I landed in Jaipur; my mind was a storm of energy and reckless resolve. What I was about to do was absurd, almost cinematic-like, the climax of an Indian movie where the hero ventures into the villain’s fortress to rescue the love of his life. Only, I wasn’t a hero. I was a coward pretending to be brave, banking on adrenaline and a desperate sense of justice.
It wasn’t that I thought life would be impossible without her. I knew it wasn’t. Life moves on, relentlessly indifferent to personal catastrophes. But there was something I couldn’t stomach—a defeat, an unceremonious erasure of everything we had built in quiet defiance of norms and expectations. This wasn’t about winning her but not losing what we had. At least not losing it without trying.
Checking into a nondescript hotel in the heart of Jaipur, I set my plan into motion. The plan was simple: lean on the one person I trusted in this city—our mutual friend—to arrange a meeting. I called her: “I’ll drop by Smitakashi’s office tomorrow. Please give me the details.”
But life, as always, threw a curveball. The friend’s response was swift and disheartening: “She left the job three months ago. She’s at home now, and with the marriage preparations underway, she cannot step out without a friend or relative keeping her company. Her parents are aware of you and her love.”
Marriage preparations. The phrase felt heavier than any mountain. I’d always known this was inevitable if I didn’t act, but hearing it shifted the ground beneath me. Going to her home was not an option. Her family’s political clout was legendary—an MLA for a father, an MP for an uncle. Power flowed through their veins, and I was an outsider who dared to dream- dream with their daughter.
Giving up was not an option either. I had many times taken the easy way out in life, and avoided conflict and physical fights. However, here was a situation that demanded courage. I played on a sense of her friendship and urgency. “tell her that if she does not meet me by the day after tomorrow, I’ll come to her house. Whatever happens will be on her.”
It was a gamble, a reckless bluff that only desperation could justify. To my surprise, it worked. A message came back through the friend: “She’ll meet you on the day after tomorrow.”
The next 48 hours were a blur of restlessness and strange thoughts. I paced my tiny hotel room, haunted by vivid scenarios alternating between hope and disaster. Would she come? If she did come, what would I do? What would she say? Would she tell me it was too late, that this was a mistake? Or would she ask me to fight harder, and would she take one last leap of faith with me?
Sleep, when it came, was fractured and chaotic, filled with disjointed dreams. In one, I was storming her family mansion, breaking down doors and fighting off imaginary enemies. In another, she was walking away, her back a silhouette against a setting sun, unreachable and untouchable.
The coward in me constantly whispered: Stay hidden. Don’t make a scene. It’s over.
I hated that voice, but I also agreed with it. The practical side of me saw the futility of my mission. What could I do against the weight of tradition, politics, and familial expectations? I wasn’t a knight in shining armour but a mere mortal out of his depth.
And yet, I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let her go.
I imagined her at home, surrounded by the suffocating weight of her family’s collective will. She must have spoken about me and tried to argue her case. But voices like hers—small, dissenting, and inconvenient—rarely carried far in the vast ocean of tradition and duty.
So I waited in silence, with only her thoughts for company. I dared not tell anyone I was in Jaipur. The fewer people who knew, the safer I was. I told myself it was strategic, but deep down, I knew it was fear—fear of confrontation, fear of losing, fear of a life without her.
As the third day approached, each hour dragged slower than the last. I clung to the hope that she would come, that we would find a way, however impossible it seemed. But as much as hope flickered, a darker certainty loomed: I was likely to fail.
And yet, even in that certainty, I resolved to keep going. Because sometimes, even a coward must dare.
To know what happened to the coward and his daring act, wait for the next chapter. #OneChapterEveryWeek of the story with an undisclosed destination. You can subscribe if you don’t want to miss the chapter.
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This story with an undisclosed destination started as part of the @BlogChatter event #BlogChatterBlogHop, where I started weaving a story based on the weekly word prompts suggested by BlogChatter. However, after the 5th weekly prompt- Blogchatter took a break, but I continued to develop the story based on the prompts friends and readers suggested on social media. I would appreciate it if you suggested some word prompts for the next chapter, as, from Chapter 22, I am writing freely without a prompt constraint. And if you want ( which I wish you do), read the whole story- here are the rest of the chapters. https://sanjeevkotnala.com/category/story-undisclosed-destination/ and to start the first chapter – Rainy evening in a resort at Mukhteshwar
