Kaisey Yeh Rishtey - 13

Chapter 13 

After that, things happened so fast, that Khushi could never remember exactly how the days fled.

Arnav Singh Raizada worked fast. Within a week, Shyam and his father were off to Nasik, to work and live in the factory quarters. The day they left, with the house to herself, Khushi made a phone call. To Aman.

It was the most difficult conversation she had ever had in her life. He was suspicious, questioning, and completely unwilling to take her word that she was marrying Arnav of her own free will. Especially after that interrupted phone call. It took her ages to convince him, to calm him down.

“I’ll take you away,” he promised her. “Don’t do this, Khushi. I’ll work out something. I promise. Just give me some time.”

She couldn’t tell him the whole truth. It was Arnav’s family matter, and they were keeping the truth a secret from his own father and brother. There was no way she could tell Aman. She didn’t know if they moved in the same circles, but just in case they did … and even if they didn’t, she thought dully, she had promised Arnav. Not the truth, he had said, and she couldn’t break her word.

“He wants to marry me,” she told Aman quietly. “And I like him, Aman. He’s kind, he’s decent … and he won’t be intimidated by Shyam and his threats. He’ll take care of me,” … and I want to be taken care of, she thought suddenly, longingly, remembering that warmth in Arnav's office, when he had promised to work something out, that feeling of being protected for the first time in her life. She dragged her attention back to the phone.

“I want a promise from you, Aman,” she said softly. “We won’t meet alone again. You will stay away from the hospital, or be with Anjali all the time when you come there. Spend time with her, with the baby … all your time. What we had was very special, but it’s over, Aman. It has to be. You’re married … and now I’m going to be as well.”

“Khushi,” he said, and there was a plea in his voice. “Khushi, don’t do this. Are you marrying him because you have to stay away from me? Don’t do it, Khushi. Meet me – just once.”

“No, I’m not,” she said firmly. “I’m marrying him because I want to.”

“Do you love him?” asked Aman, and she was quiet. He made a small sound.

“Khushi, then don’t. You love me, you know you do. Khushi, look, let’s talk just once. I’m coming over. We’ll talk this out, sort things out.”

“Please,” she said in a small voice. “Please, Aman … if you ever loved me, please. Believe me – there’s nothing to sort out. I’ve made my decision. Do this for me. Stay away from me. Stay with Anjali. Fall in love with her all over again. You’re a father now also. You have too many responsibilities to worry about me. Be happy in your life, and give me a chance to have a happy life – this might be the only one I get.”

He was silent, but the silence was one of defeat. He made another attempt, but it was half-hearted, and she was able to override him. 

She put down the phone, feeling more alone than she had ever felt before in her life. She had done it, she thought dully. She had done the right thing … she had always known that she and Aman … it could never be … they could never be. But it hurt … oh god, how much it hurt. It was a shattering of a dream she had barely allowed herself to dream at all, the end of a faint hope that there would be a Prince Charming in her life ... like Cinderella, she thought, smiling faintly, mockingly, at herself and her own whimsical fantasies. Cinderella is a fairy tale, she told herself, and your life is anything but. Get over it, girl.

She didn’t really have a choice. Sighing, her mind mercifully empty of emotion, she moved away from the phone.

Two days later, Arnav Singh Raizada dropped in at her house, with an armful of packages. She was in the middle of packing all the household effects, to put them into storage, and she was surprised to see him.

"Some clothes for you," he said, briefly, dropping the bags on the sofa. "The wedding is fixed for tomorrow. Akash, my younger brother, will be one witness. Do you have anybody you would like to call, or should I get another person?"

She looked at him. His tone was indifferent, matter-of-fact, his face equally so. Her temper rose, at his indifferent tone, his casualness. "I don't need …" she began hotly.

"You do," he corrected. "You are going to be my wife, and I'm not exactly a pauper. This is just for starters. You can get whatever more you want later. There's a wedding dress … umm, lehnga, I think, here, as well," he added, casually.

"I want to wear my mother's saree," she replied, making her tone even, anger flaring inside at his casual dismissal of her feelings. "And for a second witness, I'd like to call my supervisor, Mrs. Gill."

He nodded casually, and left, leaving her with no one to vent her temper on. She took her anger out on a blameless ceramic jug, finding temporary satisfaction in throwing it against the wall, and watching it shatter into pieces. 

Then she sighed. She had to pick up the pieces and clean the mess herself, she thought dully, as always. There was no one to help her. There never had been, and there never would be. She was a fool for thinking this marriage would change anything in her life. She was alone, and she always would be.

She tried to shake off her feelings of self-pity. At least after this sham of a marriage was over, she would be independent and able to live her life on her own terms, she thought. Look for the silver lining, she told herself wryly. And in the meantime, casual indifference had to be easier to live with than what she faced at the hands of her brother and father every day.

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Khushi Gupta and Arnav Singh Raizada got married the next day in the temple. Khushi wore her mother's red and white and gold saree, a simple, yet delicate thing. She had to wear the jewels that Arnav had got for her. She had none of her own. Whatever little her mother had owned, had long since been sold. The wedding itself was a simple affair, conducted by a rotund little priest at the temple ... their family pandit, Arnav told her quietly. The traditional pheras and ceremonies lasted no longer than an hour. There was no one to do her kanyadaan, and Khushi again felt the blackness of self pity start to engulf her, before Arnav spoke a few words to the pandit, and the man quickly requested Mrs. Gill to do the honours. Then Arnav filled Khushi's parting with bright red sindoor powder, tied a simple diamond mangal sutra around her neck, and they were married. 

After the wedding, they signed the marriage register, and so did a tearful, but happy Mrs. Gill. Then it was Arnav's brother's turn.

Akash

He hated her on sight. Small, slim, dressed ordinarily – what had his brother ever seen in her? It was obvious she was not from the same class as they were, she was just an ordinary middle-class girl. How had she managed to hoodwink his usually intelligent older brother into proposing marriage? Bhai could not – would not ever forget her, and neither would the rest of the household. She had known them all, had loved them all, if Bhai married anyone, it should have been her, not this … this gold-digger! He hated her … and he always would.

Akash was a tall, good looking boy with the same hazel eyes as his brother. But his face was downcast and sulky. He hesitated with his hand on the pen, and then signed quickly, as though finishing a distasteful job. He refused to look at Khushi throughout the wedding, or the signing. For the first time, Khushi wondered how difficult this task might be, that she had so quickly taken on.

After the signing, they got into the car, and drove home. Akash sat in front with the driver, and Arnav and Khushi at the back. Akash was quiet throughout the drive, while Arnav chatted amiably with Khushi, pointing out road signs to her in what was a new area of town for her. A rather elite area. She had never had occasion to be on this side of town.

They drew up at a gate, entered and drove into a vast sweeping driveway. Khushi caught her breath as they drew up to the house.

It was huge!

A large, pale pink, three storeyed building, the house was beautiful. Landscaped lawns surrounded the structure on three sides, leaving the front open to the driveway. The lawns were filled with flower beds, blooming in gorgeous technicolor. On one side, a hammock hung between two trees, and near it, was a small children's playground, with a slide, a swing, and a brightly colored bench and table. The house itself was an imposing structure, modern, yet traditional, with pale gold woodwork framing the many windows which looked out onto the driveway, and white wrought iron work framing the balconies on both sides of the upper floors. The pale gold of the woodwork was echoed in the double front door, which swung open as the car drew up.

 Khushi drew a deep breath, and looked at Arnav accusingly. He met her gaze blandly.

"Well? Do you like it?"

"You never told me!" she said, hotly.

"Told you what?"

"That you were … that you lived like this! That you were … so … well off!"

"Does it matter?" asked Arnav, blandly.

Akash, sitting in front, didn't utter a word, but his shoulders stiffened.

"Of course, it does!" she replied, angrily. "I … can't cope with …this! I thought you were an ordinary … but …" she trailed away, and looked at him, pleadingly, suddenly and belatedly aware that Akash, sitting in front, could hear every word.

"That's why I didn't tell you," he replied, easily. "I knew your ideas about rich and poor not mixing, and …" he lowered his voice, in a show of intimacy, meant for the benefit of the listening Akash, "I didn't want to lose you because of your scruples. Do you like it, Khushi?"

"It's beautiful," she said, still trying to take in the grandeur of the place. "But, Arnavji ..."

He got out of the car and came around to open the door for her. 

"Welcome home, Mrs. Raizada," he said. His smile was wide, and only she could see that it didn't reach his eyes. They held a note of warning. "Come in and meet the rest of the family, Khushi."

Kaisey Yeh Rishtey - 12

Chapter 12

Arnav Singh Raizada stopped, his voice flat.

There was silence in the little room. Khushi was stunned, horrified at the magnitude of the tragedy he had just narrated.  She couldn't utter a word, couldn't think of anything to say.

Then Arnav Singh Raizada turned and looked at Khushi. His face was blank.

"Your job," he said, slowly, expressionlessly, "will be to rehabilitate these three people. An old man, who is confined to a wheelchair, who refuses to even try to walk again. Who prays everyday for death to take him and return at least one, even one ... of the younger ones killed in that crash. A young man … little more than a boy, who is wracked with guilt, that he was the cause of his father's and niece's condition, that maybe he was going too fast, and may have had a hand in the first accident. At an age when he should be going to college, attending parties, meeting girls, enjoying himself, he stays home, not leaving his father and niece for a minute longer than he has to. And a little girl … my niece … who is living the horror of that accident every single day and every single night. Every single night she wakes up crying, … crying for her mother, her father, crying that the fire is taking her parents, her granny away."

Tears were in Khushi's eyes, as she listened to him. He looked away, as though afraid that her emotions would overcome him and stared unseeing out of the window. His tone, when he spoke, was softer, reflective, as though he was talking to himself, thinking out loud ... almost unaware of his audience of one.

"The child needs a mother, a grandmother, anybody. She needs a woman in the house. A woman she can call her own. Whom she can trust, will be there for ever, and will not go away, like the dozens of teachers and governesses and nurses have. Who will run and comfort her at her first cry, when she wakes up at night, with the flames burning in her dreams.

“My father needs a daughter-in-law, a daughter, a woman, to laugh with him, tease him, bully him into doing his exercises, taking his medicines. Somebody to bring the chance of happiness back into the house, the possibility of more children, a woman's hand at the helm of the house, to make it a home again, and not just a house. My little brother needs a mother and a sister rolled into one, to talk to, to confide in, to help him get rid of his guilt, to give him affection and loving care."

ASR turned back to Khushi. His eyes sought hers, and his tone firmed, as though he had mentally reached a decision.

"We need a woman in the house, Khushi. A strong woman, who will not go under with all the grief in the house, but who has the strength, the courage to pull all the others out of it. From what little I've seen of you, you have that kind of strength that I need right now. And – you have the the skill, the training, to handle them."

He took a deep breath.

"So," he said. "what do you think? Can you do it? Will you do it? You will face resistance in the beginning. They all idolized my mother and my choti bhabhi. They don't want to forget them. They don't want anybody in their place. And with the guilt my father and my brother feel, they don't want any happiness. They feel that this sorrow is a punishment for the deaths that happened. They would feel guilty if they felt happy. It's a very tough proposition."

Khushi looked down at her hands.

"Tell me one thing," she said, hesitantly. "Well, two, actually. Have they been to any psychologist earlier? Any counseling, any therapy sessions, anything at all … after the accident? It was badly needed, wasn’t it?"

ASR shook his head. "They didn’t agree. Neither my father nor Akash. They were adamant about it, and I couldn’t force them, even though their doctors agreed they needed it. Even now, they won’t agree – which is why I can’t take you there as you are. It’s as though they’re punishing themselves for being left behind. And my niece was too traumatised to even try making her talk to any strangers at the time. Last night, after you told me about your work, I thought about this a lot. My first plan was that you could come as a housekeeper, or a teacher. You've seen sorrow, you've seen pain, the pain that comes from the loss of a loved one, you've dealt with it and helped people to go on. You're the only person I have met who is qualified for this job, this role. But for this to work, you have to be a part of the family, a permanent part. I'm desperate now, I have to do something more. A woman, a mother, a daughter, a mistress of the house - that is what is needed. I try my best, but …"

"Mr. Raizada," Khushi said, softly. "You are the kind of man any woman would love to be with. You don't need to buy or hire a wife. Isn't there somebody in your life, who would take on these responsibilities gladly, and share your life and love with you as well? I can't believe that there is nobody in your life. You don't need a wife on hire, you need a wife who will love you and love your family because of you, and for you."

ASR smiled crookedly at her. "Thank you for the compliment. No, Khushi, there is no girl in my life. Not one who would take on these responsibilities."

There was an edge in his voice when he said the last part. She heard the pain, the rawness in his voice. There was someone, she was almost sure. Maybe that someone didn't want all the responsibilities, maybe that was what had brought that edge to his voice. But there was an expression, a finality, in his face, his voice, which warned her not to probe further.

“Do you need to marry me?” she asked, then flushed as she realized what that sounded like.

Hurriedly she went on. “I mean … we could just pretend … to be married …” she stopped. He was shaking his head very definitely.

“We will be married,” he said firmly, “and my brother will attend the wedding. There has to be no room for doubt at all. That’s the only way they will accept it.”

Khushi was puzzled at his choice of words. It sounded as though there was some reason for his family to doubt the reality of Arnav’s sudden marriage. Apart from the sheer unsuitability of his wife, she thought with an inward wry smile.

She looked at his face. Gone was that cruel dictator she had seen the night before at her home, threatening Shyam - gone, even, was the suave, sophisticated tycoon from the office last night. In his place was just a man wanting her help … needing her … and able to give her not only an escape from her brother, but also … Aman.

Aman, she thought, dully, his name twisting inside her like a knife. If I’m married, I will have to stop seeing Aman. It has to happen some day … the sooner it happens, the better it is, for both of us. I always knew it would end one day. It’s for the best … I won’t have to give him any more explanation. He will have to agree. But oh … not to see him again …

 For an instant, her face showed her desolation and Arnav Singh Raizada watched her closely, his eyes narrowing.

“Well?” he asked softly, his tone a question, and Khushi started. She had almost forgotten he was there, so lost was she in her thoughts. 

She looked at him again. She would be in his power after all, she thought … but somehow, the thought wasn’t as frightening as it had seemed yesterday. He wasn’t as frightening. Slowly, she nodded, making her decision … not that she had much choice, she thought wryly. Between a rock and a hard place …

"I'll do it," she said, softly, hesitantly, looking down. She looked up and straight back at him, her eyes clear, the doubts dispelled by a fatalistic certainty. "I'll do it," she repeated, more surely. "But," she added, before he could say anything else, "it will be in name only. It's a job, and that's what it will stay. When you feel that they are able to cope, you will release me."

He nodded. She saw a look of relief cross his face, before he swiftly masked it. But no effusive thanks came from his lips. That wasn't his style, she thought wryly. A man who masked his emotions and his sentiments, kept his words limited to what was necessary, and no more.  

"I agree," he said briefly. "A job it is. When you feel they are ready, when I feel they are ready, we will tell them the truth, and you can leave. I will, of course," he added evenly, "recompense you well for your time  and your professional help, and also help you to find another job, or return to your current one, whatever you like. Financially, you will be secure for the rest of your life. That much I promise you. It's the least I can do, Khushi," he added firmly as she opened her mouth to protest. 

She nodded silently. This would make her independent of Baba and Shyam, and she was level headed enough not to kick that opportunity aside. And human enough to feel glad at the prospect.

Arnav Singh Raizada came closer to her, and Khushi looked at him in surprise.

"And, now," he said softly. "I come back to my first question. It's a question that you have now given me the right to ask. To whom were you talking on the phone?"

She was silent. He looked hard at her.

"Answer me, Khushi. Is there a man in your life? Answer me honestly. You've been honest till now. If you're going to play the role of my wife, you have to tell me. There is a man, isn't there?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"What’s the problem?'

She looked at him, surprised. "How do you know there is a problem?"

"If there wasn't a problem, you would have been off with him by now, wouldn't you?" he said, mockingly. "Considering that you don't exactly have the happiest of home situations."

Khushi's mouth twisted. The man was perceptive, and intelligent enough to put two and two together. There was no point lying to him. And she didn't want to. There would be enough secrets and subterfuge in her new house, without adding to them. Besides, this was what she had wanted ... a reason to stay away from Aman. Regardless of her heartbreak, she knew it was the best thing for both of them, and for Anjali.

She looked up at the waiting ASR. 

"He's married," she said, flatly. His expression didn't change.

"Ever heard of the word divorce? Or is it a one-sided thing?"

"Divorce is out of the question," Khushi replied, evenly. "His wife had an accident a few months ago, in which she lost one of her legs, and almost lost her baby. She can't have any more babies. If he leaves her, she'll lose everything. Including her will to live. She'll die."

She said it flatly, matter-of-factly. It was the truth and she knew it, had always known it. A happy ending for her and Aman had never been even a possibility. 

"Your patients, were they?" he asked, and she looked surprised at his sharp intuition. Then she nodded. "The wife was," she said softly. He nodded in understanding.

"So of course, you can't steal her husband," he said, mockingly. "… not even as payment for your services."

She looked at him hotly. "That was never in my mind! I am not a home breaker!"

He nodded decisively.

"Right, then that's cleared everything up. Oh, and your father and brother will be packed off to Nasik. I have a factory there, where they can't get up to much mischief. As I said, they don't need to know I'm marrying you. Better that they think the worst. Else they'll probably start trying to blackmail me or some such thing."

She looked at him in surprise. "You still want to marry me, after knowing about …"

His face became hard. "Why not? It's a job for you, not a real marriage. If I could do it any other way, that would convince my father, I would, but I can't. So it's just a job for you - although you and I are the only ones who know that. As soon as I feel that my brother, father and niece are back to normal, I'll release you. A nice civilized divorce, with some money – enough for you to live comfortably, reinstatement in your old job, or a new one, whatever you want. Your boyfriend might even summon up the courage to look after you by then. Though if he hasn't by now, I wouldn't place much dependence on that. Or on his so-called love," he added, cynically.   

She sat down on the sofa, ignoring his comment.

"I don't have much choice, do I?"

"No, you don't," he agreed. "Your brother and father are waiting eagerly in a shop some few minutes away, waiting for me. But one thing, Khushi," his voice became hard again, and she looked at him in surprise.

"No fancy boyfriends during the duration of our marriage," he said. "You are playing the role of my wife. You will do nothing that could compromise the name of my family, or my dignity. Agreed?"

Khushi looked at him angrily. "I wouldn't do that! I've made an agreement with you, and I'll stick to it."

"So what will you tell him?" he asked, cynically. "That you've suddenly fallen out of love with him and madly in love with me?"

She hated the derision in his voice.

"Do you think that's so impossible?" she asked quietly. "You seem to have a very poor opinion of yourself."

He looked startled, and then smiled, this time with genuine amusement.

"So you can scratch?" he murmured. "Good. You'll need all your claws and teeth. There will be a lot of people with plenty to say about my sudden marriage. But, Khushi, what will you tell him? Not the truth, is that clear?"

She looked at him directly.

"I'll handle him," she said, clearly. "You don't need to worry. He will not know the truth. He will think I have a normal marriage, and he will not compromise his dignity, or yours."

ASR looked at her steadily and she met his gaze, her own clear. For a while, they looked at each other, perfect understanding in their eyes.

"Right, then," he said, briskly, after a small pause. "I'll tell your father and Shyam, who are eagerly waiting, that I am accepting their daughter in lieu of the money, and they will be banished till the money and the data is returned, and I say they can return. Once they are packed off to Nasik, we get married, and your work starts."

Khushi nodded, fatalistically.