Sikander, Don't Die

chapter thirteen: the home-breaker

It was an excellent art– the skill to smile when the heart was screaming. Being a man always under public scrutiny and judgmental stares, Hridayank learnt how to be sweet. So sweet that it turned him bitter inside. 

Most of the palace dwellers knew about Roshanak's pregnancy by now. There was to be a formal declaration soon. Sikander was happy and taking good care of Roshanak. Fish, that used to be her favourite, was now prohibited in the kitchen because she could not stand the smell of it.

Sikander had forgotten that Hridayank still loved fish.

Sometimes he wondered if he was just an ungrateful man. He had so much– he was the second strongest man of the world, one whose every word (well, almost every word) the Shah listened to. The one who could rebuke the Shah, yet had his affections. He was where a politician would dream to be at the age of fifty and with greying hair. He achieved it in his tender thirties. In comparison to that, Roshanak would have to meet more criticism because of her heritage. She would be measured in value of the number of children, specifically boys, she provided. She would be admired for her perseverance to survive as a woman in a game which men played.

It was tougher for Roshanak, way tougher. To live as a woman often meant to not have the right to make a choice. Roshanak didn't choose to marry Sikander. Neither did she plan to get pregnant by a man she didn't love.

A needle pricked his heart. Did she really not love him? One day she would, definitely. It was inevitable. Sikander was always so sweet and kind to her. Why would a woman not fall for him?

Sikander used to be very bubbly and bright back in the olden days when they were in Greece. Persia had moulded Sikander into a Shah so much that the latter became his whole identity. Sikander became a forgotten name, almost extinct.

Hridayank was losing on Sikander. He still loved the Shah, but it wasn't the man he expected to live a whole life with.

"Is it even wise to imagine two men being together? I can never take the place of a queen. I will always be a man– a brute, a cold-hearted beast. I am made to execute plots and scheme against the Shah's enemies."

I am not made to warm up his bed. I am not made to embrace anyone's heart, even if my name says it's my fate. Or perhaps, I am here to give, but not expect.

Nothing to have in return.

"Can I come and talk to you?"

Ah, you will live long, Roshanak. She came just in time, when he was thinking about her. "The garden feels lonely with no one around. Come, give me company." He shifted to make space for her to sit beneath the shade of the tree. "Do you need help?"

"I am just a month old. Help me when I am round and fat."

It brought a smile to his face. She was cheerful most of these days. There was something about her that reminded Hridayank of a little sister that he never had– someone who would irk him, demand unnecessary gifts and throw tantrums. Roshanak was opposite to it all and was very sensitive. It made her an even better candidate for sisterhood.

He had seen her around other men. She would curl up and keep her guard like a queen should. But with him, she loosened, like in the safety of a cocoon. Hridayank didn't know what he did to deserve such acceptance from her, the wife of his beloved.

It was a messy triangle.

"I know you love fish. I have asked the cooks to bring some for you secretly." Roshanak placed her palm over his. "They will send them to your room every night."

Mouth agape, Hridayank stared down at her hand. When Sikander would touch him, he would feel a sizzling fire crackling in his core, burning everything that came in its way. It had a cavernous longing as vast as the cosmos. While when Roshanak touched him, he was reminded of his mother, of the servant girls giggling amongst themselves, of astute old ladies with wrinkles. There was an uncanny warmth, goosebumps skittering on his skin. In front of Sikander he had to pretend to be strong so often that it would ultimately lead to a breakdown. With Roshanak, there was no barrier. No pretence.