful. Only, she could no longer hear him.

A heartrending wail escaped his lips, his mind too numb to comprehend the enormity of his loss. Was everything over then?