Page 267 of A King's Oath

Samarth looked conflicted for a second. Then his head bent, as did hers. Brahmi was standing up, tugging at his finger — “Can we go see Sharan Kaka now?”

He smiled, or tried to. She knew his smiles. They didn’t look like this.

“He is asleep, and in a special room. Kids can’t go there.”

“But I want to go.”

“You can’t,” Samarth bent on his haunches, gathering her close. “But hey, here’s an idea. I will go in and take a quick picture of his face for you. He is snoring very loudly, so let’s skip a video.”

“I want to hear him snoring.”

Samarth swallowed — “Yeah but then he will wake up and fight with me — ‘Why did you let Brahmi see me snoring?’ What will I say then?”

She twisted her mouth, then her nose — the latter was a sign that she saw through this bluff. But she nodded. Avantika had never felt prouder of Brahmi than she had then. She was a vivacious, wild child. But with Samarth, and now with this accident of Sharan’s, there was something very brave… or fearless beginning to show in her. Maybe it was the blood in her veins, maybe the spirit of Samarth that was reflecting in her…

“Can you tell him I really like him, Papa?” Brahmi asked. “And that I am waiting for him to wake up.”

Samarth kissed her nose and was beginning to squeeze her in when footsteps echoed in the empty alley. Avantika glanced up and a tall, massive man was striding down, his wife beside him, Harsh and another old man behind them. Avantika blinked and realised it was an older version of Samarth — his father. Not as massive in build but his presence swallowed up the space around him.

His eyes first caught sight of his son, then stuttered, then went to Brahmi. And his footsteps slowed. Avantika held her breath. A momentary pause. And then his feet ate up the distance in double the time, the woman beside him struggling to keep up. She was in a saree, while he was in a white kurta-pyjama — his staple, as Samarth had told her years ago. It looked like they hadrushed out of their palace after the first call Samarth had made and flown in their jet in the clothes on their back.

“Papa,” Samarth rose to his feet. “Rajmata.”

“What’s the prognosis?” His father asked, his eyes constantly vacillating to Brahmi.

“There’s a fracture in his upper arm and suspected nerve damage. They are waiting for him to wake up.”

“He still hasn’t woken up?” His father’s seamlessly straight face creased. The beard he wore suddenly looked tensed.

“No,” Samarth answered and Avantika saw how strained that word sounded. His eyes darted to the woman beside his father and lowered. That’s when Avantika took a good look at the woman — the whacko who had destroyed a brilliant boy’s life. In a simple orange and cream leheriya saree, her hair in a loose bun, no makeup, she looked like just another middle-aged woman. Avantika knew better.

His father gave a nod over his shoulder at the man behind him, presumably the doctor.

“I’ll take a look, Bade Rawal. Rawal, aagya,” he folded his hands to Samarth, whose stance immediately changed. From a polo player, he became king. That switch was instant, Avantika observed. His chest went taut, his shoulders straight, his face cleared of all remnants of emotion.

“Dr. Das is looking at the case. Harsh?”

His commands were also short statements and words. Bursts. Avantika gaped as Harsh led their family doctor towards the ICU.

“Is this Brahmi?”

Avantika’s head whirled to that deep voice, Samarth’s father’s voice.

“Papa, I wanted to introduce you under better conditions…”

His father’s tense face broke into a small smile, his eyes darting back to Brahmi — “Seeing my granddaughter is always a better condition.”

In a surprising move, he bent on one knee, coming eye to eye with her. Brahmi’s eyes were wide, mouth sealed tight. Avantika wanted to grab her and take her home, away from so much confusion. New people, people she had never heard about, suddenly announced as family. She tried to catch Samarth’s gaze to check his reaction but his eyes were turned to the whacko, some silent conversation on. When had they become chummy?

“Hi,” Samarth’s father held his hand open to Brahmi. “I hear you are my Samarth’s daughter and ride better than him?”

Brahmi blinked. And then her face split into a shy smile. She pushed her face into Samarth’s hip but her hand, slowly and steadily, raised and fell into his father’s. His big hand closed gently around hers.

“Is it true?” He pushed, his gaze suddenly playful. Brahmi left her father’s shelter and met her grandfather’s eyes with the unconcealed pride that she carried everywhere she walked.

“It’s true.”

“Samarth is lucky to have you,” he smiled, bringing the back of her hand to his mouth and leaving a gentle kiss. Brahmi’s face lit up. A compliment and a princess kiss? She was sold.

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