Torn Pieces

1. Purpose

The very first thought that would pop into Ajabde's mind every morning, noon and night would be the eldest prince of Mewar. It would usually be spiteful, angry and insulting but still trusting in his ability to fulfil that role. The very last thought that would pop into Ajabde's mind every morning, noon and night would be her husband. It would always be warm, loving and delicate. Ajabde knew she was mad to think about the same person in such binaries. But it was the only way she was sane for these many days. The idea that her husband and the prince were the same person seemed to be indigestible to her. Everytime she tried to reconcile these two images in her head, it would cause an involuntary disgust within her. How could her husband be this blind, this mistaken in his conceived notions of her, of his own mother and of the relationship they shared?

Isolated by choice and lonely by fate, Ajabde had no one to confide her inner bitter ministrations in. Balwant was a baby and she didn't want the shadow of her ill fate on her brother's life. He should only be thinking of rainbows and ponies in his formative years. Her mother, externally strong and straightforward, would silence her negative thoughts and sarcastic comments, lest a breeze carried them to unwanted ears. Internally, her mother still feared and hoped for Ajabde's bright future at her in-laws'. Her father was hanging on to life by a thread, still breathing but virtually unresponsive to anything. Saubhagyawati would visit but Ajabde kept her busy with tasks and away from any information about herself. Writing to Phool was out of question because either she would shake up the whole place, demanding answers or land herself in some other trouble, something that Ajabde could not afford in her current political position. She had stopped Patta from going to Chittor and demanding answers himself with great difficulty. Ajabde was the acting vassal, and barring letters of business with the seal of BIjoliya, she did not wish to keep any correspondence or connection with Chittor. Maybe it was her own stubborn hope, that believed that the absence of information about her would upset her husband.

In moments when she was completely alone and free to let go of the poison, pain and passion that she tied up tightly in the empty corners of her heart, in the safety of her room; Ajabde would cry, laugh, yell, curse, praise and pray for him to her heart's content. In the safety of her company alone, was Ajabde free to be the person she felt like all the time. Her stoic face and her strict routine that she had set during the days following her father's incapacitation helped her hold herself together. Any deviation in her routine or any indication that she was falling weak irritated her. The change in her behaviour hadn't gone unnoticed. Patta and her mother expressed it only once, others did not. It gave her a sadistic pleasure to see that the people she once held so dear, showered so much affection on, were discouraged to even reply back to her. This realisation often made her cry for the loss of the person she was, for the loss of her ability to place trust in people. It made her feel jaded, and old, as if her experiences had aged her enough to welcome the peace of death if it ever visited her. She had never completely belonged anywhere, neither in her own home, nor any other place. She had never understood the solace of a home, so she never had a longing until...the fateful moment she had conversed with Pratap. Now neither could the longing cease nor could she do anything to fulfil it.

Her only purpose in her remaining life was the protection of her motherland, and the progress of her people. She had written to Acharya Raghvendra, explaining only that she wanted to learn how to fight but couldn't leave Bijolia because of her duty. He had sent her a Bhil woman warrior, with a letter indirectly addressing the situation with Chittor to show his support. Ajabde had written back and established a regular correspondence for two reasons - to keep an eye on the border situation and to take his advice on difficult political quagmires, citing her inexperience. But Acharya had an inkling that this new student of his was smarter and more tactful than she let on. It was not his place to intervene but he could offer support. This much he could do for his favourite student. Whether Pratap ever knew or not, taking steps for his well being was the Acharya's lookout.