While closing the creaky gate to Vrindavan on his way to the temple, Bhoothnath heard another familiar squeaky noise. He looked to his right and smiled at the young man shutting Ayodhya's gate.

"Off to college?" he genially asked Prithvi as the latter walked towards him. "Nandini left half an hour ago. The poor girl is studying very hard for -"

"I'm not going to college. I have to go out of town for some work," Prithvi muttered.

"Ohh...When will you return?" Bhoothnath enquired.

"Don't know," Prithvi answered candidly.

Surprised by the reply, Bhoothnath scrutinised his young neighbour's pale visage and preoccupied air.

Following the prompting of an inner voice, he stretched a hand and patted Prithvi on the head. "May your journey be successful," he blessed, and sombrely added, "If there is anything I or my family can do for you, you must tell me without hesitation. If it is in my power, I will do it for you. This is a promise."

Prithvi grasped the old man's shoulders. "I give you a promise too... I'll make you regret those words," he earnestly guaranteed, and grinned as Bhoothnath chuckled.

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

Nandini handed a few notes to the shop keeper, and then started stuffing her purchases into her college bag. A box of water colours, paintbrushes, three plain white sheets and four comic books. That should hopefully keep Prakash happy and occupied for some hours. He was spending too many hours in front of the television set.

She closed her bag while stepping out of the shop, wondering if she should drop by Ayodhya before going home or later in the evening.

But she couldn't wait. She was feeling too perturbed. She wanted to see Prithvi as soon as possible and find out what was troubling him. She may or may not be able to help. But she could definitely try to cheer him up. His smile was invaluable. She could do anything to bring it back.

All day in college she had regretted not raising the topic in the morning itself. But that was his fault, not hers, she thought, smiling unconsciously.

Lost in sweet memories, she almost bumped into a familiar person.

Catching her step, Nandini smiled at a startled Sumer Singh and gaily wished him a good evening.

Sumer Singh didn't react and just looked at the young girl guardedly.

It was evident from her innocent smile that she was unaware of the latest events in Prithvi's life.

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

Nandini's fingers clenched on the cotton strap of her bag. She was beginning to feel worried.

Sumer Singh usually had that anxious-cum-guilty look each time he was about to apologise for Prithvi's manners or actions. And she felt sure it wasn't about yesterday evening, because she was the only one who had heard Prithvi's harsh words.

"Uncle, what's wrong?" she asked quietly. "Did something happen yesterday evening when Prithvi's grandfather -"

"Yes," Sumer Singh answered resignedly. "But I can't tell you anything until I speak to Prithvi. Once he returns, I'm sure he will share -"

"Returns? Where has he gone?" Nandini asked, puzzled.

Sumer Singh carefully said, "He had to visit someone to confirm something that his grandfather said. If he feels the person is mistaken, he'll be back home by tomorrow morning."

"And if he feels otherwise?" she asked in dismay.

Sumer Singh had dreaded that question from the start.

Looking at passing vehicles on the road, he mumbled, "In that case, he... you know how he is... he may not... I'm not sure...I think we should take a rickshaw home," he concluded hastily. "Wait...I'll hail one!"

Stunned, Nandini watched him turn to the road and attempt to flag down an auto.

People were bustling along the streets of the noisy market. Women and men haggling with vegetable vendors, being dragged to toy stalls by stubborn children, emerging from expensive shops with big bags and smug expressions...

She couldn't believe that a short while back she was one of these shoppers....trying to decide whether Prakash would like to have two shades of blue or red in the box of colours....

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

The bustling and noisy lane mostly consisted of modestly prosperous houses, owned by small-time businessmen in the city, and a couple of provision stores.

Haimavati was the cynosure of almost every person's attention as she made her way along this road towards her house. She was aware of the oppressive scrutiny, but it meant nothing to her. Anyway, it wasn't their fault. It was not everyday that they saw her rush madly, roughly pushing aside everyone who was in her way.

She had outraced her grandson in the jam-packed path. The boy was frantically yelling at her to stop running, probably afraid she would drop dead because of the exertion. Personally, she was confident she would outlive all the weaklings in her family. She was the strongest and healthiest person in her family.

But she would have run even if her health was in tatters.

Priyamvada's baby was waiting for her...

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

The big and well-furnished room was decorated vibrantly, as though for a festival. Three walls were adorned with bright and beautiful handicrafts, while one was crammed with photographs.

On the table were plates laden with delicacies, a cup of hot tea and a glass of juice.

They were untouched, as Prithvi was busy gazing in astonishment at the large, beautiful photographs arranged artfully on the wall.

All the pictures were of his mother. Most seemed to have been clicked before she had turned five years old. Only one of the snaps - the biggest one that was placed in the centre - featured a grown up Priyamvada. Seated in an ornate chair in a sprawling lawn, she was scowling into the camera, looking thoroughly irritated.

He grinned involuntarily, recollecting her famed dislike of being photographed.

An outbreak of noise and bustling activity broke the calm.

Prithvi glanced at the door that opened to a small veranda. He couldn't see anyone, but could hear the whining of the idiotic man - Haimavati's son - who had panicked on seeing him arrive at the house earlier than expected.

Then there was a loud thump. And a man's pained yelp.

Seconds later, an elderly woman arrived at the threshold of the room. She was wheezing, but her watery gaze was transfixed on his face. Her features were unusually hard, but her eyes were full of love and awe.

Then she blinked, and the tears and emotions were gone. Her creased face suddenly looked sharp and composed.

Haimavati joined her palms and bowed her head, but didn't enter the room.

Prithvi frowned at the frail woman shivering at the doorstep. "Come inside and sit down," he said curtly. "You can die after I leave."

Still gasping slightly, Haimavati raised her head and obediently walked into the room, expertly concealing her amazement at the startling similarity between the expressions on faces of the woman in the photograph and the tall and strapping young man who was standing before her in flesh and blood.

The first glimpse of Priyamvada's son had stunned her completely. She had nearly believed she was seeing Adityaraj's spirit. But a closer look was telling her that Prithviraj was as much his mother's son as his father's...

She halted several feet away from him, swiftly adjusting the pallu of her brown silk saree over her head in a practiced motion. It wasn't right for her to stare at the prince directly but she couldn't help it. She had yearned for twenty years to see him.

She had raised and loved Priyamvada like her own child, and so by extension, secretly considered Priyamvada's baby to be her grandson. It was not a sentiment she'd dared express in front of anyone, especially in front of the princess, who disliked the thought of servants even cuddling her precious baby. Priyamvada was fiercely possessive of her husband and son...

Prithvi looked at the silent woman indifferently. "Sit," he ordered.

Haimavati smiled and courteously said "I cannot, your highness. Your mother will have me killed if she hears that I disrespected you."

He stared at her. There was absolute confidence in her tone as she spoke of being punished by Priyamvada. The woman sincerely believed his mother was alive.

The absurdity of her belief should have annoyed him.

Despite her outwardly frazzled state, however, there was a calm and rational intelligence in her oddly-coloured eyes. And the overall air of shrewdness and rock-solid competence was tough to ignore.

He looked at the photographs, and focused on the picture of a beautiful baby girl.

"What exactly did you see?" he asked in a low voice.

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

While setting down the plates for dinner, Sarojini observed her daughter who was clearing away her books from the table.

Nandini had not looked up from her notes for almost three hours at a stretch. She was a diligent student, but this level of concentration was unprecedented. And she'd looked unusually serious since her arrival from college.

She must be worried because of the classes she had missed in the last few months, Sarojini mulled as her daughter walked to the sofa to keep her books.

On her way back to the table, Nandini glanced at her brother.

Prakash was sitting on the floor, putting finishing touches on a cute painting of a house.

"This is a really nice drawing," she smiled.

"I know," Prakash said proudly while darkening the brown colour of the roof.

She was amusedly going to ask him to avoid talking like Prithvi, but then irately stifled the urge.

She was NOT going to mention that man or think about him. That was decided. He didn't exist for her anymore. The time and love she had wasted on him should have been directed towards her family members. People who actually loved her. And needed her.

Not someone who was incapable of softer emotions and so wonderfully self-contained...

"Come and have dinner. You can paint later," she told her brother firmly, and walked to the table to help her mother serve food.

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

Having described the events of that fateful morning as clearly as she could remember, Haimavati looked devoutly at the young man pacing restlessly in the room.

He had cross-questioned her exhaustively in a dispassionate and misleadingly calm style. But her hard-earned nerve and poise had served her well during the grilling, as had her memory. She remembered every single detail about that shocking instant when she had noticed a familiar person, whose death she had mourned for years, in the middle of many destitute women.

A face that had once been mesmerizingly beautiful had become withered and lifeless.

But it had not changed enough to fool Haimavati.

She'd loved and adored Priyamvada a lot more than her own child. Carried away by joy, she had screamed out Priyamvada's name again and again while struggling to make her way through a crowd to stop Priyamvada from boarding the bus.

Her shouts had not gone unheeded.

Priyamvada had turned and seen her... and recognised her. Haimavati was certain she had not imagined the disbelief, and fear, on the gaunt face of the princess.

Instead of waiting, Priyamvada had swivelled and hurried into the bus. And the jostling throng of devotees had not allowed Haimavati to reach the vehicle on time...

"You're sure she recognised you?"

Jolted out of the painful memory by the quiet question, Haimavati looked at Prithvi.

The prince had paused in front of the photos again and he was staring at the snap of his angry mother.

"I'm certain, your highness," Haimavati asserted softly, dejectedly aware that she was hurting him. "I was her nursemaid from the day she was born up until... I loved her like my own child," she mumbled, and after taking a moment to collect herself, serenely added, "I cannot be mistaken."

She was prepared for further interrogation. But the prince turned and walked to the couch. He picked up the shoulder bag and strode of the room, and the house, without another glance at her.

She wanted to run after him... to beg him to inform her once he found Priyamvada...to plead with him to allow her to place her hand on his head and give him her blessings...

But she followed the voice of wisdom and experience and didn't move.

Certain traits passed on from generation to generation, and in the matter of Rajyavardhan Singh's family, those qualities were temper, obstinacy and an absolute inability to give up. And it wasn't prudent to speak to any of them when they were in a grim mood.

She could only pray that he would remember her after locating his mother.

And locate Priyamvada he would. He would not stop searching till he found her. Haimavati had no doubts about it.

She looked affectionately at Priyamvada's picture.

It was only a matter of time before the world started dancing to the tunes of her princess again...

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

Sitting alone on a metallic bench, Prithvi gazed at the train pulling out of the brightly-lit station.

The one he had to board would arrive in an hour's time. He would probably land in Devgarh by noon. Then to pick up Kadambari and set out to search for his mother.

He wasn't going to believe anything until he saw her. But if Haimavati was not mistaken.... If his mother was alive...

It was a staggeringly happy thought...

Alongside it, however, a sense of numbness was also growing within him.

If she had recognised her old servant....it meant...But could it really be.... Could she actually have intended to abandon her seven-year-old son in the midst of people who despised him and wanted him to die...Had she hated him that much...

Prithvi leaned backwards and stared at the fan whirring on the high ceiling.

He'd give anything...anything ...to be able to see Nandini right now....

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

Nandini looked up from her notes at the first shrill ring of the phone.

Her mother called out to her from the kitchen, asking her to answer the phone before it woke up her grandfather who had gone to sleep earlier than usual because of a headache.

Keeping her books to a side, Nandini stood up and walked to the shrieking instrument.

She was getting stressed needlessly. It couldn't be him. He would remember her only after he returned to Shamli, irrespective of whether it took days or years, she thought bitterly while picking up the receiver.

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

Relief flooded him on listening to the soft 'hello'.

He quickly said, "Nandini, it's me. I -"

He heard a click and then an engaged tone. She had cut the call.

Forced by an uncharacteristic desperation, he made another attempt.

He needed to hear her voice even if it was full of anger.

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

Nandini stared coldly at the receiver that she had placed slightly off the hook. She wanted to smash the whole instrument on the floor so that he wouldn't be able to call her up again.

She didn't exist to be at his beck and call when he remembered her and to disappear when he didn't.

He had left Shamli for an uncertain period of time. And he had not mentioned a word about his plans in spite of meeting her today morning.

The pathetic part was that it hadn't shocked her as much as it should have. He had done his best on several occasions previously as well to prove her insignificance in his life.

It would be good for him to find out what it felt like to be on the receiving end.

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

Prithvi gave up wearily after the second try. He switched off the phone and dropped it into the black shoulder bag. After a short hesitation, he reached into its depths and pulled out a small stuffed toy.

He held the kitten in his hands and gazed at it.

Separation had just been a small possibility in the morning. But it was real now. He was not going to return to Shamli without getting some closure, and that could take an unbearably long time.

He had believed he had already seen the darkest times that life could inflict. But he was wrong, Prithvi reflected, feeling sick to his stomach.

This....this was loneliness.... This was misery...

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