After more than three decades, the thought of Jaipur still tightened something inside me, like a phantom grip around my chest. I had managed to avoid the city with the stubbornness of a man unwilling to reopen old wounds. Jaipur wasn’t just a city to me; it was a battlefield of love, betrayal, and loss. Veerali Industries—built as a monument to my past, to her—was thriving, and I was content being the elusive, distant figure behind its success. At 55, life as a single man suited me. A few fleeting relationships had peppered the years, but I hadn’t let anyone close enough to matter.
And then came Smitakshi. BACK TO RECENT TIMES
As you know, I first met her on a trip to Mukteshwar. Something about her—her sharp wit, sense of purpose, and, strangely enough, her eyes—felt oddly familiar. That initial meeting turned into a short, spontaneous trip to Lansdowne, where her curiosity and questions had unsettled something deep within me. She reminded me of someone I couldn’t place or I didn’t want to acknowledge.
Smitakshi had asked me then if I had ever faced moments I couldn’t forget and leave behind. I had avoided her probing questions with vague smiles, unwilling to share the story of a love that ended in gunfire and blood—a Goodbye that had splintered my soul.
Back then, I didn’t think much of her probing questions. But life, it seems, has a sense of irony. Months later, I walked into a conference room at Veerali Industries, ready to address a new team of recruits, only to find Smitakshi sitting among them.
She smiled in recognition while I stood frozen, staring at her as though fate had played its cruellest joke yet. What was she doing here? Out of all the places in the world, how had she landed in my company?
The HR file revealed more than I expected. Smitakshi hailed from Jaipur. Her father was an MP from the city—a man whose name brought back waves of anger and grief. He was the very man I had always blamed for the events that led to Veerali’s death.
But it was her mother’s name in the file that genuinely made my heart skip. Veerali.
It wasn’t a common name. The coincidence gnawed at me. And there was no “Late” prefixed to her name. Was she alive? Could it be her? Could my Veerali have survived that blood-soaked day in Jaipur?
I had seen her fall, heard the crack of gunfire, and later read about her death in the newspapers. The report had been deliberately vague, withholding names, but I had no doubt back then. Veerali—my Veerali—was gone. Or so I had believed.
I tried to distance myself from Smitakshi at work, wary of the emotions her presence stirred in me. But she sought me out during a team meeting, and her words shook me.
“You may find answers to questions in the past when you find the courage to revisit them with an open mind. Things change but sometimes remain static and hold the keys to our release…. I think you should find answers in Jaipur.”
Her message was simple, but its weight felt insurmountable. Was she merely suggesting closure, or did she know something I didn’t?
For the first time in years, I considered returning to Jaipur. The ghosts of my past had lingered too long, and now they were calling out to me.
I accepted an invitation to speak at a Jaipur conference organised by the Chittosiyas—a name that meant little to me but offered a convenient excuse to return. I told myself it was a professional obligation, but deep down, I knew this trip was about more than business.
As the train rumbled closer to Jaipur, I stared out of the window, watching the landscape blur past. The thought lingered in my mind: Could Veerali be alive? And if she was, what kind of life had she lived all these years?
The city loomed ahead, dusty and timeless. I wasn’t ready for what it might reveal, but it seemed I had no choice but to confront the past I had so desperately tried to bury.
And perhaps find the answers that had eluded me for over thirty years.
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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. Do suggest some word prompts for the next chapter. 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
