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.

****************************         ******************************

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.

Kaisey Yeh Rishtey - 11

Chapter 11 

"The job is to be my wife."

Khushi couldn't believe her ears. 

The room whirled around her. She gripped the back of the chair where she stood, as she swayed, so shocked by what she had heard that for a moment she was convinced she had heard wrong.
"Your what?!!!"

"My wife," Arnav Singh Raizada repeated. He smiled at her, not unkindly. "You seem shocked. Don't you think I could do something as normal as getting married?"

"No," she whispered, then realised what she had said.

"No, I mean, why?! You don't want to marry me! You hardly know me! And you don't have to marry me to …"

She stopped, flushing. Fortunately Arnav's next words were spoken in a completely matter-of-fact tone, which allowed her to regain her composure somewhat.

"I don't have to marry you, to have you? I agree. Your brother has offered you to me on a platter. Unfortunately, that's not how things work in my house. If I walk in with you as my live-in girl friend, or even set you up in a nice little love nest, it would cause a major uproar – my father is still very old-fashioned that way. And if I refuse Shyam's generous offer, it doesn't solve my problem as regarding your brother. He would still be in my hair, ready to create trouble at the first opportunity. I need to get him out from here, but under my control, till he returns what he has stolen, and more importantly, till I find out exactly what he is up to, and who are the people he is involved with. "

"You can do that without marrying me," she whispered. He looked at her, his gaze direct and searching.

"I can," he agreed. "Very frankly, this is different. One almost has nothing to do with the other, except that accepting his so-called offer makes it seem like it’s his idea, and I hope it persuades you to do what I want. What I need you to do. I don't plan to tell your family that I am marrying you, by the way. Once they are out of here, we'll do it quietly. Let them think I have accepted their offer. If they are so despicable that they can offer their daughter and sister for sale, you don't need to have anything to do with them."

"Then why…?" Khushi got out, completely baffled. "I mean, I just don't understand. Why marriage? If you want to help me out, I'm grateful, but why marriage?"

"So you don't want to marry me?" Arnav grinned crookedly. "What a blow to my ego! And here I was thinking that any woman would be ready to fall into my arms!"

She glared at him exasperatedly. "Please, Mr. Raizada, I really don't appreciate this kind of joke …"

"Not Mr. Raizada," he corrected. "Arnav. How will I convince my father that I fell madly in love with you, if you can't even say my name out loud?" 

She glared at him. Arnav laughed mockingly.

"Such a temper! Do I take it you're not amused?'

She kept quiet, but her expression didn't change. Arnav laughed again, but there was genuine amusement in it this time.

"The marriage will be in name only. Now are you happy? I have to do it this way, for the sake of my family. Look, sit down. Let me explain."

She sank down onto the chair she was holding, her head in a whirl.

 "You're joking," she muttered. His face hardened, lost its smile.

 "I wish I was. Let me tell you what exactly I mean. In a very real way, my need is as much as yours."

She waited, as Arnav seemed to collect his thoughts. Then he looked at her directly.

"You put this into my head last night. When you described what your job was.  My friends, people close to me have been saying this for some time, but I …"

He shook his head, and smiled at her, a little crookedly.

"I'm not being very clear, am I? Let me start again."

She waited. His face changed, it was suddenly very serious, sombre, as he stared at his hands. Then he started speaking, his words coming slowly, as though he found the telling difficult, painful. And as Khushi listened, her face echoed the pain she heard in his voice.

"I'm going to tell you a story, Khushi. This is a story about a small, loving, and very happy family. There was a father, a mother, and three sons. This story starts about 7-8 months ago. This family was very happy. It seemed to be especially blessed by God. There were no problems in their lives. They were well off, had a good business, and lived happily together. The eldest son was not married. He and the middle son ran the business. The youngest was studying. The middle son had got married early to his college friend, and they had a beautiful baby girl, the darling of the house, the first daughter in the family. Soon the wife of this brother was expecting again. The eldest son went to the States for work, connected with business, happy that when he came back, there would be another baby in the house. But when he got back here, it was not good news, but bad. The very worst."

Arnav got up, and moved to the window. He looked out as he continued speaking, his tone even and expressionless.

"His brother's wife went into labour. Her husband and mother got her into the car to take her to the hospital for the delivery. The younger son followed in the next car with his father, and his niece. They didn't know how it happened. There was a huge oil tanker lying in the middle of the road, with the oil spilled all over the road. It had been raining, the road was slippery, with water and oil. Maybe the husband was going too fast, because his wife was in pain. Maybe she screamed and distracted him. Maybe … we will never know. Their car crashed into the tanker head on, and went up in flames like a bomb. All three were killed instantly. And the unborn child. Even before he came into this world."

Khushi gasped in sheer horror. Arnav went on.

"The younger son, who was following them in the next car, was also going fast. Fortunately, he braked in time to avoid the tanker. But he skidded on the oil and nobody knows what exactly happened. Did the second car push the first onto the tanker and cause it to blow up? Or did the first car crash itself, and the second car skid off the road in trying to avoid the first? Nobody who survived, remembers. The son driving the second car suffered a head injury, a couple of fractures – but he was alive. His father's legs were crushed, badly injured. The little girl …"

He paused and Khushi saw him swallow. "The little girl was thrown clear, and miraculously landed on something soft. So she saw her parents and grandmother burning to death in front of her. The eldest son - me - I was called when they were leaving for the hospital, with the news that my sister-in-law was in labour, and by the time I got back there would be a new baby in the house. I came back home, laden with gifts for a new baby, and found … nothing left… nothing. Three people gone, and three people left - three living dead. Teen zinda laashein. Now I know what that phrase means."

Kaisey Yeh Rishtey - 10

Chapter 10 

The next morning, Shyam and his father seemed restless. They hovered around the phone and the door. Khushi smiled grimly to herself, knowing what they were waiting for.

It soon came. The shrill ringing of the phone startled them all, and Shyam rushed to answer the phone. Khushi casually wandered over near enough to listen to him, and with an angry gesture, he motioned her out of the room, and kicked the door shut. She grimaced as she left, but she had no choice. If all went well, she would find out soon enough, or else Mr. Raizada would let her know himself.

She didn't stop to wonder why she was so sure Mr. Raizada would get in touch with her again. 

The conversation between Shyam and Mr. Raizada was very short. She heard the murmur of voices, her brother's harsh tones, with her father's occasional interjections. Then there was the click of the receiver back on to the cradle, and then silence.

Khushi waited with bated breath for an explosion. That there would be an explosion, she had no doubt. Shyam and her baba did not take kindly to their plans being thwarted.

They came out of the living room and looked at her. To her surprise, Shyam was smiling …. almost. But it was not a nice smile. It was a smile of triumph. She felt a slight chill go through her. Arnav Singh Raizada couldn't have betrayed her. Could he?! Could he have actually accepted the offer in the letter? She had felt she could trust him. Has she been so mistaken?

"No!" she whispered to herself, as her father came up to her. He took her by the shoulders.

"You have to help your brother, Khushi," he said, hoarsely. "Do you hear? You have to help him out of this mess. It is your duty. Mr. Raizada will be here soon. Listen to what he has to say. Understand what he says. And you agree. Do you understand? You agree to whatever he says - whatever. It's our only way out."

Khushi looked at him blankly, her mind going almost numb with terror.

"Agree?" she asked him in little more than a whisper, her voice trembling. "Agree ... to what?"

"Let's go, Dad," said Shyam, brusquely. "He wants to talk to her alone. Let's go."

They went. Khushi followed them to the door, her heart beating fast. She saw them walk away, then she came back inside and dashed to the phone. Quickly, her hands shaking, she punched the number pad frantically.

"Hello? Is Aman there, please? Oh, Anjali! Hi, how are you? Listen, I'm not going to the hospital today, so I won't see you. Could you tell Aman, please? He …er …he wanted me to check on something about the baby, but I won't be going in today. I'll try to check and call him tomorrow."

She hastily reassured an anxious Anjali about her precious baby’s well being, replaced the receiver and waited by the phone. Every now and then, she looked anxiously at the clock, praying that Arnav Singh Raizada would not arrive before Aman called back.

He called within five minutes. His voice was worried, tense.

"Khushi? What's the matter? Why aren't you coming? What is the problem?"

"Aman," she whispered, and the tears that she had managed to keep back till then, finally spilled over. "Oh, God, Aman, I'm so alone. Aman, help me please. I need to get out of here. I have to get out. Please, help me. Take me away from here."

Aman sounded frantic on the phone.
"Khushi, what's the matter? Why are you crying? Khushi, you're not making sense! Stop crying, please, and talk to me!"

"I have to get out," she whispered. "They … I … Aman, get me out of here! Please! I … they want me to become his mistress, his whore ... and he …."

"Whose …?" spluttered Aman, but he never completed his sentence. Or if he did, she never heard it. A long finger pressed down hard on the hook of the phone, disconnecting the call.

Stunned, Khushi whirled around. And lost her balance and fell into Arnav Singh Raizada's arms.

His hands came up, and steadied her. Caramel eyes looked mockingly into hers.

"You don't have to fall into my arms so quickly," he chided, releasing her slowly. She regained her balance and stood back hastily. 

"You … I'm sorry. I …"

He looked steadily at her. "Who were you talking to?"

She suddenly remembered that she had been talking to Aman, and he would be crazy with worry after what she had said. She looked at Arnav Singh Raizada , suddenly angry.

"You had no business to disconnect my call," she accused. "I was talking …"

"To whom? That's exactly what I'm asking," he retorted, and she glared at him.

 "That's my business," she flared.

"I'm making it mine," he replied evenly. "And in case you have a problem with that, let me remind you, that you have a far bigger problem with your father and brother, which you need my help for."

Khushi gulped. She had almost forgotten.

"He's a friend," she muttered, defeated, not looking at him.

Arnav looked at her downcast face.

“Just a friend?”

His tone was questioning, mocking.

Khushi kept quiet, still looking down. He seemed to be about to say something, but didn’t. For a few seconds there was silence, as he looked at her downcast face searchingly.

The silence helped her gather her scattered wits. She pulled the remnants of her courage around her like an invisible cloak. Attack was the best form of defense. She looked at him again, this time accusingly.

"What did you say to Shyam about me? What have you decided? Please tell me. He seemed happy with what you said. But you said last night, that you wouldn't … you wouldn't …"

Arnav's look changed to a mocking amusement as she stumbled over her words. "That I wouldn't what? Make you my mistress? That's what you were telling your ‘friend’, isn't it?"

Khushi fell silent, her misery showing in her eyes. She looked at him pleadingly. "Please. Don't make fun of this."

Arnav Singh Raizada looked at her for a long moment, and it seemed to her that he was not seeing her. He was lost in his own thoughts. Then he shook his head slightly and his expression changed. He sighed.

"No. I'm sorry. There is nothing remotely funny in this situation. I've spent half the night thinking about this, and I think this is the only way out. Some good may even come out of this, if I'm lucky."

She looked at him, baffled.

"I have a job for you," he told her, moving away, and sitting down at the table. He looked at her steadily. "It may last a year, six months, two years. I don't know. You'd probably know better, and in a way, it depends on you, how well you do your job. The better you do it, the shorter it is. Which sounds strange, but when I explain, you’ll understand, and I think it will be what you will want."

Khushi stared at him, completely and utterly at sea.

"I've told your brother that I agree to their offer … to keep you with me as … collateral," he went on, his tone even. "And that you will live with me, in a place of my choosing, till such time as Shyam gets my money and data back. That's all they need to know. They do not need to know about this job."

Khushi stared at him, disbelievingly. Slowly, she shook her head.

"You promised," she whispered. "You promised …. And I believed you. How can you go back on your word?"

He went on, as though she hadn't spoken.

"The job is to be my wife."

Kaise Yeh Rishtey - 9

Chapter 9 

There was silence in the office, silence thick and dark.

Arnav Singh Raizada said nothing, his eyes on the slim figure at the window. Her back was to him, but he could see the tension in her taut frame.

He waited. After a long pause, she turned to face him. Her tension was apparent in her stiffness, the unnatural stillness of her body, but her face was calm, almost blank. He looked at her, marvelling at her self-control, masking his admiration behind a bland exterior.

When Khushi finally found her voice, she spoke clearly with the barest hint of a tremor, her eyes meeting his directly.

"I don't think I will go home, Mr. Raizada. If they call you, you can tell them that I refused to cooperate with you. Tell them anything you like. It doesn’t matter. I am not going back home."

He had not expected this. His eyebrows rose, but other than that, she saw no reaction on his face. She wasn't expecting to see it.

"Then what will you do?" he asked, his tone even. "Where will you go?"

She looked away. Aman's face came into her mind, her thoughts. Could she go to Aman, and ask him to put her up for some time, till she found a place to stay?

She couldn't tell Arnav Singh Raizada what she was thinking. Her mind worked furiously. Of one thing, she was absolutely sure. She couldn’t stay long at home after this. There was no way she would be part of what her brother wanted, and if she refused to agree to their plans, she would be beaten up, or locked up, or worse, forced into doing what they wanted. She was fed up of the whole situation, and after what her father and brother had done, the letter they had sent, the arrogance with which they had assumed that she had no choice but to fall in with their plans - she wanted nothing more to do with them. There was no love lost between her and them, and after this, she felt she hated them.

But what could she do? Where could she go? She twisted her hands in front of her, the only outward sign of her turmoil. She had never felt more alone in her life. 

She couldn't turn to Aman, she thought slowly. He was at home, with his paralyzed and handicapped wife, a small baby daughter, and a dragon aunt, who had come in to 'help'. Anjali was very fond of her, but if she, Khushi stayed there even for a few days, Anjali might guess what had happened between Khushi and Aman. And Khushi couldn't bear that. No, the few crumbs she got from him were enough. She couldn't and would not, break up their home. She was no home-breaker, she liked and admired Anjali almost as much as she respected Aman, and she could not, would not do that to her. Not with Anjali in the state she was in. It would destroy her will to live. It would be murder.

Arnav Singh Raizada was watching her, watching the play of emotions across her face.

"Can you get a place to stay at your hospital?" he asked, and she was surprised that he was concerned.

"No," she said, almost inaudibly. "I'm not a doctor or a nurse, and the staff quarters can't be used by the paramedical staff."

"What work do you do?" he asked, conversationally, and somewhere in her mind, she realized wonderingly, gratefully, that he was trying to make this into a normal situation, with normal conversation.

"I'm a clinical psychologist," she told him, dully. "I work in the social service department in Rehabilitation at the local hospital. Counseling, psychotherapy, with people who've lost their will to live. Accident victims, orphans, people who've lost their kids to illness, that kind of thing. I work with them, talk to them, encourage them to speak about their problems, and face them – to get on with life, as it were. I've been told …," she spoke with quiet pride, "… I'm good at my job. But it seems to me," she smiled, bitterly, "I could do with some of my own counseling now."

He nodded slowly, and she could see he was thinking deeply. She squared her shoulders and turned to him, her natural aloofness back on her face.

"Look," she said, "you don't have to worry about it. You tell them that you don't work that way. Leave me alone. I'll manage."

"So you don’t want to go back home?" he asked slowly, still seeming deep in thought, and she shook her head.

"No. Oh, don't worry about it. Sooner or later, this would have happened. I've been near breaking point for some time, and this is it. I can't take it any more. I’ll sit on the streets if I have to, but …"

He looked at her again, as though her words had brought him out of his reverie.

"Don't," he said, quickly. "Don't do that, or else I'll feel responsible for this, for your walking out."

"You're not responsible," she said, dully. "If it hadn't been you, it would have been somebody else. He will get into trouble again, that's as sure as night follows day."

"Yes, but if I hadn't looked at you that way, he might…."

"What way?!" she interrupted, hotly, and he looked at her directly.

"The way a man looks at a woman he fancies," he said, brutally. "Your father saw the way I looked at you when you walked in. I couldn't believe someone like you could be a part of them, their family."

He looked at her, and then looked away. "You looked like …." His face changed, his voice went soft. He seemed to be lost again in his thoughts. Then he looked at her and his face hardened again. 

"Never mind that. The point I'm making is that your father saw that, and he thought it could work in favour of his son."

She gulped. She had forgotten why she was here, his change in tone had lulled her into a sense of being in a comfort zone. His words suddenly recalled her to the reality of the situation she was in.

He came up to her, and put his hands on her shoulders. This time she didn't flinch away. His touch was gentle, impersonal.

"Look, Khushi," he said, softly. "It's partly at least my fault you're in this mess. Let me try to sort things out. Don't do anything drastic. Go back home, and tell them I've said I'll give them an answer in the morning. Say that … say that I said I’ll think about their offer … but I don’t want damaged goods. Just say that much. You don't know what was in the letter. OK? Just go back home, and trust me. Maybe I can work things out for both of us. Just give me till tomorrow to think it out."

Khushi looked at him in surprise.

"Why…?"

"Why would I want to help you?" he grinned crookedly, and she felt with a sudden shock, a realization hit her. He was an attractive man. A very attractive man, she amended silently. That aura of confidence and power that he had, would bowl over any girl, she thought.

"Put it down to love for humanity," he said cynically, and when she looked at him doubtfully, he smiled again, this time with more warmth.

"I don't like bullies, especially dishonest ones," he said, grimly. "And when they bully women, I dislike them even more. I saw how they treated you yesterday. I didn't like it. I don't like what your brother did to me, either. I don't consider him punished adequately. I'd like to see him suffer for both what he did to me, and what he wanted to do to you. Go home, Khushi. I will be in touch with you before long. Believe me."

His words, and more than them, his tone, did what his earlier harshness had not done. A tear finally trickled down her cheek, and to her surprise, he lifted a finger and wiped it away gently. She closed her eyes. For the first time in her life, she felt protected, and it made her feel warm inside.

She opened her eyes, to see Arnav looking at her quizzically. She was also suddenly very aware that his hands were still on her shoulders.

She backed away, slowly, and his hands dropped. He raised an eyebrow, and she nodded, slowly.

"I believe you," she said, almost inaudibly. "Thank you, Mr. Raizada. Thank you more than I can say."

He nodded, and she left.

It was late, but she knew that this once, she would not be in trouble at home. In fact, she thought grimly, the later she was, the happier they would be. So she stopped to make a quick call. To her relief, Aman answered the phone himself.

"I need to see you," she told him, briefly. "I'm in trouble. When can you meet me?"

They always met at the hospital, where Anjali spent an hour or two with her baby, and then with her physiotherapist. Quickly, Khushi fixed a time, and then returned home.

It was the most difficult thing in the world to pretend to be normal, unknowing of what her father and brother had planned. She solved the problem by attacking them.

"What was in the letter?" she asked her father, accusingly. "Mr. Raizada said…"

"Yes? What did he say?" asked Shyam, eagerly.

"He said he'll think about your offer, but he doesn't want damaged goods," she replied. "He seemed quite …"

"Quite… what?" Shyam asked, pouncing as she hesitated. "Was he pleased? He's quite a ladies' man, you know, Khushi. And he can be very generous."

Khushi hesitated. She didn't know what more Arnav Singh Raizada would have wanted her to say. "I don’t know if he was pleased or not," she said, finally. "He read the letter, and then he just told me to sit and wait for a while, till he finished what he was doing. So I sat. Then he seemed to change his mind, and said he'd give you the answer tomorrow directly. Then he kind of remembered about the goods being damaged. But what goods? I thought it was papers, data that you had taken?"

"How did he look at you?" asked Shyam, eagerly. But his father interrupted.

"Leave her alone," he said, heavily. "I don't like this, Shyam. You should not have put it in writing."

Shyam looked at him scornfully. "Do you think I'd be such a fool? He read between the lines. I didn't say anything that I can be accused of trying to…."

"Be quiet!" lashed out his father. "Khushi, go to bed. And stay home tomorrow. There's no need for you to go to work."

Khushi looked at him in dismay. She had arranged to meet Aman the next day. But there was no way she could say anything, with both of them in this mood. She went to bed, hungry, and for the first time after meeting Aman, it was not him she thought about as she fell asleep. Instead she dreamed about a tall, fair man, with light eyes, and a grim face, which dissolved into the most caring smile she had seen in her life.