Padmagandha
HAVING spent its stock of
heat and light for the day, the sun had come to look like a ripe and exotic
fruit. Worn out and mellow, it was drifting toward the horizon inch by inch, breath by breath.
Sridhar, the court-singer, saw
this as the appropriate time to begin his late evening routine. Yaman was the chosen raag.
The sound of Yaman reached the antarpur where
it met with the earthy aroma of dhoop
to fuse into a heady mix permeating every corner of the royal chamber. Each taan of the silken rendition fuelled the
fire of separation blazing in Padmagandha’s heart.
Aniruddh’s parting message echoed
in her head: “I shall be back on the seventh full moon night of the year; wait
for me till then; I am leaving the kingdom in your charge. Look after it.”
She looked out of the jharokha, into the rusty sky festooned
with motley of birds returning to their abodes. A faint smile lit up her face
as she observed the placid dusk.
The deep orange canvas soon got wiped
off and was now painted black by the night that had established its dominance
over the sky by now. Moon glowed and gloated in the fold of night dark and
young. Playfully, the rays of moon sneaked in through the jharokha and struck the round and colossal mirror placed above the shringar-khand. The moonlit reflection
bathed the entire regal chamber in its argentine effulgence.
Padmagandha sat on the small
pedestal assuming a comfortable posture in front of the mirror. The reflection
of moonlight incident on her face added to its radiance.
Her complexion was like that of
molten gold and her beauty, not of this world. She swept her long serpentine locks
on her right shoulder, and wore a tantalizing smile on her face, as though to
flirt with herself on His behalf.
She dropped the shapeless drape
that she was wrapped in, and observed her undressed self in the mirror for a
moment or two. Then she began to massage her supple body with the aromatic oils;
her hands worked swiftly on every curve of her body. Carefully, she picked up
the golden cup containing fragrant paste of
Kesar and Kasturi, and smeared
the paste on her arms and legs.
This was followed by sketching ashtadal-padma, eight petal lotus, on each
of her firm and perfectly hemispherical breasts using fine kumkum powder.
Then she grabbed a silk kanchuki and tied the piece of cloth
around her assets. She slipped into a vibrant orange lehnga with utmost ease. She tucked one end of the maroon odhni in the waist and wrapped it around
her torso, leaving the other end dangling lose on her right shoulder.
She placed the jewel studded teeka in the rift of her perfectly
parted tresses. The pearl string of the teeka
appeared as if it were a file of white swans flying against the backdrop of
black, rain-filled clouds. She coiled her hair and held it in a bun with the
help of a chuda-mani, and wrapped a gajra around the bun. She then accentuated
her big, doe-like eyes using thick mascara. She adorned her ears with a pair of
lolak-bandi whose lower half swayed
in tandem with her rosy cheeks and whose upper half was set in tandem with her
forehead and then faded in the black of her hair.
She put on a big, round nose-ring
which dangled in her right nostril feathered by the warmth of her breath. To
add the finishing stroke on a portraiture masterpiece, she put a small dapple
of kajal on her chin.
Her restless glance ran over the
plethora of ornaments lying in front of her. She would pick one after the
other, study it, judge it, view herself in the mirror pretending to wear it;
and then make a benign selection or a cruel rejection.
Chandan haar and Chandra haar
were the chosen ones. From the intricate kardhani
that adorned her sculpted waist, to the sonorous payal that encircled her ankles, every ornament was deliberated
upon and tried at least twice before it earned its place on her marmoreal body.
Before she could even observe her
ornamented self to heart’s content in the mirror, she heard the conches being
blown, cymbals jangling, drums thundering, and horns tooting.
Was He here already? Has the moment finally come?
**************
Aniruddh
WITH a flourish Aniruddh
entered the antarpur. He
stood tall and robust. He had broad shoulders and long arms that reached his
knees. His dusky complexion was comparable to that of a rain-filled cloud. His
forehead was scattered with curly locks that escaped the arrest of the crimson
turban tied around his head. The peacock feather tucked in the turban was billowing
in the mild breeze. His well defined jaw-line was complemented by a slender nose.
The irresistibility of his face was aggrandized by a wry smile. His lotus-petal-like
eyes were set on her radiant face. His robust physicality seemed to guard the vulnerability
and juvenility of his adorable face that rested on his shapely neck.
A pale yellow silk uparna was wrapped around his broad
chest. His lower body was wrapped in a meticulously pleated dhoti that concealed and revealed, at
once, the shapely contours of his thighs and legs. The flower petals that had
been showered upon him by the joyous people of his kingdom and by the minstrels,
who had sung his praises, still clung to his clothes.
**************
Padmagandha & Aniruddh
SHE was weighing her beauty
in the mirror when she caught a glimpse of Aniruddh standing at the door of the
antarpur. Her heart must have skipped
a beat or two. Although this was one vision she was living to see, she closed
her eyes. It was one of those moments when all your
wishes and desires miraculously materialize and present themselves before you,
and you are in a state of denial for you don’t believe in the benevolence of
life and presume it to be a deception. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Their eyes
met circuitously through the mirror. He had not moved. With his arms crossed,
He was leaning on a pillar that was adorned with intricate carvings. Overwhelmed
with elation and the fear of blighting her own fortune, Padmagandha shut her
eyes yet again.
Shreedhar began the aalap in Kedar which seemed to placate her anguish.
Letting out a sigh, she stood up.
As much as she wanted to run towards him, embrace him and arrest him in her arms,
she realized she could not move. She stood still. The exhilaration of seeing
her beloved after ages of yearning seemed to have transformed into physical
inertia.
Sensing her inertia he walked
towards her, and stood in tandem with her. He leaned over, and in her ears he
whispered:”Padmagandha! I am here. Won’t you welcome me?”
Never before had her name sounded as sweet as
it did that night. Her eyes welled up and a tear rolled down her cheek. Her
love for him had assumed a form close to reverence. Betrayed by speech, she
fell at his feet. He bent swiftly and planted a kiss on her fragrant forehead,
and wrapped her in a wordless embrace.
After some overwhelmed moments,
he released her. He then lifted her chin and observed her radiant face. Tears
washed down her rose tinted cheeks.
He wiped her tears with his uparna as gently as possible.
“Stop crying now. I am here, in
your arrest, in your service....your highness.”
She couldn’t resist smiling
hearing him addressing her thus. Immediately she tried to conceal the smile and
grimaced. She moved away from him and turned her back to him.
“I shall not speak with you. You
have lost all rights to speak to me. Do you have any idea what could have
happened had you not come tonight? Every night I would preen myself waiting for
your arrival and take off all the ornamentation the next morning, and with the
ornamentation I would also give up the hope of living. But then I could not
give up living too, for you had entrusted me with the responsibility of the
throne. How could you be so ruthless, Aarya?”
As she sat turning her back to
him and cursing every second that passed bereft of his sight, she felt a
sensation of touch in her feet.
“I plead guilty. I am your
culprit. You can punish me the way you want, but please do not be so harsh on
me. Please speak to me. Those roaring cannons on the war front were not as thunderous
as your silence. I could readily bear the pain of those sharp arrows digging my
chest but not your separation...not anymore. Speak to me in harshest of
language. But please you speak to me. Or.... I might just di—“
Before Anirudhha could finish his
statement, she swirled and placed her hand over his mouth.
“Never should you utter such
words again. Never!” she said in a voice both firm and anxious.
They both leaned. They were face
to face, brow to brow, nose to nose and lips to lips. What followed felt like
the first shower of rain which brings a respite from a scorching spell of
summer— summer of longing and separation.
**************
SHE was now in a better
command of herself. Holding him by his arm, she took him to the luxuriant bed
that was furnished with brocade covered bolsters and pillows of all shapes and
sizes—a sweet smell of freshly sprinkled gulab-jal
emanated from them. Aniruddh was made to sit.
Padmagandha scurried away and
brought back with herself handful of mixture of salt and mustard seeds that she
had prepared in advance. She stood facing him and started drawing small,
intersecting vertical circles in the air with her fists, muttering some
inaudible chants. He observed her antics as a mute spectator.
“What was this for?” he asked,
after she was done.
“To ward off all the evil that
you might have fetched from the war front,” she replied.
“Please, drink this concoction of
Bela and Chandan. It will soothe your
frayed nerves,” she said extending a silver goblet filled with fragrant juice.
“I already partook what can
actually soothe me, and you left me longing for more,” said he with a playful smile
and gleam of mischief in his eyes.
Coyly, she turned her face away. ”Have
it,” she said.
While he sat on the edge of the
bed taking small sips of the sweet concoction, she sat near his feet on the
carpeted floor leaning against the bed; her head rested on her right arm; she
was observing the souvenirs Aniruddh had fetched from the war front: the wounds
that adorned his body and wrenched her heart.
“How cruel can they get,” she said softly,
gently brushing one of the lesions that sat on his robust chest.
“Hunger for wealth, sex and power
clouds the intellect of even the wisest people, Padmagandha. Men turn into
blood thirsty vampires on the war front. Cries of pain and anxiety get easily diluted
in the thunder of cannons and trumpets of elephants. Along with blood, the soil
on the war front also soaks compassion. The clouds of dust also becloud humanity.
Abominable as it is, unfortunately, war becomes the indispensable last resort
sometimes,” he said wistfully.
“But I am glad that our ambassadors finally
persuaded Kaivalya, the king of Jaigarh, to cease the war and to
ratify the peace treaty— shanti-sandhi
between Jaigarh and Chandrapore,”
said he.
“I am glad too, Aarya. So is every
soul in the kingdom. I would have been gladder still, had the sandhi been signed earlier. Enough
destruction has ensued already,” she said.
“I am grateful to you, Padmagandha. The way
you governed the kingdom in my absence is commendable. The messenger told me
about your ferocious combat with the subversive minister, Vyom,” he said.
“I am not too proud of it, Aarya.
But Vyom left me with no other choice. My sword could not settle for anything
less than his head for the heinous atrocities he perpetrated against the female
war refugees. Disrespect for women is
one of the few things that make my blood boil. I may have still forgiven him
for bilking innocent people, but not for his ghastly act of raping helpless
women,” she said contemplating
arabesque motifs embroidered on the bed-cover. Padmagandha, too, was a warrior
princess—a kshatraani.
“You should not feel guilty, my
love. The punishment served him well. Atrocities on women and looting pilgrims are
not venial offenses. And then he dared to wage an attack on you! Traitor!”
As a ruler,” he added after a moment of
deliberation, ”one has to take actions which might not be sanctioned by their conscience,
but become unavoidable; sometimes it’s about
setting a precedent which would deter miscreants such as Vyom to commit such
felony in the future. Had you not done it, I would have. My fury knows no
bounds when I think of his actions and his audacity to wage an attack on you,” he
said. Padmagandha could sense tension in Aniruddh’s facial muscles—his teeth
were clenched.
“Relax, you know I am perfectly
capable of defending myself. Like kumkum,
blood is also a shringaar for a kshatrani.” Padmagandha held his right
hand in hers and pressed it softly.
“I don’t want you think of those
macabre tales now. It’s all in the past,” she said dismissively as she took
away the empty goblet from his hand.”
“Do you know, Aarya, apart from treaty, what else does
the word ‘sandhi’ mean?”
He could clearly sense the shift
in her tone from pensive to a frivolous one.
“No, I don’t. Enlighten me,” he
said naively.
She rose up and fetched the paan-dan. She opened the elaborate box
and took out the contents one by one. She slathered kattha on a betel leaf, put some gulkand, cardamom cloves, some slices of supari on it, and neatly folded it forming a small cone.
“Didn’t you read your grammar
well?”
“Don’t speak in riddles, Padmagandha,”
he feigned irritation.
She studied his face for couple
of seconds, and giggled. “You may be a good warrior, mahabali, but you are a clumsy actor”. She leaned over him
tantalizingly and offered him the paan.
“Sandhi, also means ‘union’. In grammar it means the union of two
syllables. It also means intersection. The twilight is also called ‘sandhya’, because it is the intersection
of day and the night.
It also means the common side of double triangles. It
means the space where the sky arches to touch the earth. It means the congress
of two existences.”
Saying so, she walked away from
him and glanced invitingly at him from over her shoulders.
**************
SHE stood by the jharokha where a cool draft of air
greeted her. Aniruddh rose and followed her. He stood behind her and hedged her
in his long arms; he placed his face on her right shoulder. She had heard that
the stars are responsible for serendipitous gifts from life; she gazed at them
with eyes brimming with gratitude.
Instinctively they looked at each
other and smiled. In that moment of absolute calm the only sounds that could be
heard were those of the rhythm of their own heart beats and the susurration of
the cool breeze rushing past their ears. Their eyes spoke a language grammered
by their love and punctuated by their heartbeats—a language that knew no words
and yet spoke volumes. Padmagandha’s inhibition was slowly melting away in the
warmth of their breaths.
From one and other they shifted
their gaze to the lucent moon hanging in endless expanse of the inky sky. She
secretly prayed to the moon not to travel westwards that night. If not in
compliance with her prayers then, perhaps, dazzled by her beauty, the moon did
seem to become comatose.
He tightened his arrest around her body.
“Mahabaho...” a muffled sound escaped from her parted lips.
She freed herself from his arrest
and escaped.
Then began the playful sport of
chasing. They went in circles about the sprawling bed, and hurried past the
carved pillars. He moved about like a lion determined yet majestic, and, she,
like a frisky doe, scurried through the extravagantly spacious regal chambers.
Soon her pace retarded as she found it difficult to lug her assets. Tiny beads
of perspiration surfaced on her radiant face as does morning dew on a lotus.
Like a
tactful beast who instinctively knows the most opportune moment to swipe at its
prey, Aniruddh too, noticing her exhaustion caught hold of the loose end of her
odhni, wrenched it and then stripped
it off. Soon she was in the arrest of his sturdy arms again; she wriggled; he
persisted; she yielded. She revelled in the subjugation.
There was something intoxicating
in the milieu that night. She was trying hard to figure out what. Was it the
cool breeze infused with fragrance of the seasonal flora? Was it the effulgence
of full moon that silvered antarpur,
the regal chamber? Was it the mellifluous rendition of Kedar in the backdrop? Was it the aroma of dhoop permeating the antarpur?
Was it his cardamom-tinted, warm breath incident on her neck? Was it his
dusky complexion? Was it his adorable face punctuated by the curly locks
scattered across his forehead? Or was it the musk emanating from his body?
**************
PADMAGANDHA was a perfect amalgamation of
feminine poise and feral proclivity. And her charm rested in her adeptness in
knowing exactly when to bring out which instinct, and in what proportion.
This time she took the lead, and
planted a deep and torrid kiss on his lips. She divested Aniruddh of his
apparels unveiling his treasure trail that germinated somewhere below his
navel, rose upwards, and branched out on his chest. Aniruddh was now standing
bare and vulnerable. His muscles throbbed with desire. Observing him, she
breathed in awe. She admired him like one admires a painting.
Unable bear any further delay, Aniruddh
moved forward and tugged the drawstring of Padmagandha’s lehnga. Her lehnga slid
smoothly and hit the floor in a jiffy. He untied the knot of her kanchuki which then joined the lehnga lying on the floor and formed a
colourful puddle. Now she was clad only in her ornaments.
He pecked the nape of her neck
and plucked the chuda-mani, that had held
her hair in a bun, letting loose her runny and long black tresses. The lustrous
waves of her black hair descending on her fair back appeared as darkness of
night descending on a snow covered mountain peak. Her locks were redolent with mild fragrance
borrowed from the mogra flowers that
were now lying scattered all around her on the floor.
She walked away from him, and
assumed the tribhang posture. She
looked nothing less than an impeccably carved sculpture. She was voluptuous, and
the tribhang was delineating her
curves—curves as smooth and seamless as the taans
of Jaijaivanti. She was seduction personified. To his wishful gaze, she looked
like Rati— the Goddess of lust.
Her eyes were lowered to the
ground. Her eyelids bore the inhibition innate to a woman. His glance bathed
her in warmth. Her senses were in anticipation of the imminent union. He gently
moved forward and swept her into kiss. She wrapped herself around his robust
body as a creeper entwines a tree.
He picked her up in his arms, and
headed toward the bed. She had never felt so wanted; she revelled in that
moment of surrender. She arched in his arms, threw her head back, let her long,
black hair flow and raised one of her legs.
He gently dropped her on the bed, and walked back a few steps to absorb
and marvel at her beauty.
His self-restraint was evaporating at the same
rate as was her inhibition with every passing second.
He wanted to augment her
desire to a state where the flames of desire would consume every other emotion
of her. She ached in longing. Like a ferocious tigress, Padmagandha rose on her
knees and stretched her arms beckoning him to come closer. When he did, she scratched
his chest with her nails, etching an imprint of their passion. Aniruddh avenged
this move by nibbling at her nether lip and twisting her wrist gently.
He then sat on the bed beside
her, and started taking off the intricate ornamentation one by one. When the
only thing that was left on her supple body was the pearl necklace, he kissed
her once more. While kissing her passionately, he clenched the string of pearls
which could not bear the force and snapped, scattering the pearls in every possible
direction.
He cupped her hemispherical
assets in his hands and began kneading them; she let out a moan that sent the
blood pounding in his veins.
She wiggled and snapped away. She
then reached out to the paan-daan and
produced a paan she had prepared earlier. She brandished the pointed end of the paan tantalizingly, whose other half she
had held in her teeth encased in her seductive pout. Aniruddh leaned forward and
bit off the upper half of the paan
from her mouth. They chewed their respective portions, smiling at each other. Their
lips were suffused with the red hue lent by the paan. In the following kiss there was an exchange of quid and love.
They now held each other in firm
embrace. She felt his hardness expanding against her silky opening. Her body
arched against his. Her eyes were smoky, brimming with love and passion. “O Dhumra-lochana!” he exclaimed.
“May I, your highness?”
She gave an approving nod and
closed her eyes.
He thrust himself into her,
trying to be as gentle as possible, and remained there for a minute. He waited
her body to expand and encompass his manhood. She was touched by his
consideration and concern. She clasped the handful of the satin sheet as she
moaned with bitter-sweet pleasure.
In that moment of pain and ecstasy
the adorable face of Anirudhh criss-crossed in front of her eyes a zillion
times. There was the face of the man she had loved with all her heart and soul;
the man who had loved her with all his heart and soul. She had never felt more
complete.
The rhythm of their love making
was gaining pace and amplifying second by second. A film of sweat had glazed
their bodies by now. The closeness that had brought them so close, too, did not
seem close enough. They actually wished to coalesce into one form wherein the
distinction of identities ceased. Despite trying hard, they realised they were
incapable of it. Padmagandha had wrapped Aniruddh’s lower body between her
legs, and she tightened the arrest with every thrust. Her heart pounded hard
against her chest. His grunts harmonised with her moans.
Then there was a sudden moment
wherein everything went quiet—absolutely calm. She dug her nails in his back
and clasped it. He collapsed on her like a wounded warrior falls helplessly on
the battle field— instead of bleeding he was sweating profusely.
He looked the most vulnerable in
that moment of surrender and exhaustion. She held his head in her hands and
pressed it against her bosom and kissed his forehead. He returned the favour by
pecking the tip of her nose, and placed his chin on her moist lips. Absorbing
the heat emanating from the other’s body, they remained in embrace few moments
before drifting into sleep...
The last traces of the propitious
night were slowly fading away; the night had done its duty. Sun poured in the antarpur through the jharokha. Padmagandha’s body shone like
molten gold in the incident sunlight. Perturbed by the sun’s audacious attempt
to kiss her in places where Aniruddh had kissed her the night before, she awoke
and swaddled herself in his uparna.
Careful not to disturb his sleep, she ruffled his wavy hair and gently kissed
his forehead. His scent still lingered on her body.
She rose and walked up to the jahrokha to observe the delights of the
new morning. The twitter of the birds seemed to invite her so that they may
congratulate her. She stood by the jharokha
and looked out of it. Chandrapore was waking up to the new dawn.
Suddenly she heard someone’s
foot-steps in the hallway. Before she could even react, she saw the door of one
of the three arches of the antarpur opening
with a creaking sound.
**************
“THIS way sahib,” Dipin, the teenaged bellboy
unbolted the antique door, “this would be your royal suite,” he said indicating
the royal suite as he welcomed the old English couple inside.
Mr Blake and his wife entered the
room gingerly, and observed the royal interiors.
“Splendid!” exclaimed Mrs Blake.
“Is there anything else you would
require, sahib?” asked Dipin.
“No, nothing for the time being,
thank you. We would let you know in case we do,” said Mr Blake, and handed a
crisp Rs 100 bill to Dipin.
“It’s a pleasure having you here,
sahib. You are very kind.”
The couple smiled graciously.
Just when Dipin was about to make
an exit, Mrs Blake called out to him.
“Excuse me! Before you leave, do
you mind telling us who is this gorgeous lady standing by the window there?”
she asked pointing towards Padmagandha.
“She is gorgeous indeed! I’ve
never set eyes on a prettier woman,” Mr Blake added. “And this man next to her,
is he her husband?”
Dipin turned around, his eyes
darted to Padmagandha and Aniruddh. He studied both of them thoughtfully for a
few seconds before he spoke.
“Yes sir, they are—I mean—they were a couple. This is the portrait of
her highness maharani Padmagandha, the queen of Chandrapore. And the other
portrait hanging right next to hers depicts his highness maharaj Aniruddh, her
husband and the king of ancient kingdom of Chandrapore.”
The English couple returned a
bemused look.
“Oh! Didn’t the local guide tell
you? This city was earlier a province of the kingdom called Chandrapore. It was
ruled by Maharaj Aniruddh and his wife. Theirs was a tragic love story. They
were childhood lovers who finally got married. But on the first night after
their marriage, the city was attacked by the king of the neighbouring kingdom
which was then known as Jaigarh and was ruled by a wicked king called Kaivalya.
Maharaj Aniruddh had to leave his newly wedded wife, and head for the
battlefield; but he had promised Padmagandha that he would anyhow return on the
seventh full moon night. Maharaj Aniruddh was a peace loving king; he wanted to
avert the battle, and thus persuaded the king of Jaigarh to call off the war
and sign a treaty. Kaivalya even
ratified the treaty and truce was announced.
The virtuous and victorious king was on his
way back to his kingdom where his newly-wed wife was fervently waiting was his
arrival when the wicked king Kaivalya killed
him by treacherous means. But what was stupefying was that, it is said, the
king’s body had mysteriously disappeared from the enemy camp.
The message of King’s death
reached Chandrapore on the seventh full moon night. No one dared to break the
unfortunate news to Padmagandha, imagining and fearing her agony. However, on
the following morning some family members and ministers mustered the courage to
disclose the news, and reached the queens antarpur,
her personal chamber, where she was waiting for Aniruddh. But for some
reason, despite much bellowing and knocking, she would not open the door.
Finally they had to crash the door, only to find her nowhere in the antarpur. She just vanished into thin
air. She was never seen again. There have been a lot of speculations about
whatever transpired that night, but the fact of the matter is that no one has
been able to solve the puzzle yet. It’s all a mystery. Every child from our
village knows the story by heart. I am amazed no one told you yet. They say
that this is the personal chamber of queen Padmagandha—this very suite, sahib.”
The English couple was listening
to the occult lore in silent wonderment.
“In fact the local people say that
on every full moon night—”
“Dipin! Let the guests get some
rest. They must be tired. They have come from a far away land,” Mr Singh
interrupted. “Regale them with your stories later, boy.”
Mr Singh was a sexagenarian
janitor at the Chandramahal—a palace
that had now been converted into a luxury hotel. He was passing by the hallway
when he had overheard Dipin rambling about the tragic love story. “You must go
now. Manager sir has been looking for you. Run!” he said dismissively.
“I am sorry for the inconvenience, sir. These
naive villagers, I tell you,” he said trying to sound earnest and faking a
smile. “I am Deendayal Singh, senior care-taker and head of the house-keeping
staff in the hotel,” he said, shaking hands with Mr Blake.
“May I get you something?”
“No, thank you. We are good.
Pleased to meet you, Mr Singh,” said Mr Blake. Mrs Blake smiled and nodded her
head.
“I would get you some herbal tea,
to help you unwind. You must be very tired,” Mr Singh said.
“Thank you. That would be
lovely,” returned Mrs Blake.
Mr Singh adjusted the spectacles,
that perched on his nose, one final time, and through them he looked at the colossal
portraits of Padmagandha and Aniruddh hanging on the wall for a few seconds
before making an exit— leaving both the couples alone.
He found Dipin standing in the
hallway waiting for him.
“What are you doing here, boy?”
“I just checked, Manager sir
wasn’t looking for me. Why did you cut me short?” said Dipin.
Mr Singh sighed. “You should know
better than to chase away our guests with your stupid stories, Dipin,” he said,
in a shaky voice.
“But, sir, you do know they are
not merely stories.”
“Dipin, I’ve been working here
for past 45 years now. One thing you must know, my boy: the palace doesn’t like
its secrets to be revealed to strangers. Not everything needs to be told. You’ll
learn the ways of the palace in good time, silly boy,” he said patting Dipin on
his shoulders.
There was a glint of enigma in
his cold, gray eyes. “Now, let’s go there’s a lot of work that needs our
attention.”
“Darling, do you have any idea
where have these pearls come from?” They overheard Mrs Blake as they walked
away.
********************************************************************************
Glossary:
Dhoop:Aromatic incense
Jharokha: Window like opening on the walls of palaces.
Taan: (musical)Chord
Kesar:Saffron
Kasturi:Musk
Ashtadal Padma: Eight petaled lotus
Kumkum:Fine red pigmented powder
Teeka: An ornament worn on the head by women
Gajra: string of flowers
Kardhani: Cummerband; An ornament worn on the waist
Payal: Anklets
Uparna: Sash like garment for upper body
Kshatrani: The female equivalent of Kshatriya- a warrior.
Darpan: Mirror
Veena: A string instrument usually seen in the hands of Goddess Saraswati
Paan-daan: A container in which paans(betel leaf) are kept
Katthha, gulkand,supari: Some fragrant substances used to make paan.
Mahabali: The powerful one
Mahabhau: The mighty armed
Kanchuki: A blouse like garment
Lehnga: A skirt like garment
Odhni: A sash like garment
Chandra-haar, Chandan-haar: Special kinds of necklaces worn by Indian women.
Nath: Nose ring
Lolak-Bandi:
A kind of ornament worn in ears; Its lower half covers the
entire ear parallel to cheek and the upper pearl string is pinned to the
hair on the head
Chudamani: An ornament worn in the hair, something similar to the modern day hair clip.
Bela: A kind of fruit.
Chandan: Sandalwood
Mogra: A special kind of flower.
Tribhang: A posture assumed by dancers in wherein the body is bent from three sides.
Dhumra-Lochana: One whose eyes are smoky.
Raag Yaman,Kedar: Different ragas in the Hindustani classical music.
