But now at this moment he felt alive once more. Because of this Godwoman, who was a mystery to the world! He had stayed away from her when she was young and impressionable. He had withdrawn into a shell as news of his aunt’s fatal illness had reached him. He met his aunt again one last time, just a day before his wedding. He was lost in the quagmire of his entangled relationships but the strange pull towards Rajjo was always there. And then he had to stay away, despite a strong desire to reach out, as she wore the mantle of the formidable Godwoman. Outlandish rumours about her made her more enchanting to Harsh but some instinct of self-preservation had kept him away from her all this while.

However, now that he had met her, the time they had spent apart did not matter. What mattered was that he had to connect with her. He urgently needed to know if her lips tasted like fresh lilies on a graveyard, violent and beautiful.

He came back to the present as she stared at him with an amused look, unabashed. He was not going to look away either. Today she wore another sari with a crimson blouse. She wore a saffron dot on her forehead. She seemed like a tender bride, married to an old groom. A bride who wanted to hide her fresh untouched beauty and look timeworn. He took in her curves, he was happy to just look.

Harsh smiled at her, gazing into her molten eyes, as she stood up and walked towards him purposefully. Harsh was confused, was he supposed to greet her? Before he could sort his confusion out she went past him and started descending the stairs that led to the waters. He just sat there and saw her graceful figure going down. He saw the beautiful feet take one step after the other, as her body went into the water one step at a time. Suddenly she turned to look back at Harsh. The water reached her calves, and then her waist. Harsh, without thinking, followed her. His strong desire wrenched him towards her, like the moon to the waves.

The water was up till her neck. She faced him now, with both of them in neckdeep water, only their eyes talking. Harsh knew she remembered every moment they spent by the river in the village and she blamed him for forgetting. Time stopped, the Ganga swirled around them in a dance of passion, the temple bells rejoiced this moment and then it was gone.

She started walking out of the water and Harsh stopped breathing. He wanted to stare at her. Her sari clung to her like a second skin. She stood there and let the sun play with her skin and body. It caressed her curves, it made Harsh struggle to breathe. His throat was parched.