‘Do you usually reject people’s requests on whim or do you give them a thought?’ Harsh managed to croak. In response, she simply walked away – as Harsh stared at the curve of her back and the roundness of her hip. He wanted to steal her away and wipe every drop of water clinging to her body. He turned away from the bewitching form.

It was time for him to leave the ghats, or he knew he was going to die here.

He saw her standing in a hidden corner. A spot was reserved for her at the evening arti. She wore loose pants in beige colour and a white kurta. Her hair looked freshly washed; she had left it loose. Like a dawn petal, there was not a hint of makeup on her scrubbed face. Harsh gaped at her profile while she was engrossed in the arti that was going to start any minute.

Despite himself, Harsh went and stood next to her. She did not move. She stared on. Standing side by side, Harsh took in the massive crowd that had gathered to catch a glimpse of the arti on this winter evening. Some stood on the ghat steps, many perched on the rooftops and some negotiated with the boatowners. Perhaps he could take Rajjo in a boat and make her see the ghats. The thought made him smile.

The arti was elaborately carried out on seven wooden platforms. Seven young priests clad in silk off-white clothing performed the pooja.

Despite the spectacle unfolding in front of him, Harsh could not get the beguiling image of her draped in wet clothes out of his mind. She was taking over his senses. He needed to leave soon. Getting involved was going to be dangerous. She was not the sweet naïve girl he had kissed long time back. But the longer he stayed, the urge to taste her lips increased.

Harsh dragged his thoughts away from her to look at the young priests perform the pooja in a completely synchronized fashion almost like it had been choreographed to perfection.

He could hear the chanting of hymns and prayers. He reminded himself that she was a dangerous and a powerful woman now who was being wooed by political parties for support. She was shrewd and cunning. She was ruthless. Suddenly she leaned towards him and whispered, ‘Politician…’

Her one word jolted his senses. The way she said it, made him feel that she knew. She knew how he hated being one. He was at the cusp of taking over the party reigns and it felt like the noose around his neck tightening. He was never going to be ready. He wanted to be an artist. He wanted to fly.

He replied back in a gruff tone, ‘Godwoman.’

The urge to turn her in his arms and ravage her was overwhelming.