~"A love, as high as the mountains climb, as deep as the oceans dive,
An eternal vow we pledge, for as long as we live"

~Chinese translation~

Swara smiled to herself, gently, in her sleep. This was the best moment of her day, or rather night. It was her happiest moment, had been for every night of hers, for the past six months. If someone had asked her what was her happiest moment or moments, a few months ago, she would have simply smiled and given an answer which was more aimed to satisfying the questioner rather than being the absolute truth. But then, those times she was not where she was now, so they were not very false either.

Her life had changed almost a year ago, when she had married Sanskaar Ram Prasad Maheshwari, the scion of the Maheshwari Industries. The match had been determined by their families and though they had known each other for two years before they had married, they really did not love each other. Her marriage saw a series of changes, some not very welcome, some surprising and still others that left her in awe.

The first thing to change was her lifestyle, her mother in law, Sujata Maheshwari was far more liberal thinking that her parents had been; her parents had instilled a few strong traditional values and one was regarding the mangalsutra she had to wear. Swara had no problems with that rule, though she preferred one made of a slim gold chain and tiny beads with a small diamond pendant, the chain was of such a length that the pendant gently rested in the hollow of her neck. She would also apply a tiny dab of sindoor in the parting of her hair that was only faintly visible. As none in either of her families seemed to notice it nor did they raise any objections; in fact, Sanskaar remarked that he liked the understated look of the elegant mangalsutra and the tiny dab of sindoor, so she felt it was appropriate and acceptable.

But a couple of months later, when Laksh and Ragini got married, Swara had her doubts. Ragini would streak her entire hair parting with a thick line of scarlet and wore a mangalsutra that was made up of nine rows of black beads and sported a solid gold pendant, which to a sarcastic mind would give rise to a suspicion that it was actually a small idol. Sujata had appreciated Ragini's appearance too, and that had increased the doubts in Swara and after a month, she hesitantly questioned her mother in law.

Swara discovered how liberal Sujata was in her firm answer.

Sujata had thought for a few minutes and then answered, "it is your choice, Swara, whether you choose to wear the mangalsutra and sindoor, even when and how to wear it, I do not wear either, for I believe that I need no symbols to prove to the world that I am Ram's wife and he is secure in the fact that I love him, he does not need those symbols either. Neither me, nor your father in law will care and believe me, neither do my sons. Ragini wears a very visible streak of sindoor and a heavy mangalsutra because she likes to do so. So you alone, Swara, get to decide for yourself; what, how and when you wear the sindoor and mangalsutra."

It had left Swara in tears and awe for her mother in law.

Then came the adjustment with Ragini; Ragini was a homemaker, which again caused guilt in Swara, for she felt she was shirking her duties by not helping out in the kitchen and she would try to make time for that, which only led to unpleasant results.

For this time round, a visibly upset Ragini confronted Swara and cried, "Swara, do you think I am a bad cook or is it that you do not like my cooking? I have always been told that I am a great cook and actually would have made a great chef too. And do you also think I cannot manage this house?"

At Swara's bewildered face, Ragini toned down her voice but allowed those tears to fall even as she continued, "it is just you insist on helping me out in making breakfast and the preparations for lunch and dinner. Instead of allowing me to do some of the household tasks, you insist the staff take care of it. I can see how flustered you get when you do that, most of the days you are late for work, the phone is stuck to your ear and I worry that you would end up hurting your shoulder. I did try to tell you that I can manage but you sort of brush me off and lately I am suspecting that you do not like my cooking. It disturbs me a lot so I thought I would talk to you."

Swara listened to Ragini's outburst in surprise and chagrin, she had immediately realised her blunder, in her efforts to be helpful, she had forgotten the cardinal rule she had been taught, to confirm if her help or inference was needed. When she caught sight of Ragini's tears she knew that she had blundered badly and rushed to reassure her, "Ragini, I am sorry, it was my selfishness, I was so worried that you would be burdened and yes, a small part of me did feel that maybe I too should be an 'equal' daughter in law, so I ended up in the kitchen. But thank you for letting me know, from now on, I will not step into the kitchen and since I have to make up to you, I will do something."

At Swara's words, Ragini stopped crying but continued to look worried though Swara beamed, "I will give you a list of my favourites and you will cook them for me at regular intervals. Not only that, everyday; you will prepare and pack a lunch for me, which I can carry to office and show off what a great cook my devrani is, though there is only one problem with it, once my colleagues taste my lunch, I doubt if I would have a morsel left to eat." The smile that lit up Ragini's face brightened Swara's life too, giving rise to many pleasant moments.

But the changes in her relationship with Sanskaar, they were the happy ones.

Her first happy moment came within a few hours of her marriage. Soon after the ceremony was over, which witnessed both her personal promise to herself and the public vows, her Dadi led her to Sanskaar's bedroom, which from that moment would be hers too. As she had thought, it was decorated in overflowing abundance of flowers and though everything that was expected of her was drilled into her head, her Dadi did not leave anything to chance. In accordance to her Dadi's explicit vocal instructions, Swara sat, with her knees drawn up to her chin, in the centre of the gigantic bed, which was covered in inches of rose petals and then her Dadi spread her voluminous ghaghra into a perfect circle around her. And while her Dadi rearranged all the flowers, she kept a volley of instructions, "sit with knees, thighs, ankles and feet together, and do not think is not possible, it is very much so. Keep your palms lightly on your knees, back straight, neck bent forward slightly, breath slowly and wait patiently for your husband to come to you. And then once he comes,.."

"Dadi, you have already told me what will happen and though I am nervous, I remember everything and do not worry I will not let you down. But please, can you spare me the rest of the instructions?"

To her utter relief, her Dadi simply nodded and before placing the veil over her face, whispered a few words of assurance and slipped out of the room, leaving Swara alone, who then worked herself into a frenzy that left her slightly nauseous and highly apprehensive with each passing minute. And when she heard the door open and Sanskaar entered, she was almost a nervous wreck, despite her personal promise to love him she was simply not prepared for any physical intimacy.

But she was in for a surprise; Sanskaar made no move to come close, rather, he appeared to be looking at a place to sit. It seemed that he decided that the couch too was far to carry out a low conversation and the small glass table had a plethora of foodstuffs on it, so he plopped himself on the ground near the bed and slowly said, "Swara, I have a confession to make."

And as though he could see her flinch, he said, "Actually it is a request and it is slightly difficult for me to say it out, so would you give a patient hearing?" Astounded, Swara disregarded her Dadi's instructions and drew the veil from her face so as to get a better look at Sanskaar, her morbid apprehension giving way to sheer curiosity. He was sitting crossed legged on the ground and was fiddling with a gift wrapped box in his hands, his attention on the ribbons of the package.

Feeling her eyes on him, he looked up and said, "Well, I will say what I have to say and I trust that you will be equally truthful in your responses." When she nodded her acquiescence, he continued, "I know that we have known each other for over two years and can safely call each other friends, but I am not too sure of whether we are prepared for a marital relationship. Personally, I would like to give ourselves some time to develop some affection and then..."

Swara did not allow him to continue further, she could not believe her prayers could be answered so quickly and as she could also see the effort Sanskaar was putting in to express himself, she wanted to spare him the embarrassment of putting everything into words. She smiled and said a simple thank you, putting in all her gratitude and understanding in those two words. And as though he understood, he held out the package for her, which she took and appeared rather surprised when she saw the contents.

He smiled and said, "I think we think quite alike in some respects and now that the filmy process of divesting you off those tons of clothing and jewellery is not on the agenda, I am sure that it would be impossible to sleep in them. And I have a suspicion that your Dadi would not have allowed you bring any pyjamas to sleep in. So that is my gift to you. Go, have a shower, remove that make up and change while I transform this room to the bedroom it should be from the florist store that it now looks like."

As she heard him, her insides which had been roiling all the while slowly uncoiled and she felt a strange constriction in her heart. And when she stepped out of the washroom, clean and refreshed, it was to a neat and airy bedroom; gone were all the flowers, those offending foodstuffs and the strong fragrant candles. But when she saw that Sanskaar was preparing to sleep on the couch, she was aghast and protested, "Sanskaar, the bed is an emperor one, it looks like a mini football field, I am sure we can both can sleep on it without..." she pondered on what the best way she could put it and finally blurted, "crossing the line of maryada."

When Sanskaar burst into joyous laughter at her words, the constriction in her heart changed to a flutter and she knew what it meant, it was the first fluttering of silken wings of love, the first rising breath of the winds of love, which would soon sweep through her heart and soul.

And that consciousness was her happy moment.

Her relationship with Sanskaar progressed from comfortable friendship to close confidants quite quickly, it was not that they did not argue or have their disagreements, but soon realised when each had to quit. And as their camaraderie grew, their self- imposed barriers starting crumbling; from holding hands to hugs to soft gentle kisses, it was a gradual awakening for Swara till she realised that she could wait no longer. Four months after their wedding, she confronted Sanskaar.

If he seemed startled to see a bold avatar of Swara who was draped in silken nightdress rather than her usual flannel pyjamas and which left nothing to imagination, he hid it well. But his apparent indifference to her seductive avatar did not go well with her, especially when he just planted a careless kiss on her lips. She had carefully planned it, hoping he would take a hint and make a move but his reaction had left her angry and bemused. At her wits' end, she flung her arms around his neck and murmured, "I do not want to wait anymore, I am quite ready and I know you are too. So you have two options, either you take me now or I will ravish you."

It was only when she saw his eyes crinkle with laughter, did she realise what she had blurted out. But before she had a chance to recant her words, he bent down and slowly claimed her lips, in a kiss that was different from all the kisses he had given her in the past few months. It was gentle and started a tingle in her skin, a tingle that grew to a mellow tinder, a slow kindling that set her on fire. It seared her skin and singed her nerves till she melted into him. And when he broke the kiss to whisper in her ears that he loved her too; that was her happier moment.

Their gentle exploration and the cautious submission to each other, tinged with the unfamiliarity of the other's bodies led to a hesitant lovemaking, and though it left Swara warm and tingling, it was not her happiest moment. The second time when Swara insisted, or rather timidly asserted her right to ravish him, it was slower and they were surer of each other. Nor was this a claimant to being her happiest moment. Finally in the early light of dawn, when it was a mutual surrender and claiming of each other, a slow languorous lovemaking, it had left her literally on fire and glowing.

Yet that was not her happiest moment.

It would come later and on a consistent basis.

It would be every night, at the dead of the night, when scientifically it is known that the brain displays heightened activity but most muscles are paralysed; it was in that moment of contradiction that Sanskaar would roll over, pull Swara into his arms and spoon himself around her. If they were already sleeping spooned against each other, he would pull her towards himself a little harder, as though he grudged even the infinitesimal distance between them. That act of his, in his deepest sleep, when he was unconscious to the whole world and yet within his sub-consciousness of his, he would reach out for her; it was more potent than any heady declaration of love that he could make to her. 

Swara was a light sleeper and always woke at this point; she would allow the warmth of his body to seep into her, slip her slim fingers between his strong lean ones, wait for his hand to tighten his hold and then snuggle further into his body as though hoping to subsume herself so much that she might disappear into him.

That instant was her happiest moment, every night of hers.

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Sanskaar would have a different answer to that question; he was a deep sleeper and was never aware of his nocturnal actions, for Swara never wised him up on them. That was her secret, she felt. But what made Sanskaar happy, the one that was his happiest moment; it came at dawn, every day. It was to wake up to behold his wife gazing at him.

Both were early risers and once Swara would feel Sanskaar stirring, she would slowly push him on his back and roll herself partly over him. She would then place her palms on his chest and rest her chin on his; her lips just a whisper away from his and their breaths mingling. Thus would Sanskaar open his eyes to look at his wife gaze adoringly at him. He could never cease wondering as to what exactly made Swara love him so completely and irrevocably but when he looked into her eyes, he could see up to the depths of her very soul and they held nothing but love for him.

At that instant, everything faded and he was only conscious of one desire, of drowning in those eyes of hers, of staying in her arms for the rest of his life.

That moment when he opened his eyes to behold his lovely wife; that was Sanskaar's daily moment of happiness.

But such happy lovely moments of a love that lived in accordance with the eternal vow that the lovers had pledged to each other, does attract attention and one fine day the twin sisters, Destiny and Fate, decided to test the lovers, once again.

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The day had begun innocently enough and the courier who delivered the package had no idea of the storm it would raise. Nor did Ragini think anything about it; she took the delivery and noting that it was for Swara, had the staff place it in her room. Nor did Sanskaar spare more than a cursory glance at it, for he would never even think of opening any mail or package that came for Swara. Swara, however, had a mild shock when she noted the return address; it was from the guest house at Labing, a village she had stayed for a couple of days, more than four years ago. It was also the place where she thought she had lost her heart to a stranger, whose face she had hardly seen in the five minutes she had spent in his company and whom she could now no longer recall.

She stuffed the package into her bedside drawer, not wanting to see any reminder of those days.

It took her a week to finally open the package, Sanskaar was away on a tour and she realised that she could see the contents without having to hide either the package and its contents or her reactions from Sanskaar. She opened it with shaking fingers and was shocked to behold a beautiful scarf, the traditional Tibetian Khata, one that she had designed and then left it behind.

The scarf was of heavy soft silk, a generous length of two and a half metres, and was about half a metre wide, woven in resplendent earthy red, the colour of the robes of the Buddhist monks. In accordance with traditions, Swara had also had the eight auspicious symbols of Buddhism woven through, in rows of three motifs each. Once it had been finished, she had liked it, though had felt that the scarf was a tad antiquated and might not appeal to the modern fashion trends. In a bid to jazz it up, she had a row of tassels, another traditional item of the Tibetan Buddhists, each in the five prevalent colours, added across either ends of the scarf. Though purists had frowned upon this addition, most agreed that it actually lent elegance to what would otherwise be a staid piece of cloth.

She had worn the scarf only once and when the photo shoot had been cancelled, all her designs had been discarded, except for the scarf. She had remembered that the grandmother of caretaker of the guesthouse had admired it very much and she gifted the scarf over her vehement protests. The old lady had finally accepted it saying that she would keep in safe custody, till she could return it to Swara as a wedding gift with her blessings. Swara had simply laughed it off, taking those words to be a mere talk.

Now she held that scarf in her hands and felt dread sweep through her. Swara was a person who valued honesty and had always carried a twinge of guilt that she had lied to Sanskaar. It was a very small one and when she had uttered it, it was because she initially only thought about the futility of the truth and had subsequently felt it foolish to admit the truth. She had never expected that destiny would fling it in her face.

She sat for quite some time, gently caressing the silk of the scarf, wondering how she should confess her foolishness to him. She had no one to confide to and was hesitant to ask for advice too, for she knew that most would ask her not to say anything to Sanskaar but Swara was feeling guilty about lying to Sanskaar that she had never been to the north eastern states and of harbouring those stupid dreams for more than three years. Three years of wasted time when she should have simply fallen in love with Sanskaar at first sight. As she fiddled with the folds of the scarf, her heart lurched when she noticed that one of the tassels was missing.

She knew that that scarf had not been opened by that old lady, it had been sent to her with the wrapping intact, which meant that the tassel had been torn before she had gifted it. At that moment Swara felt the dread solidify to mortification when she realised what must have happened and she felt that a tassel in a stranger's hand meant that she had given him a tangible memoir of herself.

She did not want it, for her, it was akin to a betrayal of her vows.

When Sanskaar came back a couple of days later, he did notice the change in Swara almost immediately. He would wake up to find that her gaze, though full of love as before, also held a tinge of guilt, which left him puzzled as he could not fathom the reason for the same.

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Swara took a month to work up the courage she needed to talk to him, hoping that the date of their first anniversary would prove to be propitious for their future life together. In a sort of reversal of their wedding night, Sanskaar found Swara kneeling on the floor near his side of the bed with a packet in her hands. She had not bothered to wrap it and Sanskaar could make out that it was the courier package which had arrived some time ago and was coincidentally the time from which Swara had started behaving withdrawn and guilty.

He had allowed her space though he had not stopped thinking about it, and had finally come to the reluctant conclusion that it must be an unpleasant reminder of something she wanted to forget and that it could mean that she might have had someone in her past.

He walked to the bed and sat in front her. He knew that she would not have a moment's peace till she told everything and if he knew her; she would most probably be classifying a couple of dates as a passionate affair. He wanted to spare her that anguish. After waiting for five minutes for her to speak, a silence which was rent by her tears, he placed a finger below her chin and forced her to look at him, "Swara, I love you, if you ask you how much, I cannot say but it would be safe to know that my love for you is enough, enough to take anything you say in my stride and not be bothered about it. So even if you had rip-roaring affairs with a string of lovers before we got married, I do not care. You are mine, and I am not saying it because we are married, I am saying it because I can see how much you love me now. So I do not care about your past."

His words only caused Swara to break out into loud sobs and she thrust the package into his hands. If he was bewildered at her reaction, when he unwrapped the packed to see a scarf, he was perplexed.

He held the scarf, it was beautiful, as was every creation of Swara's but he could not understand why she seemed to upset about it. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the scarf and continued to ponder over it till he saw the tassels, which was when he got a shock of his life, especially when he noticed that one was missing. He remembered the tassel, how could he ever forget; that bunch of silken coloured threads, those strands that had felt smooth and soft, a tassel that had been a remnant of a foolish dream but one that he had clung to for more than three years. It had taken him three years forget that girl whose eyes had so captivated him and to fall in love with his wife. And now, when he closed his eyes, it would always be Swara's face and her loving gaze that swam before his eyes.

He sat still, trying to fit this new piece of information and was slowly coming to the logical conclusion, when he heard Swara's voice, "I am sorry that I lied to you when you had asked if I had ever been to Sikkim, I had, for two days. It was Labing, a village where we were supposed to do a photo shoot for the traditional Bhutia dresses".

Sanskaar heard her out in silence, his mind still processing her words as Swara told him about how she had met a young handsome Bhutia youth and thought she had lost her heart to him, but knowing that nothing was possible between them had left without saying a word, how she regretted dreaming about a possibility with him and wasting three years before falling in love with Sanskaar.

Sanskaar by now had come to accept that the mountain girl he had lost his heart to was Swara, however improbable it seemed. So when she paused in her narration, he simply asked, "And what did you do with that bunch of pink rhododendrons?"

Swara was crying unashamedly and still refusing to look at him, answered, "When we were getting married, I made up mind to love only you and I would not step into the mandap with any memento. So when Dadi was leading me to the mandap, I crushed those dried flowers and stepped on them..." She suddenly stopped, only two people knew about those flowers, the man who had given them to her and she, who had carried them with her. She had never told anyone about them and even if anyone had seen that dried bouquet in her silk pouch, they could never guess them to be pink rhododendrons. She dismissed that possibility of that youth meeting with Sanskaar and telling him about that brief encounter as being improbable.

She looked up at Sanskaar; and as she realised what it could mean, her lips parted in shock and her eyes went wide with disbelief. If he knew about those pink rhododendrons, it could mean only one thing.

He placed the scarf on the bed, dropped onto his knees before her, cupped her face in his palms and smiled. With his eyes blazing with love for her, he answered all her unspoken questions, "I also carried that image of that mountain girl, whose eyes I fell for when I could see nothing of her face, beyond her tasselled scarf. And I too, made a vow that only my wife would have a right over my heart and soul, so just before she stepped into the mandap, I consigned your missing silk tassel into the havan flames."

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Notes in next part...