“Is the sound of children’s laughter still your favorite sound?”
Why is she asking this of me now? She had his attention though. Nevertheless, he kept to the rolling rhythm of lovemaking as he lifted onto his elbows and studied her serious face. “Yes it is. I have other sounds I love as well, such as your voice and the scrape of my whittling knife shaving wood and Rathore’s hooves racing over packed turf.” Long kiss. “But I can honestly say that children laughing brings a joyful smile to my heart. Very soon it shall be our child eliciting that smile. It will be euphoric, I have no doubt. Thank you, priya, for that gift as well.”
Another consuming kiss followed, George increasing the tempo and perilously close to losing control. He was deliriously unaware that Jharna had more to say. She arched into his skilled fingers, signally for him to carry on. She panted and rode the undulating momentum of his body. Lithe legs wrapped around his waist and slid over the flexing muscles of his rear. Greedily she reciprocated the penetrating kiss. The tide of blissful sensations surged upward on a sheer wave. It was heaven! George plunged his tongue further into her mouth and groaned deep inside his throat.
Harshly she grasped onto his jaw and pushed him away. “George,” she wheezed, “I need to tell you my favorite sound in all the world.”
“Now?”
She smiled at the petulant whine in his voice and rubbed one fingertip over the creases between his perspiring brow. “Yes, now. It is important. You see, before, in Mysore, when you asked me, I was merely teasing you by not answering. It wasn’t a secret what my favorite sound was. It was the song of the shama bird. They were plentiful in my childhood home and nested in the tree outside the window of the sleeping chamber I shared with my sisters. The song reminded me of my home and all that it meant to belong to a family.”
“All right, Jharna. Thank you for sharing that with me.” He honestly did not care at this particular moment and to say he was befuddled would be putting it lightly.
“I am not finished. You see, I have known for a long while now that the song of the shama bird is no longer my favorite sound.”
She circled her fingertips over his face, her own countenance serious as she held his gaze. “It is you, George. When we are here, like this. Loving each other and you express your pleasure with me, with us. The sounds are far sweeter than that of a songbird. They are spontaneous and raw and real.” She swayed upward, George sighing at the sudden rush of scorching heat. “I hear your rapture with every move and know it is felt within your soul because it touches me. And when you attain your peak and relinquish all control, the shouts and cries transport my being to a place higher than the heavens.”
George absorbed every word she said, his body immobile yet pulsing with a fiery passion he had never known. He could form no words to respond to the phenomenal gift she was giving him. Ah, to know such love! He was truly speechless, but what she said next utterly floored him.
“You must understand, priya. It is only you.” She inhaled and laid the tips of her finger onto his lips before continuing. “I loved Kshitij. You know I did. We were happy together and enjoyed each other. I never wanted for more or thought there could be more. Until you. You are the more I desired without knowing it. That is why hearing your love in return, equal with mine for you, is my favorite sound in all the world.”
Thankfully, she did not wait for a reply because he could not have articulated if his life depended upon it. Instead, she hastily pulled him back to her lips, her entire body commencing a furious assault on his senses that overcame his astoundment. Perhaps later he would manage to tell her how profoundly her confession affected him. Later. For the present, he would show her. And if it was sounds of passionate ecstasy she wanted, by God he could manage that!
His last coherent thought as he unleashed the final thread of control was that his fortieth birthday was by far and away the best one ever.
***
January rolled into February, March, and April. The warmer weather of spring in Agra was heavenly and these were the glorious months. Jharna blossomed, her health extraordinary and energy boundless. The typical discomforts of pregnancy, most of which she had suffered to some degree with Nimesh and Sasi, were minimal. The baby grew and was active, and the vestiges of her superstitions were allayed.
George’s joy during those months was incomparable. He was giddy as a sparrow and proud as a peacock, to quote Jharna. “Indeed I am!” was his beaming reply. Never had he imagined the delight to be found in these months of waiting. His professional knowledge of gestation in no way affected the miracle of observing his child’s development. Feeling her kicks and lazy rolls under Jharna’s expanding belly became an obsession. Jharna teased that if she allowed, George would follow her everywhere with his hands on her abdomen. It wasn’t far from the truth. He rarely passed her without reaching out to rub over the visible bump, and when they were sitting stationary, he was right beside her with a hand at the ready. His face that was usually lit with humor and mischief now wore a ridiculous grin that never seemed to fade.
They went to Delhi to accompany Nimesh on his relocation to Agra and to tell of their news in person. Twenty years of age and caught up in his medical studies, Nimesh was distracted but of course he was thrilled for them and excited at the prospect of welcoming another sibling. At seventeen, Sasi was distracted by girls and his ongoing quest to study Indian history, but considered it the most marvelous development of all time. He insisted the baby was female, for no reason other than he wanted a sister, and after weeks of referring to his unborn sibling as “she” or “her” the habit caught on. Neither Jharna nor George had a preference or inclination toward either sex and figured the feminine direction was better than saying “it” or some other vague term.
In March, they welcomed George’s longtime friend Dr. Searc McIntyre, his wife, and their two daughters. The physicians maintained their correspondence but had not crossed paths since George returned from his last visit to England two years prior. It was a wonderful reunion and to George’s delight everyone got along famously. Together the two families embarked on a journey through Mathura and Barsana for the Lath mar Holi spring festival of colors. For nearly a month, they were away from their temporary home in Agra, leisurely weaving through small villages and larger towns dotting the region on a holiday that offered a few medical opportunities but was mostly pure entertainment.
By mid-April they were back in Agra and bid adieu to the McIntyres. George resumed working in the Indian hospital as well as the British hospital under control of the East India Company’s Indian Medical Service. The name “Dr. George Darcy” was well known, his history with the Company and reputation for excellence preceding him wherever he went. After seventeen years, George was used to walking into a medical facility, field office, or even makeshift hospital tent and being instantly recognized. He was rather proud of his fame, but mostly it was nice not to waste precious time in long explanations or testing probations. His roguish, itinerant ways were looked at askance by some, but no one could argue with his professionalism or skill.
Between work and preparing for the birth of their baby, George was never bored. Jharna settled into life as a physician’s mate and soon-to-be mother of an infant. Necessary items were purchased and nursery quarters were decorated. The cradle was made to George’s specifications and then enhanced with designs he carved into the wood himself. George discovered himself reverting to English customs and concerns, one of which he thought he had accepted.
“Marry me, Jharna.”
She looked up from the tiny shoes she was sewing, her startled eyes meeting George’s intense gaze. “Priya, we have discussed this—”
“I know. And I know I promised to accept the situation, and I have, Jharna. I truly have. But that was before this.” He touched her abdomen, the baby jabbing into his palm as if listening and encouraging. “You are my wife in all the ways that truly matter. In here”??
?he placed her hand over his left chest—“and inside the invisible spirit God has given me. I am asking now from a practical standpoint.”
He paused and shook his head slightly. “Not entirely, I will admit. I will never lie to you and say that being married, truly married as in blessed by the Church and God, isn’t something I long for. But in this case, I want to make sure our child is a Darcy legally. I never want her or him to suffer as a result of being a…” He swallowed, unable to say the word. Bastard. It made the gall rise in his throat. In his mind and heart, their child was legitimate. The world would look at it differently and the thought killed him. “Please, just think about it. That is all I am asking for now.”
Jharna said nothing for a long while. Then she nodded. “I will.”
They left the topic there. George could tell she was thinking of his request in the days that followed and that was enough.
A sudden rise in temperature as Jharna entered her last two months dramatically sapped her strength. With waning energy came an increase in irritability. Between the two extremes, George was busy doing all he could to soothe and assist.
“Hoping to catch a breeze?”
“At this point I am actively praying to any god who may take pity upon me, even yours.”
George chuckled, the vibration thrumming across the nape of her neck as he pressed a series of kisses to her damp skin. He encircled her waist, resting both hands over the swell of her belly and placing his chin on her shoulder. For a time they stood silently gazing out the open window. The sun had set hours ago, the crescent moon high above the horizon and stars abundant in the black sky. Unfortunately, the temperature had not dropped appreciably with the sun’s absence. Even if there had been a breeze, it would be a scorching one. Heat sat heavy on the air, making breathing difficult and exertion beyond walking from one shady corner to another an exhausting endeavor.
George was sweating and he wasn’t seven months pregnant!
“I shooed Sasi out of the pool and sent him to bed. I ordered it kept vacant for us and have a tray of fruit and cooled juice being prepared. Come, let me help you cool down.” She nodded, numbly taking his hand and following him out of their bedchamber, down the stairs to the ground level where the bathing pool was located in a walled, private courtyard.
One of the many reasons George had selected this house when they arrived in Agra last autumn was the pool. It was a common feature, the Persian-designed, subterranean bathing chamber or outside pool of stone with fresh water piped from the nearby Yamuna River in this case. The British builders of newer houses in Agra, as well as many other larger cities in India, employed aspects of native architecture, especially those proven to provide relief from the climate that was opposite of that in England.
The brick walls encompassing the courtyard ended above George’s head, square pillars rising another three feet before meeting the domed roof shading the area. Carved arches and colorful mosaic tiles in a simple pattern added an aesthetic pleasantness. The pool was not overly large or deep, but adequate for two people to immerse themselves fully.
Jharna sank into the water with a groan of relief. “If we did not have this here, I am sure I would perish. I would be forced to live in the river. In fact, I think I will stay here for the next two months.”
“As nice as that sounds, you might not like shriveling up into a prune shape.”
“I would be cool. That is all that matters.”
Jharna laid her head onto arms crossed over the stones at the pool’s edge, closed her eyes, and let her body float weightless on the surface of the refreshing water. Their nights in the pool were becoming a routine as the temperature increased in pace with Jharna’s advancing gestation. George grasped each swollen foot with one of his strong hands and commenced a thorough massage from sole to shoulders. It was one of a multitude of ways he could serve her and express his adoration for the gift she was giving him. He had always considered himself an attentive partner, but daily his need to protect and nurture grew. Happily, he did all that he could to ease her burden so that together they could share in the miracle. The result was a swelling within his soul that could not be explained and an evolution in their intimate relationship, one area he thought impossible to improve upon.
George kneaded her muscles until the last knot of tension disappeared. Sliding his hands over her arms, he gently tugged her off the pool’s edge and pulled her onto his lap, his hands immediately spread over the rounded ball of her abdomen where their baby lived. Jharna’s head fell back onto his shoulder as she bonelessly relaxed into his embrace. She was smiling up at him, her eyes dark in the dim illumination from the four smoking torches in each corner. He gave her a glancing kiss and with a shove of one foot sent them into a lazy glide backward.
“She is quiet tonight,” he whispered.
“Earlier she was dancing the odissi. No wonder she desires rest. Or perhaps she is as hot and miserable as her mother.”
“Her nest is a perfect thermal environment. I wish I could arrange the same for you, love. Only six, maybe seven weeks more, if my calculations are accurate.”
Jharna closed her eyes. “It sounds like an eternity,” she whined.
“I should have foreseen your discomfort and moved us back to Junnar.”
“It is hot there as well, so I would be complaining as vigorously.” She patted his cheek with a wet hand. “Forgive my peevishness. It is unfair for me to unload my childish temper upon you, priya.”
George cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over her ultra-sensitive nipples. Her appreciative gasp was encouraging so he continued the erotic play, his mouth adding a sensual assault to her neck. “For better, for worse, and all that,” he murmured. “I shall buck up and handle it somehow.”
She smiled at his dramatic sigh and shivered at his breath dancing down her moist skin. “We have yet to make those vows, remember?”
“I did, while you weren’t looking. You must have made them too because you tolerate me.”
“Yes, you are tough to endure at times.”
“I misbehave on purpose so that you will better appreciate me when I am wonderful. Is it working?”
“Apparently so, since I think you are wonderful a good portion of the time.”
“Very sweet. Now you have gone and swelled my head even more than it already is. Be warned of the monster you create with such praise!”
“A game of chess will humble you.”
“True. Tomorrow, lets plan for that. Tonight, I would rather you carry on with the ‘George is wonderful’ accolades and if that involves high praise for my virility, stamina, and virtuoso performance at loving you, I will accept that as well.”
“Then it will take two chess defeats to properly humble you.”
“More like three. I intend to be quite spectacular.”
This time Jharna’s laugh was easy and sincere. And her fondling hand extremely direct! George gave himself over to the glory of her body and the frenzied arousal that ensued. He fully intended to fulfill his promise.
Later, as they crawled into their bed under one light sheet and with hands clasped but otherwise not touching due to the heat precluding full-body cuddling, Jharna declared with conviction that he had indeed performed spectacularly. So much so, she said, that she would allow him to win at chess as a reward. “Besides,” she murmured as she drifted into sleep, “I want to keep my spectacular, wonderful husband happy.”
George’s eyes flew open and for a second he could not breathe. Jharna had used the word pati, the Hindu word for husband, and she had never used it in referring to him. He was always priya—my love—and that pleased him immensely. Pati sent him into spasms of joy! Had she slipped unconsciously? Or had she intentionally uttered it as a promise? Suddenly he recalled her turn of phrase earlier, “We have yet to make those vows.” Yet. Had she meant that as a clue to a change in her thinking?
&nbs
p; He almost woke her up to ask. He had to know! But one look at her peaceful, sleeping face held him in check. The conversation could wait until tomorrow, but by God if she had changed her mind, he was dragging her to the nearest priest, rector, holy man, or Buddhist monk they could find! Sleep was difficult to reach, and once he did, his dreams were of Jharna wearing a dazzling wedding sari and jewels as she walked toward him where he stood in a fine English suit beside an Anglican priest. It was an odd scene but beautiful nevertheless. So overwhelming that his dream-self was at a loss for words. The priest kept nudging him in the shoulder to regain his attention. Jharna was staring at him with a face growing in concern at why he could not repeat the vows until finally she grabbed his arm, shaking harshly as she shouted, “George!”
George jerked and launched upward in bed. Jharna held on to his arm, her fingers a vise digging into the muscle. She was sitting propped on a pillow, eyes frightened and wide, her other hand lying on her abdomen.
“I am having pains, George. Not often, so I thought they would go away, but the last three have been stronger and closer. I am afraid! It is too soon!”
George had already jumped out of the bed and was wrapping a dhoti around his waist. One benefit of being a physician was the ability to snap to awareness in an instant. He had his clothes on and three candles lit before she finished the sentence.
“Stay calm, Jharna.” He spoke in his low, resonant voice of professionalism. Panic and fear bubbled in his breast, but in no way was he going to let her see that! He sat on the bed beside her and laid a hand over the bulge. “How long since the last pain?”
“I am not sure. Two minutes, maybe four.”
“Breathe. Just breathe. You must stay calm. Practice yoga and meditate, do you hear me? I am sure it is nothing, but just to be safe I am going to brew a tea and prepare a tonic to stop the contractions. You stay here, in bed. Do not get up. I will return in a few minutes.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “Stay calm,” he repeated, and then left the room.