MOHABBAT-E-DIWAANGI ( Book 1)

57. Jaipur

AUTHOR’S POV

The journey back to Jaipur had been exhausting, but there was an odd calmness that seemed to accompany the air in the cars. After hours of flights, transfers, and the constant movement, they were finally on their land, driving through streets that held memories, legacies, and whispers of old royal tales. Avantika had fallen asleep almost the moment they left the airport. Curled into the backseat of the black car, her head rested gently on Aadish’s lap, and though the tinted windows concealed them from the outside world, the city already buzzed with the news: the King had returned. The only secret still hidden was that this time, he had returned with his Queen.

Her breathing was soft and rhythmic, the rise and fall of her chest a small, intimate sight for Aadish. Even in his weariness, he found himself watching her—the curve of her face, the faint flickers of eyelashes as sleep claimed her, the small, unconscious movements of her fingers. His own eyes were heavy with exhaustion, the travel and the exertions weighing on him, but still, there was a comfort in having her there. Something grounding. Something that made the long hours worth enduring.

In the car ahead, Om and Armaan were tense, sitting side by side. The usual calm demeanor of Om was replaced by a hawk-like alertness; nothing could escape his notice. Armaan, on the other hand, was restless, his possessiveness simmering just beneath the surface. Though they both were hidden behind tinted windows, neither could suppress the intensity of their expressions. No one in the convoy truly understood the silent storm brewing in the first two cars—every glance, every muscle taut, every heartbeat was loaded with a silent tension that only family could sense.

In the third car, Ansh, Revti, and Rudra were somewhat of a contrast. The atmosphere was lighter, though still tinged with exhaustion. Rudra, in particular, could never remain quiet, especially on long rides like these.

“Maa, aap log shaadi kyu nahi kar lete?” (Mother, why don’t you two just get married?) Rudra’s question came from the backseat, casual yet filled with the curiosity only a child could possess. His tone suggested it was a normal conversation, yet it carried an underlying curiosity about the complexities of adult decisions.

Revti turned sharply toward him, eyes narrowing, her lips pressing into a thin line. Ansh didn’t react immediately, his gaze fixed outside the window, lost in thought as Jaipur’s streets passed in muted shades of amber and shadow.

“Beta, aapka dimaag thoda sa kharab hai kya? (Son, have you lost your mind?) Kuchh nahi mila tumhe bolne ko toh kuch bhi bolte ho… Mumbai mein izzat thi sirf Mr. Rajawat banne ki. Jaipur mein nahi. Yaha ke Rajkumar ho… behave.” (If you have nothing meaningful to say, you end up saying nonsense… In Mumbai, you were respected as Mr. Rajawat. Here, you are a prince. Behave.) Her voice was stern, almost sharp enough to cut through the hum of the car engine. Rudra slouched back, lips pursed, undeterred, as though thinking through her words carefully.

For the next five minutes, the car was quiet. Silence settled, almost heavy, the kind that makes you hyper-aware of every sound—the faint whir of the AC, the distant honk of a passing vehicle, the subtle creaks of the seats. Then Rudra leaned forward, tapping his father on the shoulder.

“Baba sa, aap hume itna gussa dikhate ho, magar humne aaj tak aapko Maa se uchi aawaaz mein baat karte nahi dekha.” (Father, you show us so much anger, but I have never seen you raise your voice at Maa.)

Ansh turned, his eyes finding Rudra’s face, soft in the dim car light. There was curiosity there, yes, but also innocence, an attempt to understand the layers of love and authority that governed their home. Revti, asleep yet aware, rested her head lightly on his shoulder. Carefully, almost reverently, Ansh adjusted her so she could be comfortable, keeping his hand gentle against her hair. His smile was soft, almost private, reserved for his family.

“Uchi aawaaz mein gadho se baat ki jaati hai, beta. Sherniyo se nahi.” (Loud voices are for donkeys, son. Not for lionesses.) The words were light, almost teasing, yet carried a weight of respect and protection. Rudra absorbed it all, his young mind quietly processing the love and authority in his father’s words.

Ansh’s thoughts wandered as he spoke, almost unconsciously, revealing a part of himself that rarely surfaced in front of anyone, not even his son.

“Jo Revti mere jeevan mein jagah rakhti hai, usme mujhe toh roj unke pair chhune chahiye… jo main chhuta bhi hoon.” (The place Revti holds in my life is so sacred that I should touch her feet every day… and I do.)

Rudra frowned slightly, puzzled. “Isn’t that… pati-patni ke pair nahi chhute?” (Husband and wife don’t touch each other’s feet, right?)

Ansh laughed softly, a deep, rich sound that mingled warmth with quiet amusement.

“Jab koi tumhare liye sirf tumhari biwi nahi, ardhangini, guru, maa, beti, saheli sab ban jaaye… toh pair kyu na chhue jaaye? (When someone is not just your wife but your soulmate, your teacher, your mother, your daughter, your friend… then why shouldn’t her feet be touched?) Jo tumhe pyaar se seiche, tumhara har ladhaayi mein saath de, dushmano ke vaar par apne sindoor ki raksha khud kare… vo devi ban jaati hai. (The one who nurtures you with love, stands by you through every fight, protects her sindoor against enemies… she becomes a goddess.) Aur har ek ladki mein yeh parchhayi chhupi hoti hai. (And every woman carries this shadow of divinity.) Phir kyu na main unke pair dhoke, woh paani piu? Apni Rani sa ke haan.” (Then why shouldn’t I wash her feet and drink that water? Yes, my Queen.)

Rudra’s eyelids grew heavy, his earlier curiosity dissolving into sleep. Ansh looked back at him, muttering under his breath, “Gadha kahi ka” (Stupid boy), and gently returned his hand to stroking Revti’s hair—the strands he adored most.

In the car ahead, Armaan and Om were a picture of quiet tension. Armaan’s possessiveness burned under his calm exterior, while Om’s vigilance was sharper than ever, scanning every shadow, every potential loophole in their security, even though the three-car convoy was completely surrounded by guards.

Meanwhile, Avantika stirred in her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, and the first sight she saw was Aadish’s calm face. A smile curved her lips unconsciously. She reached out and hugged him, curling into his lap as he brushed stray hair from her face.

“Nind achhi hui?” (Did you sleep well?) he asked softly, voice low yet gentle.

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Hum kab pahunchege?” (When will we reach?)

“Two more minutes,” he replied, brushing her hair away carefully.

Avantika’s eyes widened. Panic flickered across her features. “What? Two more minutes? Are you serious? How can I step inside the palace for the first time… like this?” Her fingers twisted at her dupatta, her hair, her dress, as though trying to fix herself in an impossible instant.

Aadish placed a hand on hers, steadying her, voice calm yet filled with authority. “Shhh. You are the Queen. And queens don’t need a name, a surname, identity, or appearance to look like a queen. You are a Queen. And that is enough.”

Her eyes softened, but worry still lingered. He looked at her, his gaze steady, unwavering. “But ek problem hai… shayad aapko pasand na aaye. Shayad aap roye bhi… aur shayad aap Mumbai wapas bhi jaana chahe.” (But there’s one problem… maybe you won’t like it, maybe you’ll cry… and maybe you’ll want to return to Mumbai.)

Avantika leaned into him, silent, trying to absorb both the warmth of his body and the weight of his words. The car continued its journey, the streets of Jaipur passing by in quiet anticipation, carrying them closer to their destiny, closer to the palace that awaited.

Sorry for the short update yrra's 💗 😭
Got fever and an exam tomorrow