THREE YEARS LATER.

Hall of Legislature, Raghuvanshi Palace.
Jodhpur, Rajasthan.

The Hall of Legislature in the Raghuvanshi Palace was magnificent. Built of white marble and mirrors, a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the centre, the elevated throne of the Raja and the beautiful carpeted floor, in red.

For ages, the hall had been the room of discussion for the Ministers of the State. All rules were made here.
The throne stood at the end of the hall. The structure made of gold and copper, studded with precious stones. The hand rests were designed like the face of a lion.

For years, the hall had been shut.
Until three years back, when it was opened, for discussions of the state.

There sat a Council now.
Two men, in suits looking at each other skeptically as they put forth the envelope on the small table, before the Raja.
"Rajaji, we personally believe that we should find a public figure to stand from this constituency. The person will just be for face value.", One of them said.
"Yes, Rajaji. Nowadays, it is quite common as well. These celebrities just stand for elections from different parties and get elected because of their past reputation. Anyways, they will not be politically inclined, we will do everything.", The other man added.

Santosh stood beside the throne. The man seemed to have aged decades in three years. He looked fatigued, exhausted even after a good night's sleep.
His gaze remained fixed on the copper glass that the Raja held.

The glass was emptying.

"Where is Anamika?", He asked. 
The dragging voice, raspy tone unmissable. 

He has drunk three bottles of wine, he must be losing senses of everything already.
Santosh thought, icily.
The two men straightened up.

"She will be joining us tomorrow, Your Highness.", Santosh said softly, "She has gone back to Bengal, to visit her parents."

Aviram Raghuvanshi sat back, putting the glass on the small table before his throne. He shut us eyes, his head ached, almost like a painful withdrawal symptom was hitting him.
"Give me my medicine, Santosh.", He said.
Santosh inhaled coldly, but without another word, he pulled out the prescribed medicines that Anamika had handed him before leaving.

Their action was not truly known to a rather illiterate Santosh, but he knew, they kept his Raja from remembering anything apart from what Anamika had fed him over the years.
Santosh gulped, feeling the lump in his throat.
After years of sworn loyalty to his Rajaji, now he was feeding the man what impaired the once powerful Aviram Raghuvanshi a mere puppet in the hands of the tyrant Queen Anamika.

"So.. we have made a list of people who can stand in elections from the constituency, Your Highness. The photographs and work profile details lie in the envelope before you.", One of the men said.

Anamika had been ambitious. And her ambition had led Aviram to become not just a business tycoon but now, a politician. With the ages of reputation that his bloodline had carried, he was the forerunner in the State Elections this year.
And his party, formed three years ago, had left no stone unturned to ensure his victory.
Yet, everyone knew, he was not the man who ran the Party or would ever run the Government - he was a mere puppet while Anamika remained the power behind the throne.
A position she enjoyed to the fullest.

"I will see it.", Aviram replied as he sat back on the throne, the medicines would soon sedate him.
The two men rose, and left.

"Should I escort you to your room?", Santosh asked softly.
"I..", Aviram whispered.

The man seemed to have lost himself to alcohol and cigar. Anamika made sure she had completely impaired him. She had introduced drinks into the pious palace of Raghuvanshis, and she had introduced women.
"Shall I call for the dancers? The women?", Santosh asked helplessly, Anamika had ordered him to ask the question.

There was silence.
This was the first time in three years that Anamika was away, had she been here, there would already be women dancing and ogling over the once chaste Raja of Jodhpur.
Although none of those women could take him to the bedroom, no sedation was enough for that, they had touched him, edged closer.

Santosh had watched it with teary eyes.
He wished he was a little braver, little more powerful - probably he would save the man he had worshipped for years.

"Tell me, Rajaji.", Santosh said as he bent before Aviram on one knee, head bowed.
A tear slipping down, falling onto the red carpet.

Aviram held his head. He took the glass of wine and took the last sip, finishing it.
The pain had only increased by delaying the medicine.
It felt like his head would tear open.

Even after years, his moustache remained intact. He had grown a little beard on the rest of his face. The man looked tired, defeated. The eyes that had once been powerful, were now dulled by alcohol and nicotine. Nothing made him happy, nothing made him sad.
He felt like his soul had been snatched from him.

He felt a distinct hollowness. As if there was piece of his heart that had been lost.
Earlier, Nayantara would call from the US but ever since their last feud here, she refused to even see him.
When Anamika was around, she would provide him with increased doses of opium in hukkahs, more alcohol, more potent nicotine. But without her around, he tried to cut down on everything - that generated a terrible withdrawal symptom.

Aviram released his head as he opened his eyes. 
Through his blurred vision he saw the chandelier. 
He was breathing heavily, trying to hold back the tears of ache.

"Give.. me the envelope.", He whispered, he knew he was sweating. It had indeed been a terrible decision to not take cigars or hukkahs today,
"And.. get me the cigar.", He said finally giving up.

Santosh nodded as he handed him the envelope.
Aviram sat up, his jawline more prominent than ever. He had lost weight, he looked almost sick. 
With trembling cold fingers he opened the envelope. Suddenly he felt like a sharp pain hit him on the side of his head.

"How many of your bloodline where beheaded publicly by their forced wives?"
 He heard the voice in his head, with the same power it had once held. He knew it, he knew the words affected him, yet he did not know who it belonged to.
A tear slipped down his eye, as the tried to recoup.
For years, he had heard the voice. Different dialogues, some of endearment too.

Sometimes it was just the word "Ram" in his head, that seemed to give him the solace of a lifetime. Yet, he did not know, who the woman had been.
Was it his lover from a past life? He did not know.
He remembered nothing apart from what his wife Anamika had told him.
She had told him, she was his wife, and he believed.

He forced himself to open the envelope, trying to deviate his mind.
The photos slipped out from inside.

He blinked, once, twice, as his vision cleared.
He kept the photos on the table before him.

Men, women, young, old - some actors, some cricketers, all public figures.
He drew in a deep breath.
What would he understand of all this? Anamika was supposed to do it. He needed his nicotine and sleep.

He gazed at the photographs, hollow.
And then he paused. Through his blurry vision, his gaze fell on one particular photograph.

A woman's photograph.

He picked the picture and pulled it out from the rest.
It was a beautiful woman, enigmatic, enchanting. More beautiful than any apsara Lord Indra's court had. He stared at it, like a thirsty man stares at a glass of water.
He ran his fingers over her, suddenly his senseless fingers wished to touch a woman.

He turned the photo over.
The name and work was written.

"Devika Raghuvanshi, Owner and Lead Dance Trainer - Gurukul Dance Academy, America Branch."

.

Mumbai, National School of Dance.

The crowd sat in silence as the woman at the podium continued her speech.
"And hence, it is necessary to keep fighting. Keep trying. And one day, you shall succeed.", She said.

The woman held power, like no one else could. Her mere presence charged the environment. Her light brown eyes shone with confidence.
The crowd broke into claps as she smiled, beaming. She wore a white saree of silk, hair left open. She truly looked like one of the most influential women in the world.
Having held the title presented by Forbes itself, last year.

She was credited to have single handedly revived mainstream classical dance with her prowess at the art and business tactics. The ex owner, Mrinalini Devi, had gladly taken her retirement after passing on the post of "Uttaradhikari" or the heir, to Devika.

She gave a bow of courtesy as she finally got off the stage.
She did not stop to sit back at the seat of the Chief Guest. She simply gave a bow to the Principal of the Institution and walked down to the exit of the hall.
She had more important affairs to attend.

She walked down to her car.
A Rolls Royce, as she climbed onto the backseat.
"Where should I take you, ma'am?", The driver asked.

Home.
She thought, as she felt her breath catch up. She gulped as the ache revived itself.
"To the hotel.", She whispered.

Suddenly, she remembered him.
He was a part of her soul, every breath she had taken in the last three years had been on his name, every success she had acquired was a homage to the man who had sacrificed his throne so that she could fly.

Yet, today she remembered him a little more.
His gentle smile, his handsome face, the power his aura held and yet, the softness his touch held when he edged closer. The eyes that spoke so much. 

She gulped as she sat back, staring out of the car window.
She knew, he did not remember her. She was a forgotten piece from his life.
She knew, he was now into politics. The to-be Chief Minister of Rajasthan, he was.
A worthy monarch, she thought as she remembered how righteous and just he had been. It had been his favour on her, that she could complete her graduation in dance.

She opened her phone.
The wallpaper had him, her and Nayantara from their trip to Kolkata years ago.
How old was Nayan now? Would she remember her Maa? 
She thought as she ran her finger over the photograph.

A tear rolled down her eye.
The yearning was painful. To not have the man she loved, was painful.
She wiped off her tears.

She had no choice. She must stay away so that he lives.
If she tried to edge close, Anamika would kill him. And she would rather die a little everyday away from him, than let him die.

Oh, how helpless were the strongest people, before love.

Her phone buzzed.

Gurumaa.
She read.
She immediately picked the call.

Mrinalini Devi had had her own problems with her step son. But she had regretted it, just like her son. She had never wished death upon Aviram, she had only wished the best for her son.
When Anamika took over the palace, she had extended her hand of support towards Devika.
The reasons were more than one.

General sympathy, yes.
But more than that, Mrinalini Devi knew she was aging. She needed a worthy successor - and there was no dancer as talented as Devika, she had seen.

Devika put the phone to her ear.

"Good evening, Gurumaa.", She said with utmost reverence.
"Good evening, my dear.", Mrinalini Devi said, "You must be at Jodhpur tomorrow. Devi Maa's annual puja is to happen."

Devika felt her heart skip a beat.

"I.. I cannot, Gurumaa. Aviram.. might see me.. and..", Her voice trailed off.
She wanted to be seen by him. She wanted to see the love he held in his eyes for her. She wanted to love him the way he deserved.
She gulped.
Mrinalini Devi inhaled deeply.

"I know. And that is why I want to here.", She said.
"Why? You know Anamika-"
"She will kill him, Devika.. If not by poison, by all the alcohol and drugs she has been giving him. I cannot bear to see what she has made of him.", She said.

Devika sat up immediately.

"You saw him? Met him?", She asked immediately.
"I got information from the palace. And everything screams his ruin. He needs you, Devika. He needs his actual Queen beside him.", Mrinalini Devi said sighing.

Devika paused, gulping.
"But.. he would not recognise me. He doesn't even remember..", She whispered, the words stung her.
"He doesn't know you by face.. or by name.. But he knows your soul.", She said, "His soul will recognise yours."

Devika drew in a deep breath as she shut her eyes.
"Please, be here tomorrow.", The woman over the phone said, "I know, Ram will always recognise his Leela. In every birth, in every world, every time."

...

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