Even if lovers die... Their love is eternel...

Chapter 1

First part : PRYIA

Paris, arrondissement 16th; the Indian Ambassador official motorcade goes like a storm through the roads of French capital and stops at Paris Grand Opéra. Today is Indian National Day : there's a big show and many well-known cultural or political people from both countries will attend it. That's why official cars from Minister of Culture and Minister of Foreign Affairs were parked in the same alley already. Doors opened at the same minutes and the two poweful men shook hands, surrounded by flashes...

The show was meant to look intimate and to put the highlights on Franco-Indian friendship; it's all about to celebrate the success of French President in India which has leaded to some important political and commercial agreements about security or nuclear business... That's why indeed, both main guests have come along with their families...

Near from the two french Ministers and their families, there was, indeed, Sir Yash Chowdery. The tall and athletic man, whose 65 years looked more like 50, was wearing a white sherwani fully embroided with blue thread, and crimped by the edges with green and saffron-reded gems, to match with his scarf covering his broad shoulders. He has a smooth and quiet face, with a white small beard; but you can't miss his very black & deep eyes, under thick eyelids, as dark black as his hair, which shined into the photographs flashes.
Though the unexpressive occasional smile, his eyes say absolutely nothing during the whole photoshooting; this austerity seems to break down only when it's lightened up specially when he turned himsefl towards his wife for the first time, and made her come closer to be on the frame with him.
Mrs Kamali Chowdery is handsome in her beautiful red sari, which makes her look like the typical Indian wife, small, a bit thick, with her black eyes outlined with khôl and parted with a tiny golden bindyia. She looks any move made by her husband, as if waiting for his instructions... Her face is more fair than his, her hair is silky and long, dotted with silver thread, tied up in a heavy french bun, held by a maang tika which allows to see the line of hair, painted with vermillon. This jewel almost reach her bindyia, and perfectly matches with all her other jewels shining on her neck, hands and even feet.

Self-confident, she smiles in a polite way to these french ladies, who are lightly amused by a weird look; she pretends not to understand french language when they murmurs about her...e

After more than half-an-hour, all the important guests finally reached their respective seats on the main balcony. After a quick speech of introduction, the show begins with the Official Indian Anthemn, sung by a choral of young children wearing traditional clothes. Everbody stands up to listen to the song. Then there is an operetta, narrating the old story of Indian continent through the centuries...

The audience is overtaken by the haunting melodies of the songs, and dazzled by the choreographies with hundred of dancers on the floor. Everyone is totally fascinated by this journey through times and places. From time to time, you could see some youngsters gesturing the steps from their seats. Even the French Minister of Culture dares to nod with his head and shoulders, following the irresistible rythm coming from the unbridled drums and from the dancers anklets tinkling.

- "God! Can't she at least try for once to behave properly!"

Kamalkaliji turned to look at her husband with a smile on her face, tightening his hand, removing an invisible thread on his shoulder. She came closer and whispered in his ears : "I love you"

These simple words were enough to calm him down and bring a smile on his face too. He surrounded her waist with his strong arm and hugged her, before looking back to the scene. He knows that the official medias are here for the event, but the garbage press has come only to find some disgusting scoop to put on first page tomorrow... that's why, even if the person sitting on his left side blocked his view, he knew, from the tiny bits, what was happening.

-" Priya! Are you doing your best to ruin it.. you know that..."

- "That Father will be angry at me? I know... And I am angry because I didn't want to play the potiche again...So that now, he knows it too!"

She did her best to raise her voice, higher enough, and to speak in Hindi, so that her father would hear her...He rudely turned his face toward her. She bursted out in laughter... pretending for others that she had a joke with her dad... so that he himself had no choice but to smile too...

Pryia Chowdery is 20 years old. Her beauty would made jealous the beauty queens from all around the world. Her thin and perfectly sharped face is enlighted with her wonderful big jade eyes. Her little cute nose is gently snubbed above her beautiful pulpeous-lipped mouth. Honey-like hair framed her face, letting a whick on her forehead, and cascading down her bared back, which could be seen from her Creator-designed black dress. It perfectly tighted her chest and her waist, being a bit wider on the bottom, so that it looked as if she caressed the ground while walking...

Since the moment she arrived with her parents, she has deliberately avoided to leave the car with them, so that she wasn't here at the photoshoot. She took the Minister's wife as a waitress and ordered her to bring a drink when she finally came to the main balcony. And it's now almost two hours when she last left her eyes off from her mobile phone...

Traduction credits: Frenchfan