Page 225 of A King's Oath

“Stop it! This is my child we are talking about!”

“Ourchild.”

“Saaaam!!!” His head whipped to that happy, giddy sound and he pushed his hand out in time for her to clap it as she galloped past. Like the very wind.

“Slow…” he hollered just as Delacour called out — “Ralentir, Galopine![91]”

He came strolling down the curve of the pen and stopped close to them — “Hey, Sam, you are back. You didn’t pick up a horse for a ride yesterday?”

Samarth opened his mouth to answer but Delacour’s eyes fell to Ava and crinkled — “Bonjour, chérie.” He reached across the fencing and kissed her cheek. A lingering kiss. Her calves stretched, her body went on tiptoes and she kissed his cheek back.

“Bonjour, Vince.”

38. 10-Mark Essay

The drive back to her house was rife with tension. Brahmi, like the day before, had knocked out cold. It was apparently a thing. She would fall asleep right after getting off a horse and saying goodbye to her coach and friends. Samarth glanced at Ava, navigating the same road they had taken yesterday, no care in the world when he was bursting with questions.

What was Vincent Delacour to her? Her daughter’s coach or more? Who kissed their daughter’s coach? Even in France. Were they friends? Was that why Brahmi was enrolled in this particular riding school? The short conversation that had ensued in front of him was platonic, small talk. But then there was a moment at the end, when Ava had gone into the stables to collect Brahmi after her lesson. Delacour had also followed, waving to the kids.

A part of him had wanted to skid inside and stand there like a sentry. The other part was too ashamed to even think about claiming the two girls that he had, forget earned, not even deserved.

“Your car.”

He blinked out of his thoughts, gaping at her. Ava pointed at his window with her chin and he realised she had stopped the car at the gate.

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Please. One hour. Give me one hour with you. Listen. Just listen. If you then don’t want to talk then it’s ok.”

She shook her head. Samarth paused, glanced back at the sleeping little girl, her head lolling to the side, wisps of her hair framing her sweet face. Her lashes were so long that they looked like sooty feathers on her cheek. Samarth felt his heart and his chest and his face contort. Ava was right. He wouldn’t put her through paternal rights and custody battles. Ever. He wouldn’t put Brahmi through that. How defeating it was to be a man of consciousness. He wished in that moment that he had some ruthlessness in him to bulldoze through this, through Ava’s tough shell.

Instead, he took an extra second to memorise Brahmi’s face, to remember as well as to describe to Rajmata. He already had a thread of texts from her he hadn’t opened all day.

Samarth turned in his seat, nodded at Ava — “Thanks for taking me to her riding lessons.”

She unlocked the door and he pushed out, walking to his car. Hers rolled inside the gate. Samarth opened the door of the driver’s seat and settled inside, the heat of its interiors hitting him. He sat there quietly. There was no way he could see ahead from here. He had come on his high horse to ‘win’ them. But was there even a chukker here to ride?

He pushed the start button and turned the wheel just as the wrought iron gate opened. His hand stalled on the steering wheel. Ava came striding out, her hand raised for him to stop. Samarth cut the engine and rushed out — “What happened?”

“You can spend an hour here,” she allowed.

“Seriously?”

“It’s lunchtime. You can eat with us.”

Samarth pushed his keys inside his pocket and quickened his footsteps. She turned and strode inside. He followed, running to catch up.

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Lunch was surprisingly a happy affair. But Brahmi talking up a storm while eating her perfectly round roti cooked by her mother and a simple kadhi with pakora could make any table happy. Samarth noticed how connected she was to her Indian roots. She ate the homely food without a fuss, told him the story that Ava’s mother had told her about Ganpati’s elephant head last evening, then asked him if there was a god with a horse head.

He didn’t know it. But Ava did.

“Hayagriva,” she told their daughter, pushing a spoonful of rice into her plate.

“I don’t want to eat rice…” she whined.

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