That night, as they lay side by side, he took her hand and whispered that he’d rather die than live without her even for a day. As Rajjo lay in his arms she heard his breath, sometimes shallow, sometimes long, sometimes at peace, sometimes disturbed. She lay awake and listened to his breathing in the dark night. Till she heard the thunder outside. Monsoon was announcing its arrival. The sudden mango shower drenched the temples on the riverside and the jasmine-laden courtyards. She wanted to breathe in this shower forever, as she felt the most complete in her life at this moment. She soaked in the tender raindrops till she’d filled her soul with the smell of the pre-monsoon shower. She wanted to remember the scent of crusty dry earth absorbing the grey water. She thanked the heavens for the mango shower that would help her douse the burning flames of her pyre.

Rajjo took in the beautiful dawn. The leaves glistened after the night shower. Standing from the terrace of the Jahangir Mahal, she could see the monuments of Orchha framed against the dawn with the mist gently hovering over them. Beyond the terrace of the Raj Mahal stood the towering Chaturbhuj temple with the Ram Raj Mandir adjacent to it. And in the distant horizon, lay the Laxmi Narayan temple, hardly visible in the mist.

The vultures distracted her as her eyes scanned the remaining montage of monuments, all wrapped in a hazy sheet of white, orange and yellow. It was a sparkling new beginning. Surrounded by Mughal structures, ornamental paintings, intricate trelliswork, lores of romance and loyalty, it seemed that both of them had stepped back in time, into a beautiful era of abundance and romance. It was a town where the walls whispered stories, where paintings revealed a promise, where tales of romance, and mysticism echoed from every monument and breathed life into the ancient mahals and mandirs. It was a perfect place to script the end of her love story.

Harsh came and stood behind her softly, linking his arms around her. ‘You see that beautiful minaret? It’s the Praveen mahal. The guide had a fascinating story about her. How Akbar wanted this beautiful poetess and musician Rai Praveen in his harem against the wishes of the Bundelkhand king. But the witty courtesan spoke her way out of Akbar’s heart and went back to Orchha.’ Harsh whispered teasingly as he kissed her neck and inhaled her scent. ‘If someone was to woo you and take you away from me, you better remember the devotion of the princess!’

Rajjo whispered back, ‘You know what she said to Akbar, that she was not fit for him as only a royal servant or a crow or a dog will like to eat something that has already been tasted and polluted by another.’

Harsh smiled and kissed her some more, ‘You smell of rain…’