His Captive Indian Princess

He had found her. That was the crucial thing. Two years of frantic searching and a small fortune spent on detectives were finally at an end. He had found Gauri. Rage which simmered deep inside him whenever he thought of her came to the fore. She had single-handedly destroyed her adoptive family, taking their love and caring and turning on them, betraying and shaming them. And then she had fled, escaping the repercussions of her actions.

Controlling the rage swirling inside him, he tried to get a grip on his thoughts. His brow furrowed. What was she doing on prime time television being hounded by the media? Why was she hiding her face? What scandal was she embroiled in now?

His mind buzzing with questions, he focused his attention on the reporter, who was claiming to have unearthed a prostitution racket being run by Home of Hope, a well known charitable trust which worked for poor and needy women.

The reporter interviewed a young girl, an inmate of the charitable home, who alleged that the Director of the Trust was morally corrupt and forced the inmates into prostitution.

What was Gauri’s involvement? Vikram couldn’t find an answer. The newsreader had moved on to the next juicy scandal.

Vikram immediately called his secretary and, with barely concealed impatience, rapped out, ‘Neerja, find out the details about the Home of Hope scandal and information about all the people involved. And there was a clip in the ten o’clock news which showed a young girl hiding her face. Get her details.’

He cut off the call without waiting for her reply, confident his efficient secretary would have the details soon. Unable to sit, his gut churning with emotion, he stood up and began pacing the room.

He had found her and he wouldn’t let her slip away. Gauri, his best friend Madhav’s runaway half-sister, would soon be in his grasp. He would be able to fulfil his friend’s dying wish. Ever since Madhav’s death almost two years ago now, the promise had preyed on his mind, hounding him and keeping him awake at night.

His beautiful lips firmed ruthlessly. Moreover, the events of the past year had intensified the urgency of his search because she was the tool he needed to sort out the legal mess he had been dragged into.

His cellphone beeped. It was Neerja. She had been quick.

‘Yes, Neerja?’ he asked, urgent anticipation coiling in the pit of his stomach.

‘Sir, the organization Home of Hope works for the uplifting of women who are poor or victims of abuse. The head of the organization is fifty-year-old Mrs Singh and she is being accused of running a prostitution racket.’

Vikram bit out impatiently, ‘What about the girl in the news clip?’

Neerja, well used to her formidable boss’s impatience, immediately answered, ‘Sir, that girl is Mrs Singh’s assistant, Ms Mira Rathore.’

‘Mira Rathore?’ So she was using a false name. No wonder the detectives had been unable to find her. ‘And?’

‘She is a trained lawyer, sir.’

Vikram greeted this news impassively, betraying none of the shock he felt. ‘A lawyer?’

‘Yes, sir, she is an up-and-coming lawyer and has recently joined the organization after having finished her training,’ Neerja relayed efficiently. She then reeled off her address and telephone number.

Vikram immediately called his driver. He would have to act quickly in case his quarry disappeared again. Since it was almost eleven at night, there was not much traffic and they travelled swiftly to the address given by Neerja. As he sat in the car, tight tension gripping him, the past flashed across his mind’s eye.

The last time he had seen Gauri had been six years ago, at Madhav’s sister and Gauri’s half-sister, Maya’s, wedding.

He still recalled the events of that day with a shudder. The festivities had just concluded and the wedding party was about to leave, taking Maya with them, when her father, Maharaj Sambhaji Rao, had complained of breathlessness and had suffered a massive heart attack.

He had been rushed to the hospital for open-heart surgery. All of them—Madhav, Gauri and their grandmother, as well as Vikram—had gathered outside and were waiting anxiously.

Suddenly a weeping Maya, still in her bridal finery, had appeared and, ignoring her grandmother’s consoling embrace, turned on Gauri and, pointing an accusing finger towards her said, ‘You bitch! You are to blame for this. You brought on the attack. Baba was distressed because of your affair.’

She then turned to her brother Madhav and said, ‘Dada, she was caught with the stable boy. He had spent the night in her room and Baba was devastated. She is responsible for his heart attack.’

Pin-drop silence had fallen after Maya’s venomous outburst and every eye turned towards Gauri, who was standing ashen-faced and unmoving.

Vikram had been rooted to the spot. He had found himself holding his breath, hoping and waiting for sixteen-year-old Gauri to refute the allegations. But the normally feisty Gauri continued to stand unrepentant and silent, glaring defiantly at Maya, who abused her with terrible names.

Gauri’s continued silence confirmed her guilt and, as Vikram contemplated her seemingly pure and innocent profile, a strange darkness had engulfed him, almost choking him. Her innocence was just a sham. She was totally rotten from inside without an atom of goodness. How cleverly she had fooled everyone, including him.

Dismissing the darkness engulfing him as acute disgust at her rottenness, he had turned away, unable to bear the sight of her any longer.

She had thrown her family’s love back in their faces and ruthlessly trodden upon the family honour. She had proved totally ungrateful and undeserving of the kindness shown to her by her father and his family. She should be punished.

His driver looked in the rear-view mirror and saw cold fury on Vikram’s handsome face. He grimaced with pity for whoever would be on the receiving end of his employer’s anger. Maharaj Vikram was always fair and just but his anger was legendary and no one dared to cross him.

Vikram came out of his reverie when the car purred to a stop in front of a smart apartment block. So this was where Gauri, alias Mira Rathore, lived. She seemed to have done well for herself. Taking two steps at a time, he bounded up the stairs.

He rang the buzzer. No answer. He rang again, heart thudding. Had she run away again?

Suddenly the door opened and Gauri looked out. The words seemed to die on her lips. She paled with shock and Vikram, taking advantage of her frozen state, swiftly steered her inside.

Once inside, he looked at her with grim intensity. Gauri felt herself being held in thrall, unable to move. Shock rendered her speechless. She stared at him, unable to look away. It was Vikram. He had found her. For a moment she thought her heart had stopped. She had trouble drawing breath. The next second her heart began to thud agonisingly.

‘Hello, Gauri,’ Vikram said in a dangerous tone.

Gauri felt faint. The past had caught up with her. What would she do now? Her most feared nightmare had come true.

She had agonised over coming face to face with her past, especially Vikram, and now that it had happened she didn’t know what to do.

She had been filled with dread ever since the media cameras had filmed her and her fears had been proved right. Her family had found her. Vikram was here.

She continued to stare at him in shocked silence. He was unchanged. Vikram, her half-brother Madhav’s childhood friend. She had last seen him six years ago and the effortless arrogance and dangerous aura of power that he always exuded hadn’t diminished a bit. He descended from an illustrious royal line and his genetic heritage was stamped in the authoritative way he carried himself, in the imperious lift of his eyebrow and the disdainful expression on his face. His face remained striking as ever. Ebony winged eyebrows, high cheekbones and a sharp nose melded together to create an intimidating impact. Only the planes and angles which sculpted his face seemed more pronounced now.

His jet-black hair, which had been long and curling at his nape six years ago, was now cropped short. It gleamed menacingly in the soft light of her home. His lips, as always, were set in grim forbidding lines. His eyes bored into hers with an icy intensity that frightened her—black as night and fathomless like an ocean, at this moment they were glittering with anger. She stared back, flinching but unable to wrest herself from the force of his dark, furious gaze.

‘No answer? Oh, I forgot. I should have said, Hello, Mira! That’s your name now, isn’t it?’ Vikram said sarcastically.

Gauri felt her stomach hollowing out with dread. She struggled to find words but failed. Her mouth tried to move but her throat felt dry and no words came out.

Her mind was probably working overtime to seek a way out, Vikram thought furiously. Lying and pretending were as natural as breathing to her and she must be trying feverishly to concoct a story.

‘Still nothing to say? You never used to be short of words, as I recall! Trying to buy time, are you? Or are you going to pretend amnesia so you don’t have to recognise me?’ Vikram jibed cruelly.

Gauri bit her lip to stop her pained cry at Vikram’s cruel words. He had often used this sneering tone with her and it still hurt. Tears which she had thought she would never allow again in her eyes clogged her throat. Panicking that he would see her tears, she tried to compose herself. She wouldn’t let him see any weakness.

She turned around on the pretext of shutting the door and tried to control her turbulent emotions.

Exerting all her willpower, she wiped every trace of emotion and, composing her face, turned to him and asked stonily, ‘What do you want?’

Vikram narrowed his eyes at her calm tone. She had morphed into a tough cookie. Even his surprise appearance hadn’t managed to unsettle her. He could have sworn that she had paled and her lips had trembled but now she was in control. But she always had been a tough one. He had suspected that right from the beginning. Her fragile and delicate appearance hid her hard, avaricious and scheming nature.

He had been the only one not taken in by her seeming vulnerability—except for that one moment so many years ago.

For a short while he had believed that he had been wrong about her and that she had been all that she seemed—an innocent young girl. Against his better judgement, he had let down his guard with her and had been speedily disillusioned.