The Kiss of Urvashi

 

The Kiss of Urvashi

Tathagata Anuradha Mukhopadhyay

 

 

(1)

I received the book this morning via courier. Smita, my live-in girlfriend, took the package, opened it, examined the book, and handed it to me, saying, “Since when did a historian get a sudden interest in ghost stories? I thought you didn't believe in all this paranormal stuff.”

I took the book and flipped through it, saying, “It's not exactly a ghost story. It's a study on paranormal and metaphysical activities.”

“You mean supernatural and otherworldly events?”

“You could say that. Not just events, but analysis as well. The book mentions various such incidents and tries to analyze them to make them more believable to the reader. It's a very famous book. The authoress is also an expert on witchcraft.”

“Author, Rohan, not authoress. These words have become gender-neutral nowadays.”

“To feminists like you, maybe. Not to me. I'm stuck in the age of authoress, directress, actress, etc.”—I blurted this out, knowing it might start an argument. Seeing Smita getting agitated, I quickly added, “But I don't want to get into this discussion right now. I have a much more interesting topic in my hands.” I waved the hardbound book in front of Smita's eyes.

'Beyond the Veil' by Aditi Munshi. It's safe to assume that in a book written with an analysis of supernatural and otherworldly events, the writer uses the word 'veil' to mean a cover, a supernatural shadow, or something similar. It's a hundred and seventy-five-page hardback book published by a Mumbai-based publishing house called Neutron Press. It has a beautiful layout. The black-and-white cover is also quite appealing. It features the silhouette of a woman in a white veil on a palace balcony. However, the most attractive part of the book is the author's picture on the inlay of the back cover. A woman in a black saree and blouse with flowing hair—impossibly attractive and full of personality. She possessed that rare allure, a personality so captivating that in a crowd, one's gaze, though casually glancing, would inevitably snag on her and refuse to move on. Aditi Munshi was that uncommon kind of woman.

I heard Smita say, “So why has the historian suddenly switched from facts to fiction? Ghosts, paranormal activities—these were never your thing. Do you know the author?”

Her final words didn't escape my notice. Lately, Smita has been suspicious of me, and for good reason. She must have somehow figured out the closeness between me and Sucharita, my research student. So, she often tries to provoke me with subtle jabs about her or other women I know. I don't pay attention. From experience, I've realized that there's no point in getting into silly arguments and fights with women. It's a waste of time and energy. So, I ignored her words and said,

"I need the book for my student Sucharita's research work. Ever since she returned from Mahendragarh, she's been obsessed with some wild ideas. In research, we look for hardcore facts, not folklore. But this girl is so convinced..."

"Oh, really? I see you get convinced by everyone else's words except mine," Smita's sarcasm lingered in her voice. The reason for her restlessness might be that it's been a while since we were intimate. I decided to make it up to her tonight.

I said, "Yes. Sucharita went to Mahendragarh for her research."

"Where is that? I've never heard of a place like that." Smita came and sat next to me on the sofa.

"It's a lesser-known place. A place becomes famous because of the fame and influence of its founder or ruler. History is made from this. Just think, the Kumbhalgarh Fort is famous because of Rana Kumbhal Singh and later Rana Pratap. Chittorgarh is famous for Rana Ratan Singh and Rani Padmini. Jaipur Fort is for King Sawai Jai Singh (II). The Taj Mahal is for Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Begum. You'll find countless examples. But there are also many unknown or lesser-known structures and places in our country whose names people still don't know well. And this is where we, the historians, add value..."

Smita shifted and snuggled up against me. There was no longer any space between her left thigh and my right one. The hint was clear, but I ignored it and continued,

“Sucharita went to Rajasthan for her research. The heroic tales of the valiant Mewar ruler, Maharana Pratap, are extensively documented in history. Many historians have also conducted research on this subject. However, what is not as well-documented is the story of his successors. While people know about the Battle of Haldighati between Maharana Pratap and Akbar's mighty Mughal forces, the history of his successors' bravery against the Mughal army is not as well-recorded. Sucharita, my Ph.D. student, was working on this very topic. Mahendragarh is located fifty kilometers northwest of Kumbhalgarh.

In the third generation of Maharana Pratap, the ruler of Mewar was Jagat Singh. It is said that one of his stepbrothers, Mahendra Singh Rathore, built a fort and a palace fifty kilometers from Kumbhalgarh Fort for his wife, Rukmini. Of course, this fort is much smaller than the famous forts of Rajasthan like Kumbhalgarh, Chittor, Jodhpur, and Jaipur.

Mahendra Singh had no children. So, after his death in 1775, his palace, fort, and other properties were left without a patron. As is common in such cases, seven different parties came and began to plunder them. The gold, jewels, and valuables of the palace were gone, and then it got to a point where there was no way to maintain and preserve the fort and its adjacent palace. Mahendra Singh's beautiful wife, Rukmini—who was a rarity among Rajput women in those days—had already died of an incurable disease in 1770, thirteen years after the fall of the Mughal Empire.

Many folk tales are told in Mahendragarh about Rukmini Devi's death. In those days, there was no special tradition of documenting history. Much of what is known comes from local folklore passed down through generations. In most cases, these stories take on an incredible form, and there is a lot of room for debate about how much of it is acceptable. So, initially, I didn't pay much attention to the folk tales about Rukmini Devi's death that I heard from Sucharita. But Sucharita was persistent. According to her, Mahendra Singh himself had poisoned his wife, Rukmini, to death.

Rukmini Devi's character and nature were reportedly not like those of other Rajput women of that era. Vijay Singh Chauhan, the Diwan of Udaipur, left everything behind in the mid-seventeenth century and went abroad with his daughter. As a result, Rukmini grew up abroad, where she also completed her graduation. She could speak fluent English and was a proper 'memsahib' in her manners and customs. She disliked wearing long veils inside the palace, not showing herself to other men, or living a vegetarian life.

"Another more sensational rumor that's heard in that region is that Rukmini was involved with a high-ranking British Raj official. James Austin was the District Collector of the Mewar region at the time. Besides their daily administrative duties, one of their main responsibilities was to collect taxes from kings and landlords. It was through this work that James Austin used to visit Mahendra Singh at the Mahendragarh Fort. That's where he met and became close with Rukmini. Later, it's said that James Sahib would be found in the fort's 'zenana' quarters even when Mahendra Singh was not there.

One day, Mahendra Singh caught Rukmini and James in a compromising position in the inner chambers. Rukmini died within six months. The locals believe that Mahendra Singh poisoned his wife, Rukmini, which we would now call an honor killing."

"How did your Sucharita find out about all this?" Smita asked, placing special emphasis on the word "your."

"Many descendants of the Mahendragarh Fort's servants still live in that region. Sucharita met with them one by one to gather information."

"Did everyone say the same thing?"

"No, no. If they did, historians' work would be much easier, Smita. There are many people who only praise Rukmini and her qualities. She was extremely modern for her time, and perhaps many people couldn't stomach that. It's difficult to accept extreme cultural differences. People still can't openly accept the violation of social norms and restrictions. And in that era—we're talking about the 1770s and 80s—it was even more problematic. Just look at us; many people still have a lot to say about us living together without being married, don't they?"

"I get it. But what does this have to do with the book you have in your hand? I don't see anything supernatural in that story of an illicit affair."

"I'm getting to that. Mahendragarh Fort is now a deserted stone building. It is said that the muffled sounds of a woman's laughter and crying can be heard from there. The locals believe that Rukmini's spirit still resides there. Can you believe it!"

"So all your problems are solved—I mean, yours and your student's, Rohan. Just go directly and ask Rukmini's spirit the real reason for her death. 'From the horse's—er, ghost's mouth.'

“You have a point. That's exactly what I told Sucharita—she should have just gone inside the fort and seen for herself.' Sucharita even tried. But she couldn't find anyone there who would spend the night with her in that abandoned fort. Poor girl. When I told her not to believe in such crazy things, she insisted that it might not be crazy at all. She said there are many examples of such supernatural events all over the world. Even today, there are many events that science cannot explain. After a bit of an argument about this, Sucharita suggested I read this book. She said the book contains many accounts of paranormal and metaphysical activity, and that it also analyzes the story of Rukmini in the Mahendragarh Fort. So I thought I'd give the book a read.”

"So, what have you decided? Are you going to go spend the night at the Mahendragarh Fort with Sucharita in search of the truth?" Smita asked playfully.

I put my arm around her neck, gently squeezed her right breast, and said, "Why, do you want to go? I say, let's have our next fck in that dilapidated fort. It would be quite an exciting affair, wouldn't it? Fucking in the presence of a chudail! A paranormal threesome!" 

"Shut up, you perv," Smita said, pushing my hand away from her breast. Then she asked, "What's the difference between supernatural and otherworldly?"

"Good question," I said as my mobile phone buzzed. It was an unknown number.

I answered the call. "Rohan Chatterjee here."

"Dr. Chatterjee," a husky voice came from the other side, "thank you very much for buying my book."

"Are you... Aditi? Aditi Munshi? How did you know I bought your book?"

"We—I mean, witches—know a lot of things like that," Aditi said with a laugh. The woman's voice was mesmerizing. I heard her say, "Actually, when someone buys my book online, the portal—Amazon or Flipkart—and my publisher send me a direct email. That's how I knew. There's no witchcraft behind it. I'm truly flattered that a renowned historian like you bought my book."

"You know who I am?"

"I didn't. I learned your name from the publisher and found out everything by Googling you. The truth is, there's a hidden animosity between historians and us. So, I was a little surprised to see that you bought my book."

"Hmm... I haven't read the book yet, so I won't comment on whether it's good or bad. But I can assure you that even if I don't like the book, there will be no animosity between us. Thank you for calling."

"I'm in Kolkata right now. I'm staying at the Hotel Astor on Shakespeare Sarani. I have two lectures here tomorrow. After that, I'll return to Mumbai the day after. Could we meet? Of course, if you're busy, that's a different story..."

"No, no. I'm free in the evening."

"Perfect. Come to the coffee shop here. I'll book a table."

I glanced at Smita. She was listening intently to my conversation. Whatever she was thinking, I wasn't going to miss the chance to meet Aditi Munshi in person. I said, "Okay. I'll be at the Astor coffee shop around seven in the evening."

After hanging up, I told Smita, "You were asking me earlier about the difference between supernatural and otherworldly. I'll give you the answer tonight."

"Fucking flirt," Smita whispered. I heard her, but I pretended not to.

 

 

 

(2)

I found Aditi Munshi waiting for me at the outdoor café deck, '88', at the Astor Hotel. Seeing me looking around, she raised her hand to catch my attention. "This way, this way, Mr. Chatterjee." I took a chair opposite her table.

I can swear on it: the woman sitting in front of me was ten times more attractive than the picture that had captivated me on the book cover. She may not have been beautiful in the classical sense—that is, the type with thin, sculpted lips, wide, doe-like eyes, a straight nose, a small forehead, and a tiny mouth. She wasn't particularly skinny either, not the kind they call a size one or two these days. Her body was slightly heavy, but what she had was 'chatak', a captivating allure. I doubt you would find such a striking appearance in a million people.

I've been in contact with many women in my life, but I couldn't remember ever seeing one as attractive as this. She was wearing a black sari with a sleeveless blouse and had long, open hair that reached her waist. She had a large black bindi on her forehead and thick kohl applied both above and below her large eyes. Her gaze was already very deep—it felt like she could see right into my mind—and the kohl she wore seemed to intensify that depth even more.

She looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and said, "So, you came after all."

"Why, did you have doubts?"

"No. I knew you'd come. Because the owner of Mahendragarh Fort, Rukmini, has now haunted your dreams. After reading my book, your curiosity might have been satisfied, but I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the urge to learn more about the author herself. Would you like anything to drink?" The lady gestured towards the drinks.

I ordered for a glass of white wine for myself. The lady didn't order anything.

After some small talk, my wine arrived. "How do we cheer, since you haven't ordered anything for yourself?"

"My drink is with me, right here."

Only then did I notice a steel flask next to Aditi. She opened its lid and said, "Cheers." Then she took a small sip.

"What's in it?" I couldn't help but ask, even though I knew it was impolite to be so curious.

"Elixir of life, Amrit," Aditi replied with a mysterious smile. I saw her pearl-like teeth. Does this woman really drink an elixir of immortality? Or else, where does the glow on her skin, in her eyes, and on her cheeks come from? I stared at her, mesmerized. The lady laughed and said, "It's a health drink. A special formulation by my dietitian. I was gaining weight, so I've been on a diet recently. We, the self-proclaimed witches, have to be very careful, you know."

"I have a question about this," I said. My gaze kept drifting toward Aditi's firm chest. I could clearly see her cleavage under the thin black saree. A small stone, probably a diamond, set on a betel-leaf-shaped pendant, dangled on a delicate platinum chain.

"Ask away," Aditi said, looking directly into my eyes.

"Belief in witchcraft has existed in various cultures for centuries. In the past, many women were accused of being witches because of their independent thoughts, knowledge, or their defiance of social norms. However, from the perspective of modern science and logic, there is no scientific evidence for witchcraft or the use of supernatural powers. It is a kind of superstition that arose from fear, ignorance, and prejudice against certain groups in society. What are your views on this?"

"We are often asked this kind of question. Historically, many women accused of witchcraft were actually healers, herbalists, or midwives who had acquired knowledge and skills that were not understood or accepted by conventional education and culture. These women were often persecuted for their perceived power and independence and were labeled as practitioners of black magic. Modern witchcraft is not like that. You might have heard of it; it's known as 'Wicca'."

"Yes, I have heard of it. Wicca."

"Right. In this practice, we emphasize harmony with nature and the divine. We, the Wiccan practitioners, believe that intention and magical energy can bring about positive changes in their lives and in the world. They seek paths of natural healing, protection, and self-improvement. If you think about it, magic is hidden within the universe itself... In fact, magic, or witchcraft, or Wicca, is a diverse practice with many different interpretations. There is no single definition of magic or their beliefs...," Aditi said, taking another sip of her elixir.

Aditi was talking a lot about Wicca, but after two glasses of wine, none of it was making sense in my hazy mind. My entire focus was on Aditi's body... I felt a desire to see her naked... I could tell that I was completely captivated by the middle-aged woman sitting two feet away from me. Do modern witches know how to cast spells of subjugation? I was thinking to myself... Aditi was talking on and on, but I couldn't hear a word. After a while, I heard her say, "Did you understand anything?"

Breaking free from my daze and gathering all my mental strength, I said, "You should tell me something about Rukmini and James Austin."

Aditi stared at me for a moment. I couldn't stand her gaze, yet I couldn't look away. I heard her say, "You look unwell."

"No... you should tell me about Rukmini..."

"You shouldn't drink any more wine. Let's go to my room. Get some rest, splash some water on your face. Everything will be fine. I'll order dinner from room service. Let's go."

When I tried to stand up, my head spun. I held on to the chair and steadied myself. Aditi ran to me and held me. She led me to her room. An indescribable and unique fragrance emanated from her body. What kind of cologne does this woman use? I have never smelled this captivating scent on any of my partners. My intoxication seemed to intensify even more.

Upon entering the room, Aditi made me sit on one side of the double bed, leaning against the headboard. She placed two large pillows behind my back to make me as comfortable as possible. She took a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and gave it to me. I was watching the woman intently. Was the reason for my trance just two glasses of wine? I had never felt this way before, even after drinking much more wine. I thanked her and said, "I'm sorry I bothered you unnecessarily..." Aditi placed her hand over my mouth and said, "Don't talk like that."

Beside the bed, only a single low-wattage lamp was on. In its dim light, Aditi looked like the celestial nymph Urvashi, descended to Earth for a single purpose: to surrender herself to me. And that moment of surrender was near. I placed my hands on Aditi's shoulders and pulled her towards me. In the faint light, her face appeared like a masterpiece. Behind the thick kohl, her pupils, darker than the kohl itself, were fixed on me. From her quivering lips, like the segments of an orange, came an unspoken plea: "Take me, satisfy me."

I clearly understood the invitation from Aditi's slightly parted lips. My soul ached to bite those lips. I moved my hands from her shoulders to her cheeks, and slowly, I drew her oval face close to mine. As I was about to touch her lips with mine, Aditi stopped me. She covered her mouth with her hand, then grabbed my head and pulled it down to the space between her high, well-formed breasts where her sari had slipped away. The intoxicating scent that had been mesmerizing me became ten times more intense, numbing my sense of smell and all my other senses. It was as if I was bound by the magic of Urvashi in a secret chamber in heaven. I had no will of my own; I was completely guided by that nymph.

I don't even know when I unhooked Aditi's blouse and bra, drowning in the warmth of her chest.

I, Rohan Chatterjee, am a man of pleasure. I have experience with many women, and I'm good at it. This isn't me boasting; it's the confession of every woman I've been with. But Aditi was like a resident of another planet, and I was her plaything. I moved exactly as she directed me. Aditi was the epitome of a dominant woman during lovemaking. I can say with confidence that in my forty-two years of life, I had never experienced such an intense act of lovemaking.

And it wasn't just once... not twice... but three times in a row. Each time was a new and innovative experience. A continuous one-and-a-quarter-hour experience of wild sexuality. A strange atmosphere was created by the moisture of our bodies in the air-conditioned room.

The body that I couldn't get out of my head since meeting Aditi, the one I had desired to see naked, was now resting on mine. The funny thing was, even after all that, I couldn't take my eyes off her voluptuous figure. Stroking her silky hair, I said, "Now tell me the story of Rukmini and James."

"It's all written in my book; you can just read it," she replied.

"I will. But I want to hear it from you. Where did you get the information about Rukmini and James's romance? From the folklore of the residents of Mahendragarh?"

"Uh-uh," Aditi shook her head. "I know you historians are very meticulous. Information from word of mouth won't satisfy you. You want proof. Hardcore evidence."

"So?"

"I found out all of this from James Austin's diary."

"Are you serious?" I tried to sit up excitedly. Aditi pushed me back down, saying, "Easy, easy, relax, Mr. Historian."

"That's a late 17th-century event. How did you get such an old diary?"

"From the ruins of the Mahendragarh Fort."

"You went there? People say it's haunted. That Rukmini's unfulfilled spirit wanders there?"

"Those are just folk tales. People love to hear strange stories. And they love to believe them even more. The story of the Loch Ness Monster in Scotland is completely fictional. But for centuries, the locals have believed it to be true. Even today, if you ask people there, many will tell you it's real. The same is true for Count Dracula. Besides, when people enter a haunted house, their hearts already pound, so they mistake bats flying in the torchlight, a black cat leaping, or the movement of a shrew for a ghost."

"That's exactly what I told Sucharita—my student. She's doing research under me. So, you found James's diary in that abandoned fort?"

"Yes. In a hidden chamber behind a dilapidated chest in Rukmini's bedchamber, next to the 'zenana' quarters. Rohan, do you want to see it?"

"Where is it now?"

"It's still there. It's not a very thick diary—not a daily journal, you know. It's just a few scattered notes written by James. Most of it is about him and Rani Rukmini. In fact, I finished it within two hours and spent the rest of the night getting bitten by mosquitoes," Aditi giggled. "Will you go there?"

"You... you went alone? Haunted or not, I must say you have courage."

"Don't forget, I'm a witch," Aditi said, winking. "A local person dropped me off there and then left. I had a few things with me, like a rug, a torch, extra batteries, my elixir flask, and a pillow. So, will you go?"

"When?" I asked. Saying no to Aditi was out of the question.

I got dressed to go home. Aditi somehow wrapped her black sari around herself and sipped her elixir from the flask on the nearby table. She said, "So, I'll see you at the airport the day after tomorrow morning?"

"One hundred percent." I gave her a thumbs-up. My daze was gone, and my head was clear now. I leaned in to kiss Aditi, but she stopped me. "That's saved... for Mahendragarh."

At night, I turned on the bedside lamp and opened the cover of Aditi Munshi's Behind the Veil. Smita had expected something else. She rested her chin on my chest and said, "Aren't you coming?"

"Not tonight, Smita. Let me read."

Smita was disappointed. She said bitterly, "How was your date with that woman?"

I irritably turned to face the other way.

"You don't have to say anything," Smita said. "I can still smell that woman on you. The scent of that fucking pussy."

(3)

We had to leave the car and walk a long way up, as several parts of the winding stone road had collapsed into the gorge. Since Aditi had been here before, she knew the way. This time, we couldn't find a porter to take us up, so we each had to carry our own rucksacks on our backs. The Mahendragarh Fort sits on a small hill in the lap of the mountains. The path to it is narrow and bumpy, covered with shrubs and thickets. Mahendragarh, which was once a witness to Mahendra Singh's glory, is now a desolate ruin on a hillside. All around the fort, there were only the sounds of the jungle—the chirping of birds returning to their nests and the rustling of fallen leaves in the wind. Sunset was approaching. The fort faces east. The black silhouette of the fort against the backdrop of the crimson sky behind the hills made it look even more mysterious.

As we reached the main gate of the fort, darkness descended. The gate was broken and left wide open. The fort's red sandstone walls were covered in weeds and had huge cracks. Upon closer inspection, you could see the inscriptions on the walls, which once glorified the king, were now faint. It was as if history itself was trying to hide here.

Darkness falls suddenly in the mountains. The chirping of birds returning to their nests suddenly faded away. Only the sound of crickets and the occasional cry of a jackal remained. I wouldn't have believed that a continuous cricket call could deafen you if I hadn't come here.

Aditi said, "Let's go—let's make our base in the 'zenana mahal.' That's where we will spend the night."

I have visited many forts in India and abroad. This fort is much smaller compared to Kumbhalgarh, Chittor, or Jaigarh Fort. It is even smaller than Nahargarh Fort. But it is built in the same architectural style.

 

The narrow, tunnel-like road has large steps. The rooms have small balconies and peepholes with floral designs and intricate carvings. Some of them still have pieces of colored glass. The staircase leading up to the 'zenana mahal' is like a dark, mysterious tunnel. I said, "It looks like a tunnel. Isn't there another way to get to the 'zenana mahal'?"

"There is," Aditi said. "But I deliberately brought you this way. This is the secret path for rendezvous. Many old forts had secret passages leading to the women's quarters."

The dark tunnel seemed to swallow our flashlight's beam just five meters away. To be honest, my heart was pounding, but Aditi was fearless. After walking a bit, I stopped. I heard Aditi say, "What happened? Come on. Are you scared?"

Honestly, I'm a person who boasts about being free of all superstitions, so would I be scared by this little thing? As I followed Aditi and took a turn in the tunnel, a bat flapped its wings, grazed my head, and flew out. I flinched and hit my head on the wall. "Oof," I said, holding my head and sitting down. I heard Aditi from the darkness say, "What happened? Did you fall?" She hurried back, saw me, and burst out laughing. Suppressing her laughter, she said, "You really are scared. Never mind, there's no need to go on. Let's go back." I felt a sense of shame. I said, "No, no. It was just a bat..."

"You know, bats are actually very harmless. The story of vampires sucking human blood is made up by humans. But there are vampires among humans..."

I really wasn't in the mood to hear any of this. "Let's hurry to your 'zenana mahal'," I said. After climbing many winding stairs, we finally reached the inner sanctum of the fort, Rukmini's private zenana mahal. Once a residence for the royal family's women, the zenana mahal now looked like a haunted house. The carved arches had fallen, and the windows were glassless. From one of the balconies, an abandoned fountain could be seen outside. The once beautiful garden next to it was now overgrown with weeds. There was a strange melancholy in the air.

Adjoining the zenana mahal was the queen's bedchamber, but it was now covered in dust and spiderwebs. We cleaned a spot on the floor of the zenana mahal and laid out a mat and pillows. Aditi had brought a small jerrycan of carbolic acid. She sprinkled it around the room and said, "There's more to fear from snakes here than ghosts. I have no desire to die from a snakebite."

It was clear that Aditi had a lot of experience spending the night in abandoned houses like this. Aditi took my hand and led me to Rukmini's room next door. In one corner of the room was a broken chest. Behind it was a secret niche. Aditi reached inside and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. It was obviously very old. She dusted it off and said, "Here you go. James's diary. This is what I was talking about."

I asked, "Why didn't you take the diary with you when you found it the last time you were here?"

"We follow a few ground rules. We don't take a single brick from any fort or palace, no matter how abandoned it is. You're a historian; you know better than anyone that every brick of this building is a witness to history. No one has the right to take anything from here."

"You're right," I said. "Now let's see if Rukmini Devi is kind enough to give us a visit tonight."

I poured some ice-cold vodka from my flask into a cup and sat down with James's diary. Aditi sat close to me, holding her own flask of elixir. She poured her health drink into a glass, took a small sip, and then rubbed her nose against my neck affectionately. "Read," she said. "You'll learn the whole truth." I could feel the pressure of Aditi's breast on my back. It was hard to concentrate in this state, but I gathered my mental strength as much as possible and began to read by the dim light of the battery-powered lantern.

"...When Viceroy John Clive sent me to Udaipur as the collector of Mewar, I wasn't happy. These Rajput natives are the most aggressive and short-tempered of all the people in India. Rebellion runs in their veins. But when I came to Mahendragarh to collect taxes, I realized it was a blessing in disguise. I was mesmerized after meeting Rani Rukmini, the wife of King Mahendra Singh. I know that Rajput women do not come out in front of other men. Or if they do, their faces are covered by a veil. But Rukmini is an exception. She came and talked to me herself, smiling. She even made and served me delicious yogurt sherbet with her own hands. I was most surprised by the Rani's English accent. I never imagined I would hear the language of our Queen spoken with a perfect British accent by a native queen in this unknown corner of Rajputana. What a woman!"

The next entry was three months later, during James's second visit. The entry after that was within a month. In these entries, too, his admiration for Rani Rukmini was evident in every line. He described how extraordinary Rukmini was compared to his wife, Meredith. There were also mentions of small incidents that showed the growing intimacy between James and Rukmini. However, the writing was very predictable. I could pretty much guess what James had written on the next page without even turning it. When I mentioned this to Aditi, she said, "Yes, that's true. But you're a historian, so it's easy for you to predict. Anyway, keep reading."

I drank some vodka and read for about half an hour more. My head felt a little foggy. Needless to say, I hadn't heard anything but the howling of jackals from the jungle and the occasional screeching of night birds. There was no wailing of a disembodied spirit at all. My heart-pounding feeling had also subsided a lot.

I was hungry. The cold chicken sandwiches we brought with us tasted like nectar. Aditi, of course, ate nothing. Apparently, after breakfast in the morning, she doesn't eat anything all day except for her elixir. After we finished eating, I sat down with the diary again. I felt Aditi hug me from behind, her face resting on my shoulder.

"Wanna make love?" I asked.

"Uh-uh. First, finish the work you came here for. It will take another hour. We have all night for making love, Rohan."

So, I changed the lantern's batteries and started reading again.

In the next few pages, James's lust for Rukmini was evident in every line. Just like the intense desire I felt to see Aditi naked when I first saw her, I found the exact same reflection in James's writing. I could sense, even before turning the page, that James wanted to have sex with the queen in her bedchamber in the zenana mahal. But how was that possible? The mahal was full of servants, and King Mahendra Singh also lived in his private quarters in this fort most of the time and would visit the queen's chamber occasionally. I could guess all this even before I read James's diary. I felt like I was merging with James, like I knew that 17th-century English collector very well. I turned the page and saw that my guess was correct. James Austin had written the exact same thing.

I heard Aditi whisper in my ear, "Will you marry me, Rohan?"

I was startled. Because I could pretty much guess that James had written something similar in the next few pages—a marriage proposal to Rani Rukmini.

Without taking my eyes off James's diary, I said, "How did you even think of that in this environment? Besides, I don't believe in marriage."

"But I do, Rohan. You will get my kiss only if you promise to marry me, otherwise not."

"Let me finish this first," I said and began to read again.

It was just as I had guessed. The following pages contained the story of Rukmini and James's intimacy, James's detailed account of secretly entering Rukmini's chamber through a hidden tunnel on the day King Mahendra Singh was away on a state visit, and their lovemaking. The diary also clearly mentioned Rukmini's condition before their sexual encounter: James had to marry Rukmini and take her to England. Burning with desire, James had promised Rukmini that he would do just that—that he would leave his English wife and live with this Rajput woman as his wife in England.

But even before reading it, I could sense that James would betray her. He would never leave his married English wife for a Rajput native. He was plotting to enjoy Rukmini and then disappear forever.

On the next page, I saw that Clive Sahib, pleased with James's work, was transferring him to the Madras province to be its governor. But James did not tell Rukmini this. He couldn't. James knew that Rukmini was not someone who would take a betrayal lightly. She was not the type to sit quietly if she was cheated on. She wouldn't hesitate to bring shame to him, even if it meant bringing bad repute to herself. He couldn't leave any trace of scandal behind before taking on the responsible position of governor.

The diary ended there. I closed the cover and said, "So..."

"Yes," Aditi said, bringing her mouth to my ear. "That son of a b*tch had betrayed Rukmini... James had gotten her hooked on wine, and one day—when Mahendra Singh was away on state business—the man had finished her off by mixing hemlock in her wine."

I sat still. Rukmini pushed me down onto the mat. She reached out, flipped a switch, and turned off the electric lantern. She said, "Close your eyes and lie still, Rohan. The auspicious moment to make this beautiful night worthwhile is at hand. Don't open your eyes until I tell you to."

I understood Aditi's hint. I heard the jingling of bangles... Was Aditi wearing bangles? I hadn't noticed. I felt her lips moving upwards from my feet, which I had laid open, with small kisses. I felt Aditi's lips on my thighs. Aditi was unbuckling my belt. I did not resist. It was impossible to resist her. Aditi pulled my pants down. Her cheek brushed against my firmness. Then, little kisses on my stomach...

She didn't allow me to kiss her at the hotel in Kolkata, saying it was "saved for Mahendragarh." Aditi was keeping her promise. I closed my eyes, enjoying the relentless shower of kisses. She was covering me in them—on my navel, my stomach, my chest, my arms. Finally, she touched her mouth to the top of my right wrist and bit down. The spot burned with intense pain. "Ouch," I said, opening my eyes, and I was speechless.

Who... who was this woman I was seeing? In the light and shadow of the moonlight streaming through the window, the woman lying on my chest wore a ghunghat (veil) on her head, a choli on her chest, and a ghagra below. Aditi had come wearing a sari, hadn't she?

Fear froze my limbs. My voice was trapped. In the faint, broken moonlight, the woman on my chest, with her hair loose, was still Aditi, but in a completely different attire.

"Who... who are you?" I asked in a trembling voice.

"You don't recognize me, Jamie? I've been looking for you for almost six hundred and fifty years. Do you remember the wine mixed with hemlock that you gave me, which I drank in simple trust? I am still drinking that hemlock today, Jamie. You wanted to kill me with it, didn't you? But see the irony, this is what has kept me alive all this time; this is what has inspired me to search for you for centuries. I won't be free until I set you free, my love. You are the nectar of my love, my elixir of love..."

I saw the woman take another sip of the blue liquid from the glass beside her. I had lost the ability to speak. I heard her say, "Come, Jamie, baby, let me give you my last kiss."

She lowered her face to mine, forced my lips apart, and poured that poison—Rukmini's "elixir of love"—from her own mouth into mine. I felt my chest burn, and I couldn't bear it. I let out a monstrous scream, pushed the woman away, and in that state, I stumbled out of the room. I have no idea how I got out of that cursed fort, bumping into things in the dark.

After spending a month in the hospital, I was finally released. I had been found naked and unconscious on a mountain road near Mahendragarh. My body had turned blue from poisoning. At the hospital, doctors had to pump the poison out of my alimentary canal. I was unconscious for three straight days. The locals claimed that the evening before, I had started walking toward the Mahendragarh Fort, ignoring everyone's pleas, and was talking to the air like a madman as I walked. Even after regaining consciousness in the hospital, I was supposedly delirious. I kept asking about a woman named Aditi Munshi.

Back in Kolkata, Smita, ignoring all my protests, took me to a psychiatrist.

I tried to explain the events that transpired with Aditi Munshi to the psychiatrist, Dr. Sen, time and again, but I couldn't get through to him. In fact, the more I tried to explain, the crazier everyone thought I was.

I couldn't provide any proof for my story. I contacted Neutron Publications and learned that they had never published a book by a writer named Aditi Munshi. The book "Beyond the Veil," which I had bought from Amazon, simply did not exist. There was no record of the purchase on Amazon. Even though I had carefully placed the book in my bedroom bookshelf before leaving for Udaipur, it was gone when I returned. I checked with the Hotel Astor and discovered that there was no booking under Aditi Munshi's name. I had been alone on the flight from Kolkata to Udaipur.

Sucharita was the first person who had told me about Aditi Munshi after she returned from Mahendragarh. When I brought it up, she completely denied it. She claimed we had never had such a conversation.

Smita, my live-in partner, also dismissed the entire incident as a figment of my imagination. I had opened the book package in front of her. I had had several discussions with her about the theory of the supernatural and otherworldly. Yet, in front of Dr. Sen, Smita claimed that nothing of the sort had ever happened.

And so, I, Dr. Rohan Chatterjee, have given up. There's no point in trying to make anyone understand. I will live the rest of my life with the memory of that extraordinary woman, Aditi Munshi—or was it Queen Rukmini? To keep her memory alive, the dark blue tattoo on my right wrist is enough. On that night, my dream nymph left that tattoo with a deep bite of love, a mark I can never erase in this lifetime.

The tattoo on my hand bears an English name: James Murphy Austin.

 

Mumbai October 9, 2024