Kaisey Yeh Rishtey - 23

Chapter 23 

"Wait!" exclaimed Arnav."Of course - why didn't I think of this before?!"

He opened his drawer, and pulled out a slim file. It held three pieces of paper. Arnav ignored two, and pulled out one single sheet. He looked at it for a long moment, then wordlessly handed it to the other man.

It was his marriage certificate. On it were his and Khushi's details. And there it was - in black and white.

Wife's name - Khushi (Gupta) Raizada.

Daughter of - Shashi Gupta and Garima Devi Gupta.

Arnav sat down.

So did Mahendra Shah. He wiped his brow, and surreptitiously, his eyes. It was an obvious effort for him to regain his control, Arnav could see. After a while, he looked up.

"I'm sorry," he said, heavily. "This was quite a shock. I had hoped … but not dared to hope too much …"

He looked at Arnav. "You are wondering, aren't you?" he asked with a slight smile, "why is it that I am so upset? Why this means so much to me? Garima is … was like my own daughter. I was the first to hold her in my arms after her parents, when she was born. She was a year younger than my son, and both the children were fast friends from childhood. We ... my wife and I ... saw her through each and every phase of her life. The news of her death was a shock, which took me a while to recover from. We both … my wife and I, loved her very much. And we had hoped one day that we would be able to persuade Mayur to let her marry our son. He liked her a lot, as well. So much so," he stopped, and swallowed, "… that the news of Garima's death almost drove him crazy. He took years to recover, and even now, he misses her, remembers her. We … my wife and I … tried a lot to dissuade him. We knew Mayur wanted only a Rajput boy for Garima. Even my son, the son of one of his oldest friends, was not good enough. But he always hoped that Mayur would relent in time. But it appears now that Garima had different ideas all along. She was obviously in love with this other man, your wife's father."

Arnav shook his head, still unable to take it all in.

"So you are telling me that Khushi has a family, still living?" he asked. "Apart from her father, that is? She has grandparents?"

Mahendra Shah shook his head. "I have absolutely no idea," he said, heavily. "As I told you, they left about 25 years ago. They did not communicate with anyone. We tried - my wife and I, and Brijesh, our son - we tried to locate them many times. They have an ancestral home in Jodhpur, but nobody lives there any more. It is ramshackle, run-down. No, I was trying to find out who your wife was, because I loved Garima very, very much, and I was hoping against hope that if she was related to Garima, Garima was still alive and the news of her death was false. For a few days, since the night I met your wife, I had allowed myself to hope … I am very sorry, very sorry indeed to hear that she is really no more."

He swallowed, and Arnav could see the depth of his grief. He got up and turned to Arnav.

"Thank you for bearing with an old man," he said with dignity.  "If you don't mind, could I visit your wife once in a while, with my wife and son? They would be very happy to meet Garima's daughter."

Arnav nodded. "I have absolutely no objection," he said, sympathetically. "Khushi, my wife, has not had the best of family life. Her father and brother - well, suffice it to say that there is not much love lost between them. She would be happy, I think to find someone who actually cared for her."

Mahendra Shah looked surprised, and Arnav told him sketchily, Khushi's story. All except the circumstances of their marriage. Mahendra Shah was surprised.

"Tell me," he asked. "Is Khushi's brother older or younger than her?"

Arnav looked puzzled. "He's older," he said. "Why?"

Mahendra Shah looked bewildered. "There is something strange here," he said. "Can I see that marriage certificate again, please?"

Both men looked at the certificate.

"I don't understand this," said the older man, finally. "According to this, Khushi is 24 years old. Garima died, or disappeared, 25 years ago. And till that time, there was absolutely no question of any child. How could she have a boy three years older than Khushi? This is not Khushi's real brother."

Arnav shrugged. "Maybe Garima fell in love with a married man with a son, or a widower, or some such thing," he said. "Maybe that was why her father was so furious. It doesn't really make a difference, does it? And it could explain why her brother had no love for her. If her mother was responsible for her father's leaving his mother, or some such thing."

Mahendra Shah looked unconvinced. "Would she not have known that?" he asked.

Arnav didn't understand why it was important. Mahendra Shah looked up again. "She said she is a psychologist. How is it that she is so well educated, and her brother works in a factory?" he asked suddenly. "Is he a manager or a foreman, or some such?"

"No!" said Arnav. "He's lucky he has a job at all! He's just a worker. He was never interested in his studies, Khushi says, while she was."

Mahendra Shah nodded. "Like her mother," he remarked. "Garima was a brilliant student throughout. Which makes me even more sure that he is not her real brother, if there were any doubts about that. But it is still puzzling how with that kind of family background, her father educated her so much. Especially when the brother isn’t educated. Normally these people educate their sons, rather than their daughters."

Arnav waited patiently. He had many things to do, but obviously this old man was clinging to straws, to try to find the family he had been so close to. Mahendra Shah looked at him again.

"Is it possible," he asked, tentatively, "…that Mayur was paying for his granddaughter's tuition? In which case, maybe there is a way to trace him."

Arnav looked at Mahendra Shah sharply. 

Arnav's manager, Vijay Dhawan, cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, sir, but even if he was, he obviously doesn't want to meet anyone else. So why …?"

"No, Vijay," Arnav interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "If Khushi has some surviving relatives, she might want to trace them. I agree with Mr. Shah about that. And I have met her father and brother. I can say with confidence that Khushi must be more like her mother, in which case, her grandparents might want to acknowledge her. Sometimes time heals old wounds. It's worth a try."

For Khushi's sake, he thought, with a pang in his heart. She was so alone in the world, and she bore her loneliness with such courage. He couldn't imagine her family meeting her, and not loving her.

As you do, a little voice whispered, and he smiled a little to himself. He turned to the older man.

"I'm willing to give it a try," he said. "To trace her grandfather, that is. That's what you want, isn't it?"

The other man nodded. Arnav nodded briskly.

"Can you get me some photographs of her grandparents, her mother?" he asked. "I'll go to her house - her father's house," he amended, "and snoop around a bit. She obviously doesn't know anything, so I'll have to pry a bit."

Mahendra Shah's face brightened visibly. 

"Thank you," he said in a heartfelt tone, and pressed Arnav's hands between his. "Thank you for giving an old man so much time and consideration. This means more to me than you can ever imagine. I'll send some pictures across as soon as I can find them."

Arnav nodded in understanding, and the other man left. Leaving Arnav deep in thought. 

Kaisey Yeh Rishtey - 22

Chapter 22

He didn't mention Lavanya again, and Khushi completely forgot about the incident with the old man. So did Arnav.

Until it was brought to his attention in a strange way.

A few days later, Arnav was sitting in his office, talking to his manager and friend, Vijay Dhawan, when a business card was brought in by his secretary. Arnav looked at the name, puzzled, and cocked an inquiring glance at his secretary, who shrugged her shoulders. He nodded, not pausing in his conversation with Vijay, and she showed in an elderly gentleman.

At the sight of him, Arnav stopped in mid-sentence, and stared. It was the same man, he realised, who had been quizzing Khushi a few nights ago at the club.

The other man smiled at Arnav's expression.

"I see that you have recognized me," he said. His voice was low, cultured, and held a tinge of amusement. Arnav smiled in return and rose to shake the hand the other man offered.

"I haven't really," replied Arnav. "My apologies. But I do remember you. And I also remember my wife telling me about your conversation with her the other night. Please ... have a seat. How can I help you?"

"That's what I've come about," replied the other. "Your wife. I'm Mahendra Shah, by the way. I'm a member of the club we were in two nights ago. And no, you don't know me apart from that. But my name is not important. What is important is your wife."

Arnav looked as he felt - baffled. The other man ignored his offer of a seat, and remained standing, his eyes fixed on Arnav.

"Where is she from?" asked Mahendra Shah. "Your wife? Who are her parents, her family? I want to find out about her."

Arnav exchanged glances with Vijay Dhawan.

"Excuse me, sir, but I need to know why you are so interested in her," said Arnav, firmly. "If you can explain your interest in her, I will decide whether I can answer you."

Mahendra Shah nodded, obviously not surprised by the answer. From his pocket, he produced a photograph, and handed it to Arnav.

Arnav looked at it and his eyebrows went up.

It was a photograph of a bride and groom. The photograph was old, in black and white, but there was no mistaking the features of the bride. The bride was Khushi.

Arnav looked at Mahendra Shah sharply.

"Who are you?" he asked fiercely. "Where did you get this photograph? This isn't … this can't be my wife. If you're trying to tell me that, I won't believe you. There's some mistake. I know my Khushi. She would never deceive me."

Mahendra Shah smiled. "So you've seen the resemblance too, have you? Good. At least I know I'm not imagining things. And, no, in answer to your question, your wife is not deceiving you."

Arnav stared. "Resemblance?" He looked at the photograph again, and back at Mr. Shah. "You mean, this isn't Khushi?"

Mahendra Shah shook his head, a half-smile on his face. "Not unless she's about 60 years old now! This photograph is of my very dear friend, Mayur, and his wife, Prayukta, taken on their wedding day about 45, maybe 50  years ago. But now do you see why I was shocked to see your wife?"

Arnav shook his head. His face showed his complete confusion. "I … I don't understand."

"Neither do I," said the older man. "Especially as I was told ... about twenty five years ago ... that their only daughter, who resembled her mother very closely, by the way, had died. After which, my friend and his wife cut off all ties with, as far as we know, almost all their old friends. You can imagine why I was shocked to see your wife."

Arnav was speechless.

"I have another photograph," said the other man, producing it. "This is not so clear, but I think the resemblance is still very strong."

Arnav looked at the second photograph. This showed a young laughing girl with a group of other girls. They were all teenagers, and all obviously having fun together. Her head was thrown back, and she was laughing.

The resemblance to Khushi was, if anything, even stronger.

Arnav sat down. His head was spinning.

"This is Prayukta's daughter. The resemblance between mother and daughter is strong, isn't it? Do you see why I'm so keen to find out who your wife is?" asked Mahendra Shah. "She told me her father's name the other night at the club. It meant nothing to me. I'm not surprised about that ... I didn't expect that it would.  Mayur Singh's daughter was unmarried when she died. If she did die, that is."

"What are you getting at?" asked Arnav. The other man looked at him impatiently.

"Don't you see? No, you obviously don't. I have to tell you something about my friend for you to understand what I'm saying."

He turned away to the window and gazed out unseeingly. 

"Mayur Digvijay Singh," he said heavily. "One of my oldest friends. From a royal Rajput family. Very, very conscious of his status, of his family. Not too much money, but enough. More than enough for some people. And enough and more of pride. Stiff-necked, I used to call him. Not just pride, arrogance."

He turned back to Arnav. "They had one daughter. The apple of their eye. Garima, they called her. Pride. And she was their pride and joy, the light in their life. Very bright, very beautiful, very intelligent. An Honours student at school and college. She won scholarships, trophies, prizes. They were so proud of her. Mayur dreamed big for her, much bigger than his clan was wont to do. They were Rajputs, and girls in their family were only meant to be wives and mothers. But Mayur wanted Garima to be so much more. A leader, a politician, keeper of their jaagir ... in their little corner of Rajasthan, the royal families are still revered as leaders, and Mayur wanted her to take over his mantle."

The old man looked away and Arnav could see him swallow, struggle to retain control. He looked back at Arnav and continued.

"Then one day, we heard that she had died. In an accident. We got a terse message from Mayur's secretary. There was no cremation date, no prayer meeting, nothing. And the next we heard, Mayur and his wife left Bombay. They just packed and left, just like that. And they have kept no contact with any of their old friends. None at all. We tried to trace them, to contact them, but with no success. That was the last I had heard from him for the last twenty five years. Till I saw your wife two nights ago. And I began to wonder if the rumours were true after all."

"What rumours?" asked Arnav, sharply.

The old man looked at him straight.

"That Garima hadn't died. That she had run away with a man. That Mayur had been so furious that he had cut her off, just like that."

Arnav sat down, in a state of shock. His brain was reeling. He shook his head.

"Wouldn't your friend have made his peace with his daughter by now?" he asked slowly, wonderingly. "Twenty-five years … how can somebody cut off their own child …?" he shook his head, unable to take it in, the enormity of what the other man was telling him.

He looked at Mahendra Shah. "It can't be," he said, more firmly, trying to think rationally, though his brain was still whirling. "It must be a coincidence. This resemblance … it’s just a coincidence. She can’t be … this  … this Garima’s daughter. It’s not possible. Her family … they’re just too different. I've met Khushi's father. How could a girl like Garima have fallen in love with a man like … that Kumar …” he stopped, remembering the dissolute features of Khushi’s father, and shook his head. He looked at Mahendra Shah.

"No," he said more surely. "No. It can't be. This is too much of a coincidence. This just can't be."

Mahendra Shah looked at him seriously. "I know it’s difficult to believe,” he said heavily. “Even I can’t quite believe it. But I had to try. I need to know for sure. Her face has been in my mind ever since I saw her two nights ago. Just tell me her mother’s family – their name, anything.  Can you tell me? What is her family? What is her mother's name? Please, if you can, let me get rid of this suspense."

Arnav shook his head slowly. "I don't know. No, honestly…", as the other man shook his head disbelievingly. "I really don't know. I have met her father and brother. I can tell you their names, but I have never asked her mother's name. Strange, but it never seemed important."

Mahendra Shah looked disappointed. "You have no clue at all?" he asked hopefully.

Arnav shook his head, slowly. "I don't think she ever mentioned it, and we really never talked about her mother very much," he said. "She died when Khushi was just about two years old. Khushi doesn't remember her at all, and has no photographs, nothing that I know of. Nothing that she has shown me. She didn't …" he admitted slowly, "have a very happy family life, and she's never shown any desire to go back, or to talk about her parents. Except," he added,  "what she told me about her parents, just those few details I told you ... when we were discussing our marriage.”

Mahendra Shah looked extremely disappointed.

"You have no clue?" he asked, heavily.  "Anything you can remember? Any name she might have dropped?"

Arnav shook his head. "She really doesn't know anything about her mother, or her mother's family," he said. "Except what her father has told her, which apparently, is very little. I don't think she even knows her grandparents' name."

Mahendra Shah looked down, and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry," he said, sadly. "I had hoped …so much … anyway, thank you for your …"

“She did say,” interrupted Arnav slowly, as he suddenly remembered his first conversation with Khushi in his office, “that her mother was from a rich family, and had run away with her father,”

Mahendra Shah stopped and both men looked at each other, arrested. Arnav continued slowly, trying to remember that long ago conversation.

“But … her mother tried to go back to her parents when Khushi was a baby, … and … her grandfather kicked her out.”

He looked at the older man disbelievingly.

“Would he … your friend … have done that? Thrown out his own granddaughter? A small baby? His daughter - if she realised she'd made a mistake - if she wanted to go back? Would he still have ...”

Mahendra Shah sighed heavily.

“It sounds like him,” he admitted very unwillingly. "He threw her out once, he  might have done it again."
He looked at Arnav urgently. “Please … what is her mother’s name? Just tell me that. This suspense is killing me.”

“I … don’t know,” said Arnav slowly, trying his best to remember. Had Khushi ever mentioned her mother’s name? After that one conversation, she had never even mentioned her mother again. It had all been about her brother and father, and getting away from them. Had she ever taken her mother’s name?

"Wait!" exclaimed Arnav. "Of course, why didn't I think of this before?"

Kaisey Yeh Rishtey - 21

Chapter 21 

The remainder of the evening was pleasant, and Khushi relaxed slowly after a while. Except for a couple of ladies, including the not-so-subtly hostile Lavanya, most were pleasant, as were all the men. She had always been good at talking to people - that was part of her job, she was intelligent, articulate and well read, so she found herself able to converse easily with most people, and as she relaxed, she found herself enjoying the company.

It was quite some way into the evening, that Khushi felt somebody's eyes on her. At first, she tried to ignore the feeling, telling herself that she was imagining things. But more than a few times, she looked around, feeling somebody looking at her. And every time, she saw the same man staring at her.

She tried to ignore it at first. But after a while, she started getting annoyed. The next time she felt the man looking at her, she lifted her head, and stared back, looking at him directly.

To her surprise, he was an elderly man. Tall and imposing, with a head full of snow white hair, he was impeccably dressed in a well cut suit with waistcoat, and a neatly knotted conservatively patterned tie. He was more formally dressed than most of the younger men there. The gentleman seemed not the least bit embarrassed at being caught looking at her. Instead he smiled, and started making his way slowly over to her. He walked slowly, with the help of a cane, but he leaned on it very little.

Khushi waited for him to reach her, her curiosity aroused.

"Congratulations on your wedding," he said. His voice was cultured, low.

"Thank you, sir," she replied politely, her eyes questioning. He smiled slightly, but didn't answer the unspoken question in her eyes. Instead he spoke again, gently, casually.

"You handled the situation very well, child. Arnav is lucky to have got a girl like you," he said. "Where are you from? We have not seen you here before, have we?"

His easy familiarity threw Khushi off guard, as did his referring to Arnav by name. It must someone who knew Arnav or his family, she thought, she had probably either forgotten his name among the many she had been introduced to, or Arnav hadn't got around to introducing her yet. Relaxing, she replied to his gentle questions easily and politely. He was an entertaining conversationalist, and it was some time before she realised that he was gently probing her background.

"What does your father do?" he asked. "Is he a friend of Arnav's father?"

"No, uncle," Khushi said, unconsciously following Arnav's lead and keeping to the truth as far she could. "He used to work in a factory. Now he has more or less retired."

"And your family?"

She looked at him frankly.

"We are a middle class family, sir. I have one brother, also working in a factory, and I am a psychologist. I work in a hospital."

"Your mother?"

A shadow crossed Khushi's face. "She died soon after I was born. I don't really remember her."

"Do you look like your mother or your father?"

Khushi smiled. "Since I haven't seen my mother, I can't really say, but my father sometimes says I look a lot like her."

The gentleman nodded, as though satisfied by her reply. "You are a beautiful young lady, and what is more important, you have character. It shows in your face. You have an interesting face. That's what made me come and talk to you. Most of these young girls these days are so made up, that they all look the same!"

She smiled. "Thank you for the compliment, sir."

The conversation stayed in her mind. The old man didn't introduce himself, and as he was so much older than her, she didn't like to ask his name. He moved away, and the rest of the evening passed without Khushi seeing him again. Later, when she and Arnav were on their way home in the car, she remembered the conversation, and idly asked Arnav about him.

"Arnav? That elderly gentleman I was talking to earlier ... did you see him? Who is he? Were we introduced?"

"A friend of my father's, I think," said Arnav, frowning in an effort to remember. "Or maybe just a member of the club. He looked familiar, but I can't quite place him. This is a very popular club, you know."

"I don't," she said frankly, and he turned to look at her, surprised at her blunt reply. She smiled slightly at his surprised look.

"I really don't know, Arnav. This is not the kind of place I have been in the habit of visiting! My world was very different, as you know."

"Then make it into a habit," he replied easily, and she shook her head.

"After a year, two years, I will be back to my own world. Better not to develop such habits! As it is, that man was very curious as to where I came from. Obviously, I don't belong in such a sophisticated place!"

"What were you talking about with him?" Arnav asked, frowning as he concentrated on the road ahead. It struck Khushi that she was very comfortable talking to this strange man, more comfortable than even talking to Aman. After their first disastrous start, they seemed to have found a common wavelength.

She told him about their conversation, and Arnav was intrigued.

"It does sound like he was grilling you," he said. "I think I'd better find out exactly who he is. I really can't place him at the moment."

He looked at her again, and raised an eyebrow at her.

“So how did it go otherwise?”

She looked at him, slightly surprised by the question. He smiled slightly at her.

“You were nervous,” he reminded her. “You thought you wouldn’t fit in. Did you?”

Khushi smiled. “I … it was okay, I think,” she said hesitantly. “I don’t know what they all thought of me … but everyone was very nice …”

Almost everyone, she thought, remembering the sultry Lavanya, and that conversation ridden with undercurrents. She wondered if she dared to ask Arnav about her. The name seemed familiar, but the face had definitely not been. Where had she heard the name recently?

They reached the house, and he parked, but made no move to get out of the car. She looked at him, still hesitating. He looked back at her and a slight smile came back to his face.

“Why is it,” he mused, “that I can almost tell what you’re thinking? You have a very expressive face, Khushi, did you know that? Your eyes speak when you don't say a word. Ask away.”

She gaped at him, and his smile widened. How did he know, she wondered, as an answering smile grew slowly on her own face. She shook her head at him.

“You’re dangerous,” she said, her smile in her voice. “Remind me never to lie to you. How did you know …?”

He put out a teasing finger and stroked it gently down the side of her cheek. Khushi forgot to breathe. She almost forgot what she wanted to ask him, about the mysterious and ever-so-possessive Lavanya.

“Who’s Lavanya?” she blurted out, her senses so haywire with that light touch that she couldn’t think straight, couldn't frame her question less than directly. His face went blank.

“Forget her,” he said, and withdrew his finger. “You don't need to worry about her. Just don’t mention her to Akash, that’s all.”

Khushi looked as baffled as she felt. Where had Akash suddenly crept into the conversation from?

“Akash?” she asked carefully. “What has Akash to do with Lavanya? Surely she’s much older than him … they’re not …”

He didn’t answer and when he looked at her, his face was bleak, his eyes dark. She hated that look. Without thinking, she lifted her hand to his face and touched it. His skin was rough, warm and the touch sent a tingle through her arm. She dropped her hand in slight confusion.

“What is it, Arnav?” she whispered. “What’s troubling you so much?”

Arnav looked away again.

“Lavanya’s sister is … was … Akash’s girlfriend,” he said flatly.

Khushi was dumbfounded. Then she remembered where she’d heard the name. Radhika looking at her when she said that she, Khushi would be her badi mummy. "Then that Lava aunty won't come here any more." 

Khushi was getting a vague picture here through the fog. That there was something between Lavanya and Arnav was obvious, had been obvious to her from Lavanya's barely disguised barbs, and Arnav's subtle protectiveness. But what? Did Akash blame her for the end of Arnav’s relationship with Lavanya … if there had been one? Had that affected his own relationship? Was that partly or wholly why he was so antagonistic?

And Lavanya? What was she to Arnav? Was she anything still? She seemed to think so, but Arnav had certainly not given her any encouragement this evening. Still … was Lavanya the girl who was the reason for that bitterness Khushi sensed in him? 

She bit her lip in worry and looked back at Arnav. The bleak look was still on his face, and she couldn’t stand it. She ached to reach out to him, to wipe that look away, to bring back the warmth, the teasing, the love … she stopped her thoughts.

Not love, she thought. What was wrong with her? This was the second time this evening she had thought about love and Arnav in the same breath. Affection, she thought firmly, it was affection … and a strong mutual liking and respect. That was all.

“Arnav,” she whispered. He looked back at her, at the worry in her face, and the bleakness left his. He sighed, and shook his head.

“How I wish …” he began and then grinned at her crookedly. “If only life was simpler, right, Khushi? Or maybe we just make it more complicated for ourselves. Come let’s go in – before someone sees us and wonders why we’re sitting here, instead of in the comfort of our room!”

She smiled and they went in. As they reached their room, he looked at her again.

“By the way,” he said softly. “I think you passed tonight’s test … with flying colors. Well done.”

He didn’t mention Lavanya again and Khushi completely forgot about the incident with the old man. So did Arnav.