Chapter 04 -- Komal, the Mild-mannered Lady
| 3 years later, Present Day |
For someone who was so mild-mannered, Komal was a very demanding lady, Sundar thought. She demanded punctuality, she demanded perfection in tasks she gave Sundar, she demanded Sundar keep to rigid timelines, and most of all she demanded financial tributes. Financial tributes were very important for Komal. She wasn't a sadist, this Sundar knew. She wasn't like Queen Namrata. Komal had never enforced chastity, never asked Sundar to call her anything other her birth name, never enjoyed pain like Queen Namrata did...
Just thinking of Queen Namrata gave him the shakes these days. The chastity was one thing, but his knees were quite another. They hurt even now, more than a week after she had kept him on them for nearly 7 hours last Saturday. The day wasn't far away when he would have to have knee replacement, he mused dejectedly.
On the other hand, Komal was interested only in the money. Yes, she enjoyed some creature comforts and some pampering when Sundar was close by, but that was it. Even the position she had him in now was more for his benefit than hers, he knew. Moreover, she had asked him to come over to her apartment in Andheri on a Sunday morning, a rarity. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Sundar knew Komal taking this effort meant she desired something. And with Komal, it was always money...
Having said that, Sundar also knew that Komal was the one he was most comfortable around among all the 5 women. Over the last 3 years, Sundar had had the pleasure of giving Komal luxuriant and long massages, of caressing her pressure points to de-stress her, of comforting her when she was down, of almost--almost brushing her lips with his. Komal could ask for his left hand to be amputated, and he would saw it off himself. Such was his longing to please her. Or was it the chastity? It was always tough to tell when he had been in chastity for too long.
And Komal was comfortable around him too. It had been a long and arduous journey to win her favor. Sundar had not found it easy. Komal Patil came from an orthodox Maharashtrian family in Western India. Many ancient precautions and rules were in her very blood. Sundar had often wondered how many boys Komal had driven insane with her touch-me-not attitude. It was such a loss for the boys, he thought. Komal had dark and thick straight black hair almost to the waist that she always kept untied. She was luscious at the hips, petite at the waist, and sumptuous at the breasts. Her skin was sun-kissed with a tinge of bronze. Her innocent face was gorgeous at the worst of times, and could stop traffic at the best. Her shy laugh, her coy smiles, her doe eyes were the stuff of poetry, and yet whoever was observing her would swear Komal knew not her own beauty or what effect it had on people, especially men.
That Komal chose to talk to Sundar at all when she was friends with so few males made him happier than he had words to convey. And he had never conveyed it to her, thinking that if he did so, it would mean the end of her comfort level with him. She was talking now, and her sweet, well-chosen words were making the 50 grams of plastic just below his waist a right pain in the nuts.