After Independence, the royal titles and much of their power had been abolished, but their ancestors had remained embroiled in property disputes and legal and political controversies.
That day, as he watched his father recount their family history clinically with an expressionless face, something fundamental changed for seven-year-old Veer. The unshakeable confidence and sense of invincibility his childhood had endowed him with was cruelly shattered. He felt ripped out of his privileged cocoon and hurled into deep ignominy. He had spent his holidays feeling humiliated and ashamed of his heritage.
A month later it had been time to return to school but Veer had refused to go. His father had summoned him to his study and asked him the reason for his refusal, and Veer had told him he couldn’t face the boys at school who would make fun of him.
His father had sternly told him to behave manfully befitting a ‘Rajput’. Rajputs, he said, faced things head-on and did not run away from them like cowards. His father’s unyielding stance had forced Veer to go back to school and it had been as unpleasant as he had feared. Though he had gradually been accepted by his peers and had made friends, the experience had hardened him and made him tough.
As he grew older he realised an important fact. His father was also ashamed of the legacy he had inherited. And, over the years, his father had begun the process of righting the wrongs committed by their ancestors, cleaning up the dirty deals, giving up property acquired unlawfully and legalising the various family businesses.
As head of such a vast legacy, his father’s life was one big cycle of endless obligations, unending demands and never-ending duties. His distant, formidable father drove himself hard and had little time for his wife and son.
The rest of the family, especially his father’s two younger brothers, hadn’t taken too kindly to his attempts to cleanse the family coffers and tried their best to undermine his efforts. Veer had been aware of his uncles’ vociferous opposition and the underhand tactics they had indulged in. Their actions had put his father under terrible strain and pressure, so much so that it had brought about a major heart attack and caused his father’s untimely demise.
Veer had been in his last year of college in London. He had excelled academically in school and had elected to study law, determined to help his father and ease some of his burden. But his father’s sudden death pushed him to the helm. Veer was anointed the head of the family and at twenty-one years of age was saddled with the weight of his heritage and a heavy load of responsibilities. His uncles tried their utmost to wrest control of the vast, lucrative family holdings by first trying to sweet-talk him into signing some papers and, when that didn’t work, trap him in a web of lies and deceit, slapping fabricated cases against him and dragging him to court.
But Veer worked tirelessly, day and night, with remorseless resolve to consolidate his position and gain complete control. With gritty determination, he completed his degree, managing to fit in his studies within the hectic schedule of college attendance and a slew of court appearances. He was forced to mortgage his ancestral property and most of the family jewellery to meet the financial requirements of running his palaces and paying his employees their salaries because the bank accounts had been frozen. He employed the best legal brains to fight all allegations of dishonesty.
His hard work paid off and, over the next five years, he had erased the stain of being on the wrong side of the law, brought the family business within the legal framework and brought respectability to his name. Thereafter, he had expanded his father’s legacy and created a vast empire with varied interests ranging from property development, portfolio management and owning and running a chain of heritage hotels.
The large extended royal family which had mocked him and scoffed at his efforts now regarded him as the unchallenged supreme head, vied for his attention and begged his presence at their functions. His uncles who had dragged him to court now fawned over him obsequiously and bent over backwards to flatter him.
But though he fulfilled his duties as the head and put up with the never-ending demands on his time, he maintained a frosty distance from people. His childhood had conditioned him to be independent and alone. His bitter experiences after his father’s demise had made him wary and distrustful and snuffed out his capacity for emotion and deep feelings. He preferred being alone and keeping his guard up at all times. Everyone looked up to him and idolised him but their respect was tinged with trepidation and fear.
But this chit of a girl had merrily walked all over his pride and trampled it beneath her treacherous feet.
His mouth tightened and he sat down to wait.
Meethi opened her eyes, feeling disorientated. She found herself lying on a bed, and as her eyes ran through her surroundings they alighted on the grim-faced man sitting in the chair. She sat up with a jerk.
Memory came crashing back. Terror and misery, which were eerily familiar, inundated her. He had found her. He would take her back.
Controlling the sob that swelled in her throat and almost left her mouth, she valiantly tried to silence her anguish.
Veer stood up, dark and menacing. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked grimly.
Meethi lowered her eyes and, her voice a mere husk, replied, ‘I am all right.’
He came towards the bed and held out his hand, adding brusquely, ‘Let us go then.’
Meethi baulked. ‘Where are we going? I don’t want to…’
Veer didn’t bother to reply and gripped her arm to help her stand up. She looked at his implacable face in desperation.
The touch of his hand on her arm sent tremors running through her, and she tried to shake it off, but he tightened his grip and propelled her outside.
Meethi tried to ignore the weakness spreading through her limbs and protested, ‘Please, I don’t want to go anywhere. I… I want to go back to my house.’
Veer said forbiddingly, ‘We certainly are going, but we’ll go to our house.’
She replied tremulously, ‘I won’t go!’
The next instant, he lifted her up effortlessly and strode out of the room, down the corridor and outside, where a car stood waiting, his bodyguard holding the door open.
Meethi tried to struggle but his arms were inflexibly clasped around her body, crushing her to his strong chest. Her breathing became shallow in such close proximity to his body and her heart began beating rapidly. She tried not to notice his lean jaw and the slight stubble which covered it or his aquiline nose, slightly indented in the middle as a result of a childhood brawl. A feeling of dizziness engulfed her as she felt long-buried embers of passion begin to sputter.
She felt light-headed with relief when he placed her inside the car. It had been torture being held so close. She moved to the far end of the seat and tried to still her beating heart.
Veer got in silently.
Meethi wanted to say something but the words died in her throat at Veer’s coldly ferocious look.
She felt cold and scared inside. And tired. Very tired. The relentless pressure of being on the run had taken its toll. She hadn’t had a peaceful night’s sleep since she had fled. Had forgotten what it was to slumber dreamlessly.
She hung her head and tried to control her shaking hands, afraid he would see her weakness. And he would be quick to pounce on it and turn it to his advantage.
Suddenly, the car stopped. Meethi sat stiffly, unsure what to expect.
The chauffeur opened her