In the large, opulent room, Rajeshwari looked at her grandfather blankly, unsure of whether her imagination was playing tricks on her.

When she had rushed back from Shamli, she had fully anticipated to be whipped by her angry grandfather for stepping out of the palace without his permission. But this…..this turn of events had taken her by surprise.

She was not being looked at with scorn or disgust, and there was nothing of the usual jeering in her grandfather's tone. He was looking at her with something close to interest, as though she were a real human being, deserving of respect.

His ancient face had a tinge of red, like he was keeping his temper in check, and he kept looking at Manohar in between, as if trying to gauge if his tone and behaviour with her was correct. But still, he was talking to her with a politeness she had never experienced before, and so nothing else mattered.

"So did you manage to meet Prithvi?" he asked yet again, and it sounded like he was talking through clenched teeth.

"I did see him," Rajeshwari answered hastily, "but he – he appeared to be having a fight with someone so I didn't approach him," she said shamefully, convinced that she was going to be ripped apart for the cowardice.

But surprising her yet again, the old man only demanded, "A fight? With whom?"

"Nandini," she said promptly, and then winced at the realization that even her previous visit was going to come to light.

"Nandini…..isn't that the name of the girl who lives in the house next to Prithvi?" the king asked Manohar.

"Yes, your majesty," Manohar replied.

"How do you know that girl, Rajeshwari?" the king asked sharply.

Certain that she was going to be killed, Rajeshwari fearfully, haltingly spoke of the day when she had first visited Shamli and the college.

But to her intense surprise, no reprimand came. Instead, her grandfather only asked, "Hmmm…so tell me….what were Prithvi and that – that girl fighting about?"

Rajeshwari heard a warning bell ring somewhere….something told her that she shouldn't divulge anything more about what she had noticed about the relationship between the young couple…..that she could be doing them some kind of harm by speaking of the delicate nuances of that scene she had witnessed.

But…but for the first time in her memory, grandfather was not looking at her with anger or hate or scorn….she couldn't let him down by pleading ignorance.

"I – I think he likes her…..likes her a lot….but she doesn't like him," Rajeshwari said eagerly, "And there is another boy who likes Nandini but I don't know whether she likes him."

She went on to explain every single second of the scene she had witnessed, and the king and Manohar listened without interrupting.

When she had finished, looking lost in thought, the king said, "Fine….now go back to your room."

Rajeshwari timidly looked at him and then at Manohar, who nodded encouragingly. It was signal enough for her to turn her back and run back to the security of her room, thanking her stars for the lucky escape.

Manohar breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, the king had seen some sense in his urgent contention that Rajeshwari could play a major role in regaining Prithvi's trust. It was the only reason Rajeshwari had escaped a whipping….

"By heavens, it was difficult to talk to that retarded girl so patiently," the king said gruffly, "What do you make out of all that she garbled stupidly."

"Your majesty, young men are often interested in girls, but they mistake it for love when it is mere desire. I am certain that once he gets what he wants, the attraction will die a natural death."   

"Then make sure my grandson gets what he wants," the old man said carelessly. "And who is this girl to refuse his interest! If he wants her, he will have her, for as long as he wishes. Give her as much money as she wants. If she proves to be a problem later, just get rid of her – and her family too if need be."

Alarmed, Manohar said, "Your majesty, I don't think -"

"Does it matter what you think?" came the cold question.

"No…No, it doesn't," Manohar said defeatedly.

"Then do as I say," the king said with finality.

*************************

"Although I was upset at first, when I learnt that they were coming to Shamli and were going to live in Ayodhya, I felt as though a burden had been lifted off my heart. Since I knew I wouldn't have to worry about him with you and your family being next door. 

I have a request to make of you, Nanhi, and I wouldn't have asked this of anyone else but you. Only you can help me go to another country with a peaceful heart. 

Please make friends with Prithvi, and bring him into your family's fold slowly. If I know that he has another concerned family near him, then I will be at peace in the US. He is very aloof by nature and detests any kind of intrusion in his life, friendly or otherwise. So I know it will take a lot of time and patience to win his trust and friendship, but I'm sure you'll be able to do it, because I have known you since you were a day old infant and I've seen that, just like your father, you have the rare ability to make friends and bond with people irrespective of their nature, age or any other outward differences."

Nandini closed the letter slowly, feeling unable to read it yet again. Part of the request had been fulfilled….Prithvi had become part of her family. But she had not been able to win his trust…not entirely…..

She wanted to be like him. To taunt and mock like him and then walk away without remorse. But she couldn't. She couldn't bear to see even the shadow of hurt in his eyes…..not even for a fleeting moment. She wanted to see him smiling and laughing, even if it be at her expense. He had been ignoring her since day before yesterday and she was finding it difficult to tolerate his coolness anymore. She had already decided to apologise at the first opportunity, but he had not given her one.

Outside she could hear laughter, complaints and splashing of water as everyone played Holi. Grandfather and Prakash's sounds were amongst them, but her mother had remained shut within the bedroom, and so had she. An hour ago she had heard Sankatmochan's boisterous voice explain his friend's absence to her grandfather, bemoaning Prithvi's dislike for the festival, and that had put an end to any desire on her part to enjoy with everyone else.

Sarojini had not played Holi since the death of her husband. Tired at being bullied into joining the revelry, she had taken to remaining in her room until all had returned to their homes. Neither her family nor her friends had been able to break that quiet resolution and everyone had given up in the end.

Nandini had always been amongst the first to wake up and start the festivities, but this time she had excused herself with pleas of being unwell and so had been spared the onslaught of colours. It was absurd perhaps….but she knew that this time she would be able to totally rejoice in the festival's colours only if Prithvi was by her side.

Resigned to the knowledge that it was a foolish dream, she got up from the bed and started to return the letter to the cupboard. Then on a sudden impulse, she paused and took up her father's diary from the nearby table and opened it to keep the precious letter within its folds.

As she opened the diary, a photograph suddenly dropped onto the tabletop, face up. Slightly taken aback, Nandini stared at it for a second, and then picked it up to study it better.

It was an old photograph of a young man holding a very sweet looking, newborn baby close to his heart. It was certainly not her father, and from the countless photographs in the house of herself and Prakash as newborns, she knew the baby wasn't either of them.

She couldn't see the man's face as it was turned away from the camera and utterly focused on the child, but she felt intuitively certain that it was not a planned pose. He had been caught unawares by an unknown photographer.

But it was a very beautiful photo. There was something very poignant in the tender manner in which he was holding the infant and looking down at it….and it said that his eyes were full of love.

Almost as if aware that something was pulling her gaze, she looked at the page from which the photograph had fluttered down.

The page held her father's handwriting, but this time, there were no accounts. Not of numbers anyway.

I haven't missed my friend so much in a long long time as I did today when I saw his little son. The small bundle of energy scampered around the house and the backyard, clearly very pleased to have a large place to explore. I'm told that he is restricted to one room back at his own house and is rarely allowed out of the four walls of the chamber. I wish I could do something….anything….to give him the childhood he deserves…. the childhood he would have had if his father had been alive ….but there is nothing I can do except give him these few hours of affection and freedom.

I can see the joy in him at the unexpected freedom. In the two hours that he was here, only once did he pause in a spot for more than a minute, and that happened when I took him to see Nandini in her cradle. She was awake and they stared at each other with such fascination for a long time that I couldn't help laughing, Then he looked at me and smiled sweetly, as though granting his approval of her, and then toddled away to play with the toys I'd purchased for him.

I suddenly felt overcome with memories of my friend. The boy is him in miniature."

Nandini read and re-read the lines, but she couldn't understand the import of her father's words. Who was he talking about? Which child? And whose son was he?

There were small patches of white on the photograph, as it had been stuck to the page, evidently for a long time. But despite the poor quality of the image, she was confident she had not seen the man before.

A loud shout of laughter disturbed her train of thoughts. Deciding to ask her mother later about it, she carefully placed the photograph as a bookmark for the page, intending to return to it, and got up from the bed.

She walked over to the window and saw Sankatmochan celebrating raucously with some friends. In between tottering around happily, he chanced to look up and saw her at the window. He waved exuberantly and then began gesturing wildly as she watched with bafflement.

On his third attempt, she realized what he was trying to say…..

"He's on the terrace."

**********************

With increasing impatience, Prithvi looked down at the hordes of colourful people who were splashing more colours and water on each other.

Every woman on the planet was out there on the grounds except the one he was looking for.

Where on earth was she...

"I'm here."

Prithvi spun around, clearly startled, and then glowered at the cheerful looking girl.

"I wasn't looking for you," he said tersely.

"Okay, I believe you," she nodded seriously and then laughed as he turned red.

"What are you doing here?" he asked irately.

"I was looking for you," she said simply, "I want to celebrate the festival with you."

"I am not interested in taking part in the madness outside, so leave me alone," he retorted and started to walk back into the house.

"Prithvi, I'm sorry about what I said before," she said quickly.

"Don't be. It's not like I care whether you're here or not," he said stiffly.

The words stung, but she had asked for this coldness. "I'll tell you anyways," she replied softly. "My aunt is having a house warming ceremony and she wants all of us to be there."

After fighting some kind of personal battle for a minute, he curtly asked, "For how long?"

 "She wants us to stay for a month,"

"A month?" he repeated angrily.

"But I won't be able to stay for that long because of college. So nothing has been decided as yet," she said reassuringly.

Flushing at the consolation in her voice, he muttered, "I don't need the pity. In fact, I think a month isn't too much. You should go for at least two," he advised coolly.

"You really don't mind?" she asked softly.

"It doesn't make a difference to me," he shrugged and began walking away.

"Prithvi,"

"What?" he turned with annoyance.

She raised her hand and flung the handful of red powder right into his face.

"Does that make a difference to you?" she asked tartly.

His thunderstruck, crimson countenance was giving her great satisfaction, but she wished she had thought to bring a big bucket of water so that she could have upturned it on his head.

"Have you gone crazy? Why did you do that?" he spluttered angrily.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked innocently.

"Very," he snapped.

"Then it won't make a difference if I do it?"

"Do what?" he asked suspiciously.

"This," she replied, and lifting her left hand, splattered purple powder on him, and then doubled up with laughter at his suddenly unrecognizable face. There was not an inch of colour-free patch on his skin, his kurta was now an exotic mix of white, red and purple, and his thunderous expression only made it funnier.

He only paused a second before lunging out for her. She gasped and backed away, but her dupatta came into his grasp, and with deliberate intent, he yanked it off her body.

He calmly began draping it around his left arm.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said grimly.

Even as she backed away, Nandini felt no fear...only a strange, fluttering kind of defiant excitement in her chest.

"What are you going to do?" she taunted, as she pushed aside a sari and tried to discreetly make her way towards the door. "You don't have any colours in hand."

"I don't need it," he rejoined, stalking her in a curiously roundabout way.

Too focused on warily keeping a good distance from him, she only realised his intent when her back came up against the wall in the corner of the terrace a moment later.   

He had almost led her to that spot, cutting off all routes of escape...

She looked up hopefully into his unforgiving stance. "Will it help if I apologise now?" she smiled nervously.

"No," he said kindly

When he moved forward, her heart thumped uncontrollably against her ribs. But he wasn't aiming for her lips.

He placed his right cheek against hers and rubbed his slightly rough skin against her smooth cheek, colouring her face. Her heart melted.

Prithvi raised his head and gazed silently into her beautiful face for a very long moment, then moved and placed his left cheek against hers, and again did the same thing.

Then he gently touched his forehead to hers, and sweetly caressed her nose with his. Without lifting his head, his lips caught hers, brushing against them again and again with excruciatingly brief caresses, transferring the crimson colour onto them.

When the caresses ceased at last, his lips didn't leave hers, and he kissed her very gently. Even the thought of denial didn't occur to her, and raising her arms, she curved them around his neck, tangling her fingers in his thick black hair.

Her acceptance acted as an explosive trigger to the desire building between them. His arms linked around her waist and his lips ground down on hers with fierce desire, crushing their softness.

After a long time, he raised his head, and their ragged breathing seemed to be the only sound in the universe.

"I was wrong about this festival," he muttered huskily. "It really is a lot of fun."

And then his head descended again to imprison the stinging vermillion of her soft lips.

****************************