16-04-2025, 10:44 AM
(This post was last modified: 16-04-2025, 10:44 AM by JackOfTortuga. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 2: The British Officer's Arrival
Word spread through Mor-gaon like wildfire one humid morning. A British officer was coming! The village square buzzed with excited whispers and nervous chatter.
"They say he collects Indian art," said the local chai-wala, pouring steaming tea for the gathering crowd.
"No, no! He studies our culture," corrected the shopkeeper's wife.
By midday, everyone knew his name - Captain William Blackwood - a man whose reputation preceded him. He had traveled across Maharashtra, collecting artifacts and experiencing local performances.
Sandhya was arranging jasmine flowers in her hair when her mother burst into their modest home.
"Sandhya! The village elders want to see you immediately!"
When she arrived at the panchayat hall, the five elderly men sat solemnly around their wooden table. Headman Patil, with his thick white mustache, spoke first.
"Captain Blackwood has offered fifty gold coins for a private Lavani performance."
Sandhya's eyes widened. "Fifty coins?"
"For just one dance," added another elder, his eyes gleaming with greed.
"But I don't perform private shows," Sandhya protested, adjusting her pallu nervously.
Headman Patil leaned forward. "Think of the village, Sandhya. The rains have been poor. This money could feed many families."
Reluctantly, Sandhya raised her chin and met Headman Patil's gaze. "I have conditions," she said, her voice stronger than she felt.
The elders exchanged glances.
"What conditions?" asked Patil, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.
Sandhya's fingers nervously twisted the end of her pallu. "First, there will be no touching. The Captain must remain at a proper distance throughout my performance."
One of the younger elders snickered but fell silent under Patil's stern look.
"And second," Sandhya continued, "my entire dance troupe must accompany me to the performance."
"Impossible!" Patil thumped his fist. "The Captain requested you alone. He pays for privacy!"
Sandhya stood her ground, though her heart raced. "Then I will dance alone, but my troupe members must stay in the same building until the dance ends. They can wait in another room."
The elders huddled together, whispering urgently. Sandhya caught fragments - "fifty gold coins" and "can't risk losing this" - before they turned back to her.
"Very well," Patil said reluctantly. "We will present your terms to the Captain."
Sandhya nodded her consent, unaware that behind closed doors, the Captain would be told a very different version of these conditions.
What she didn't see was the letter Captain Blackwood had sent earlier. In it, he'd written about Sandhya's beauty in ways that went far beyond appreciation for dance. The elders had carefully hidden this part from her.
The Captain arrived two days later in a polished carriage, his uniform pristine despite the dusty roads. Tall with penetrating blue eyes, he scanned the village until his gaze fixed on Sandhya, who stood among other women.
"So this is the famous dancer," he said in broken Marathi, his voice thick with an accent.
"She is our village's treasure," said Headman Patil proudly.
Captain Blackwood circled Sandhya, taking in her slender waist, the curve of her hips beneath her traditional dress, and the delicate features of her face. His eyes lingered too long, his smile too confident.
"Perfect," he whispered, then louder, "The performance will be tonight. In my quarters."
As Sandhya prepared for the dance, her childhood friend Radha helped with her costume.
"I don't trust him," Radha whispered, pinning Sandhya's dupatta.
"It's just a dance," Sandhya replied, though uncertainty filled her voice.
What neither woman knew was that Captain Blackwood had already prepared his quarters with imported wine and silken sheets. On his table lay a document - orders for his transfer back to England in a month's time. Tonight would be just the beginning of what he planned to be a month-long conquest of Mor-gaon's most beautiful dancer.
Word spread through Mor-gaon like wildfire one humid morning. A British officer was coming! The village square buzzed with excited whispers and nervous chatter.
"They say he collects Indian art," said the local chai-wala, pouring steaming tea for the gathering crowd.
"No, no! He studies our culture," corrected the shopkeeper's wife.
By midday, everyone knew his name - Captain William Blackwood - a man whose reputation preceded him. He had traveled across Maharashtra, collecting artifacts and experiencing local performances.
Sandhya was arranging jasmine flowers in her hair when her mother burst into their modest home.
"Sandhya! The village elders want to see you immediately!"
When she arrived at the panchayat hall, the five elderly men sat solemnly around their wooden table. Headman Patil, with his thick white mustache, spoke first.
"Captain Blackwood has offered fifty gold coins for a private Lavani performance."
Sandhya's eyes widened. "Fifty coins?"
"For just one dance," added another elder, his eyes gleaming with greed.
"But I don't perform private shows," Sandhya protested, adjusting her pallu nervously.
Headman Patil leaned forward. "Think of the village, Sandhya. The rains have been poor. This money could feed many families."
Reluctantly, Sandhya raised her chin and met Headman Patil's gaze. "I have conditions," she said, her voice stronger than she felt.
The elders exchanged glances.
"What conditions?" asked Patil, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.
Sandhya's fingers nervously twisted the end of her pallu. "First, there will be no touching. The Captain must remain at a proper distance throughout my performance."
One of the younger elders snickered but fell silent under Patil's stern look.
"And second," Sandhya continued, "my entire dance troupe must accompany me to the performance."
"Impossible!" Patil thumped his fist. "The Captain requested you alone. He pays for privacy!"
Sandhya stood her ground, though her heart raced. "Then I will dance alone, but my troupe members must stay in the same building until the dance ends. They can wait in another room."
The elders huddled together, whispering urgently. Sandhya caught fragments - "fifty gold coins" and "can't risk losing this" - before they turned back to her.
"Very well," Patil said reluctantly. "We will present your terms to the Captain."
Sandhya nodded her consent, unaware that behind closed doors, the Captain would be told a very different version of these conditions.
What she didn't see was the letter Captain Blackwood had sent earlier. In it, he'd written about Sandhya's beauty in ways that went far beyond appreciation for dance. The elders had carefully hidden this part from her.
The Captain arrived two days later in a polished carriage, his uniform pristine despite the dusty roads. Tall with penetrating blue eyes, he scanned the village until his gaze fixed on Sandhya, who stood among other women.
"So this is the famous dancer," he said in broken Marathi, his voice thick with an accent.
"She is our village's treasure," said Headman Patil proudly.
Captain Blackwood circled Sandhya, taking in her slender waist, the curve of her hips beneath her traditional dress, and the delicate features of her face. His eyes lingered too long, his smile too confident.
"Perfect," he whispered, then louder, "The performance will be tonight. In my quarters."
As Sandhya prepared for the dance, her childhood friend Radha helped with her costume.
"I don't trust him," Radha whispered, pinning Sandhya's dupatta.
"It's just a dance," Sandhya replied, though uncertainty filled her voice.
What neither woman knew was that Captain Blackwood had already prepared his quarters with imported wine and silken sheets. On his table lay a document - orders for his transfer back to England in a month's time. Tonight would be just the beginning of what he planned to be a month-long conquest of Mor-gaon's most beautiful dancer.
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