Come July, a few months after the engagement stunt, Smitakshi finished her graduation and returned to Jaipur. We remained in touch, mainly through her intermittent calls. There was no other way for me to connect with her. These love calls continued until late the following year when another phase of radio silence engulfed us. I became increasingly worried as time lapsed and I had no information. Was there something that made her sacrifice our love? Deep negative thoughts clouded my mind.
Determined to trace her and find the cause of her silence, I returned to college. I discreetly bribed the head clerk to get Smitakshi’s address and the contact details of her friend, who also graduated that year. Armed with this information, I sent a message to her friend, hoping for a reaction and help to keep love. alive
Late one evening, I received the call I had been waiting for. But it was not good news.
Smitakshi’s friend coldly informed me that Smitakashi was getting married the next month, on the 16th. My heart sank, and I shouted into the phone before I could contain myself. I realised I was lashing out at a situation beyond her control, and I quickly regained my composure. This was not Smitakshi’s decision but a political agreement orchestrated by her family.
The man she was set to marry was a known MLA on the cusp of becoming an MP. My heart ached at the thought of her becoming a pawn in this classic melodrama. I couldn’t let my love slip away without a fight. I took a deep breath and declared, “I’m coming to Jaipur soon, tell Simi – she should be willing to run away if the family is so hell bent of marrying her against her wishes.
Her friend remarked that it was Smitaksahi’s decision, too. Though she does not look happy, she is willing to get married. I don’t know why she is doing it, but I will pass on your message.
A few days later, Smitakashi called. Her voice wavered, fear creeping in. She told me, “If you come to Jaipur and try contacting me, it will mean death for both of us.”
The gravity of her words hit me hard, but I pressed on, determined. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll escape together. We can find a way.”
But her response was a simplified version of her love for me. “Your life matters to me more than mine. I may die many deaths in this marriage, but that would mean you will be safe. And that counts.”
Her words echoed in my mind as I decided to land in Jaipur just before her wedding. I convinced myself that love would conquer all, that we would find a way out of this nightmare. As I boarded the train, anticipation mixed with anxiety.
I could hardly believe I was heading into the lion’s den, fully aware of the risks yet unwilling to back down. Smitakshi and I had shared dreams of a future, and I wasn’t about to abandon them now. What is life if dreams are shattered?
Upon arrival in Jaipur, I stepped outside the station, my heart in my mouth, as I realised the seriousness of my intent and what I wanted to do. The city buzzed around me, oblivious to my inner turmoil. I knew I had to act quickly. Before the wedding festivities began, I needed to reach her, share my plan, and urge her to take the leap with me.
I knew this was just the calm before the storm. The reality of the situation loomed ominously on the horizon. Every moment counted. Irrespective of the outcome, the weight of family obligations and societal pressures would crash around us.
With resolve in my heart, I set off to find Smitakshi. If love needs a sacrifice- I was willing to do so.
Little did I know the challenges ahead would test our love in ways we had never anticipated. The unfolding days would ask us to choose between love and duty and life and sacrifice.
I called the common friend and told her where I would be stationed in Jaipur, and I would be holed up in my room – waiting for her. But if Smitaksahi does not come by the 14th– I will gate crash at her wedding. And that is something she cannot stop me from doing. I also told her I had tickets for us to get away from here.
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