Kaisey yeh Rishtey - 16 & 17

Chapter 16 & 17

Might as well get to work right away, thought Khushi, as she entered her own set of rooms after dinner. Her new husband, Arnav Singh Raizada, or Arnavji, as she had started to call him in her mind, waited for his father to retire from the dining room and leave them alone, and then told her that he needed to do some work, and stayed back in his study. She was grateful for his consideration in giving her some privacy. She did feel odd entering the large room alone, but was reassured to find that her clothes had been unpacked and already settled into the large wardrobe, and her simple comb and brush, as well as her few cosmetics were laid out neatly on the dressing chest. This was her room too now ... she had to get used to the thought. 

For a few moments Khushi looked around the room, admiring it again. This was going to be home for her for the next year, give or take a month or so. After meeting the Raizada family, or the broken remaining fragments that remained of it, she felt a little overwhelmed at the enormity of the task that lay ahead of her, and more than a little uncomfortable at the deception she was undertaking to accomplish that task. I'm good at my work, she had told Arnav confidently. But this was more than just work in her hospital, which she could leave behind at the end of the day. She would be living day in and day out with these people, with this family. It would be hard to maintain her usual clinical detachment, and see them only as patients. And how would she maintain the deception she and Arnav were undertaking? 

Biting her lip, Khushi pushed the unwelcome doubts to the back of her mind, and purposefully blanked her mind. She needed to stay in control, treat the family as her patients, and follow her usual treatment plans for them. And she would do it. Living here for the duration meant she was free of her Baba and even more, her brother, and that could only help her, not hinder her. Arnav was a very decent man, a thorough gentleman, she knew that instinctively from the limited interactions she had had with him. Living with him would not be a problem. In fact, her mouth twisted wryly, it would be far easier than living with her brother had been, especially the last few years. She firmly refused to think in any other direction, especially about how it would be to share a room with a very attractive man, for months on end. No ... that was a dangerous line of thought ... she was not going there ... 

Khushi made herself busy changing out of her heavy sari into a new nightdress, also bought by Arnav, and stripped down the covers of the bed. Then she stood staring down at it blankly. Arnav had said this would be a marriage in name, but she didn't see another bed anywhere. 

She shook her head briskly, dismissing those unwelcome doubts, and went to look again at the family picture. On the sideboard under it, were some photograph albums. She picked them up, and sitting down on the bed comfortably, she began to go through the pictures slowly, stopping now and then to slip a photograph out of its place.

By the time Arnav came to bed, she had accumulated a small pile. So immersed was she in her job, that she barely looked up when he came into the room. He looked at her, saw her clothes neatly folded on the chair, the small pile of jewelry on the dressing table, and a slight smile came to his face. He said nothing, but disappeared into the bathroom. When he came out, he was in his pajamas. He came and sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Khushi.

"What on earth are you doing?" he asked softly.

Khushi jumped a little, and drew back, taken aback to find him so close. A strand of hair fell across her face, and he lifted a hand to brush it back. His touch startled her, and she bit her lip, willing herself not to flinch.

"I'm getting to work," she spoke briskly, trying to hide the slight tremor in her voice. "I need to make some changes. With your permission." She added quickly, and Arnav grinned at her obvious last minute thought.

"Why do I get this feeling," he mused, "that you've made up your mind very definitely what to do? My permission is for form's sake only, isn't it?"

"Well," Khushi defended, flushing a tad guiltily "you've hired me for a job, and I have to do it the best way I know how. And the sooner I start, the better. I need to start with Radhika, Arnavji. Once she is better, and happier, the whole house will be happier."

He nodded, his face becoming serious. "You're very right. But, my dear sweet Khushi, it doesn't take a genius to realise that. What are you going to do about it, that is the question."

"First of all," Khushi said briskly, "I'm going to get rid of those huge pictures in her room. The poor kid can't forget the tragedy even if she wants to. When were those things put there, for heaven's sake? They're staring down at her all the time - the poor kid! It's like being haunted by her own parents!"

Arnav looked at her surprised. "But she shouldn't forget her parents! That's not the idea! She must remember them."

"She must and she will remember them, I agree," said Khushi gently. "But let her remember the happy times, not have them staring down at her all the time, like ghosts! I'm making a collage of pictures for her room, with all the family, you, Akash, your father, Shantitai, and her parents and grandmother. What about her maternal grandparents? If they are living, let me add some of their pictures as well. Let her see the living as well as the dead, for heaven's sake!"

Arnav looked thoughtfully at her.

"Are you sure? Poonam or my mother used to put her to bed every night. That was another reason we put the pictures there - she used to cry for her mother every night, and she did seem to settle down when we put the picture there."

Khushi looked at him seriously, thinking for a moment. Then she shook her head slowly. 

"Let me try this," she said. "It will take a few days for this to be made and framed the way I want it. Till then, I'll observe her behaviour inside and outside her room. I'll make the change in a way that seems natural."

Arnav still looked doubtful. Khushi looked at him.

"Well? Can I go ahead or not? I promise you, it won't be a traumatic change. And i will be watching her every inch of the way, Arnavji. If I feel it affects her badly, they will come back. That's the advantage of living here ... I will be able to gauge her behaviour much more easily, and work accordingly."

He nodded slowly.

"I really am not too sure about this, Khushi, but if you are …. Well, like you said, it's your job for the next few months, and you know what you’re doing … and it's what I hired you for, so … I guess, if she doesn't get disturbed by the change, and she doesn't cry, or her nightmares don’t get worse again, or …"

"Stop!" exclaimed Khushi, holding her hands to her ears. She was smiling. When she looked at Arnav, so was he. Reluctantly.

"All right, all right," he said, his smile in his voice. "I won't say any more. Get on with your work."

"I've just about finished," Khushi told him, shuffling the pictures together. "Except that I would like some pictures of her maternal relations also, and friends, if you can get them. I want pictures of pleasant events - birthday parties, family picnics, things like that."

"There are more in her room," said Arnav. "These one I have are only the ones in which I or my parents figure. She has more with Ajay and Poonam. I'll take them out for you tomorrow."

Khushi nodded, she hoped, briskly. She got up, picking up the albums and pictures she had sorted out. Arnav put out a hand to steady an album in her grasp, and his hand brushed hers.

She gave a nervous start, which she tried to hide. His nearness and the lateness of the hour was getting to her, she thought. That, and the fact that they were alone in the room, and she was absurdly, acutely aware of him.

She busied herself in putting the albums back in their place, and took her time putting the photographs into order, very aware of the man watching her from the bed. As she was carefully avoiding looking at him, she didn't notice when his expression changed to a very amused look. He knew exactly what was going through her mind.

Khushi was so busy ignoring Arnav, that she didn't notice when he rose. He came up behind her, and she gave a start when he spoke softly just behind her ear.

"How long are you going to pretend to be so busy, Khushi? Why don't you just come out with it and ask me?"

"I …I … don't know what you're talking about," she managed, her hands shuffling the pictures uselessly.

"Oh, come on," Arnav chided. "I thought you were an intelligent girl. You know what I'm talking about. You're worried about the sleeping arrangements, aren't you?"

Khushi looked at him quickly, and looked away from the devilment in his eyes.

"You …you did say this would be in name only," she muttered. "It's a job I'm doing. So I'm entitled to wonder, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are," he agreed, solemnly. "But remember, you are my wife. The wedding and the vows in front of the fire were real. Our marriage is real and legal. And I will have to legally divorce you when the time comes."

Khushi flinched at the word 'divorce'. Yes, this marriage would end sooner or later, that much was certain.

"I know," she protested. "But you promised …"

Arnav grinned, and she looked at him with a touch of anger.

"Arnavji," she said. "This is not right. You can't take advantage of my position like this."

"Am I doing anything?" he asked aggravatingly, and added mockingly, "… yet?"

She looked angrily at him, and Arnav laughed.

"I like pulling your leg," he said, maddening her still further. "I didn't know you would get angry so quickly. You always seem so calm and collected, in control."

She didn't know what to say, what to think. He was still very close, and she was finding it a little difficult to breathe.

"Please," she said, trying very hard not to let the note of pleading enter her voice. "Please, Arnavji, don't be a tease. You know what I mean. You promised …"

He gave a soft chuckle, and unexpectedly, moved his hands to her shoulders. His fingers moved gently, softly, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, as well.

"You've carried a big burden on these shoulders for some time, haven't you, sweetheart? And I've just added to it, by pushing my own troubles on to you."

He turned her around gently to face him.

"The sofa is a sofa cum bed," he said, softly, still massaging her shoulders. "I do remember my word, Khushi. I will sleep there, and you here. So don't worry, okay? I'm not about to maul you in the middle of the night."

She looked at him steadily, biting her lip, her panic fading and her normal good sense returning. Of course, he wouldn't break his word. In the little time she had known him, she had realized that he just wasn't that kind of person. But … she thought slowly, what if … she looked at the bed again.

“Arnavji, it won’t work,” she said in a small voice, not looking at him. He looked surprised.

“What?”

“You … you said Radhika woke up every night,” she reminded him unwillingly and he frowned.

“Yes,” he said slowly, and she could see he was thinking the same thing that she was. “she does. Do you … will you …?”

“I’ll have to,” she said. “I’ll have to bring her here … and if she sees you sleeping there …”

“The whole house will know,” he agreed, frowning as he thought over what she was saying.

“Unless,” she began, and he looked at her again.

“Unless what?”

“Unless I go to her room when she wakes and sleep there …”

"No!" he said, immediately. "She comes in here. I don't want the whole world to think that I've married you only for her. This marriage has to look like a real marriage. Neither my father nor Akash should guess the truth. You sleep here and Radhika comes here with us. If Akash sees you in her room every night, it won't take him long to put two and two together. I don't want him to guess anywhere remotely near the truth."

She looked at him in surprise. "Why? I was thinking of enlisting his help actually. It would help his guilt feelings, to make him feel he’s doing something. Especially for Radhika, since he feels responsible for her nightmares."

“No,” repeated Arnav firmly. “I said no one gets to know and I meant no one. Not my father, not Akash. Especially not Akash.”

“Why especially Akash?” asked Khushi slowly, puzzled.

Arnav looked away without meeting her eyes. He turned and walked to the window, and stared out. Khushi looked at him, puzzled.

"Arnavji?" then, when he didn't answer, "Arnavji? What is it? What is the matter?"

"Forget it, Khushi," he said, without meeting her eyes. "Let’s leave it for now. Just accept that I don't want anyone to know the reason for our marriage. Especially not my own family, my brother or my father. They're all part of the problem, they are all taking part in the cure, to a large extent or small, they all need healing."

"And you," she added, softly, and he looked at her in surprise. She smiled gently back at him. "You hurt too, don't you? You need healing, as well, from what I can see. You need to let your feelings out and be free to mourn as well, you know, Arnavji."

He looked a little startled, and not quite pleased, as though he didn't like displaying his weakness. Khushi suddenly had a vision of Aman breaking down and crying at the hospital, and his subsequent embarrassment.

"Why you men…," she said, exasperatedly, "believe that showing any emotion is weak and foolish, is something I'll never understand, not if I live to be a thousand years old. Why is it a problem to confess to feeling sad, or grieving, or hurting? If you're hurting, if you're grieving, it's normal, for heaven's sake! You’ve lost your mother and your brother, after all."

Arnav smiled a little at her vehemence.

"I'm not hiding anything," he defended. "I am grieving, it's only natural. But I thought I had got over it, and got on with my life. Your assumption that I haven't, surprised me, that's all."

"I'm right, though, aren't I?" she challenged him. He looked as though he was going to contradict her, then he stopped, his face thoughtful. And when he spoke, the words came slowly, hesitantly.

"I don't know, Khushi. I ... don't ... know. I've always felt I'm coping quite well, and the burden of looking after the others … well, I had to recover fast, or who else would look after them? But in a way ... I suppose you're right. I've really had no time to grieve - I had to get on with the practicalities. Radhika's guardianship, her inheritance and trust fund, re-division of the company, and its responsibilities … oh, all that. Nobody else was in any state to see to all that, so I had to thrust my own feelings away, and look after all that. And when I came out from that mess, enough time had passed to blunt the impact of the tragedy, and it was important to get on with life. And get the living back into getting on with life. I had no time on my own, to mourn my own loss. Ajay and I were very close. We were just a year apart in age - Akash came much later, and he's been the kid in the house all the time. Ajay and I were … I miss him a lot," he ended, bleakly, sitting down on the bed, and Khushi ached for the emptiness she saw in his face.

She came up to him gently, and knelt down on the floor next to him. "Then grieve for him, Arnavji," she said, softly. "Think about him. Remember him, remember all the good times with him, growing up together, everything. Cry for him, if you want to. Remember your mother, and talk about her, if you want. If you want me, I'm here .. if you want to grieve alone, send me away, but remember them. Don't freeze them out of your memories. Memories are beautiful, Arnavji, you must keep them there."

He nodded, his face still bleak and still, then he looked at her, small and vital, and a small smile came to his face.

"This wasn't part of your job, was it, my little psychologist?" he mused. "Aren't there enough people who need your healing, to add me to the list?"

"All for the price of one," she said, purposely flippant, to ease the atmosphere, and had the satisfaction of seeing his smile widen into genuine amusement. He touched her hair gently.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said, still smiling. "Can you stop calling me Arnavji? It makes me feel about a hundred years old. Even my mother called my father by name, and they has as traditional an arranged marriage as you can imagine. And we're supposed to be the modern, much in love couple here."

She smiled uncertainly. "I wasn't sure what you wanted actually ... what was the norm here. And I didn't ... I don't know you well enough ... Arnav seemed a bit ... too familiar ..."

He grinned teasingly. "We're sharing the same room, the same  ..." he gestured towards the bed, "Familiarity is par for the course, sweetheart. So Arnav it is ... okay?"

Her heart gave a small skip at that teasing smile. She nodded, somehow not trusting her voice at that particular moment. She felt oddly breathless. He touched her cheek. 

“Go to bed,” he said gently. “I think you’re right … I’ll have to sleep there too. You trust me, don’t you?”

She nodded, surprising herself, and realized that she did. Why, she didn’t know, but she did. Implicitly.

She went to bed then, and Arnav said he had some work, and settled down in a leather armchair in the sitting area with some files. More to give her time to sleep, she guessed, than from any real desire to work, for she saw him yawning soon, and she pretended to be fast asleep so that he could sleep himself. He came to bed shortly afterwards, and lay down scrupulously on his side, with a couple of pillows down the center of the bed. She lay awake for some time, then out of sheer exhaustion, fell asleep.

Kaisey Yeh Rishtey - 15

Chapter 15

Arnav and Khushi left the room together in perfect unspoken accord. She picked up a small parcel quietly as she left the room, and Arnav looked at her questioningly, but didn't say anything.

Downstairs, the family was waiting. Arnav's father, brother, Shantibai. And nestled between Shantibai's legs, was a little girl, whom Khushi recognized instantly from the photograph in Arnav’s room. She looked up at the couple, her eyes wide and worried.

"Khushi, meet Radhika," said Arnav, quietly. "Radhika, meet Khushi aunty. She is going to live with us now."

Khushi came forward and knelt in front of the little girl.

"Hello, Radhika," she said, softly.

The girl was wide-eyed. "Are you my new mother?"

Khushi laughed gently. 

"Am I? You tell me. Would you like that?"

The little girl looked directly back at her. "No," she said, with the frankness of extreme youth, without a trace of rudeness. "I want my own mother back. Why doesn't she come?"

Khushi could see the others stiffening. "Well, sweetheart, there's a problem, and God needs your mother to help. Your mother has to look after your little brother. He's a baby, you know, and she can't leave him. He's so small that even God can't take care of him alone, he needs your mother as well. So she has to stay with God, to take care of him. That's why she sent me here, to you. Because she loves you very much, and she knows you also need someone to take care of you, and play with you. Would you like that, do you think?"

Radhika thought for a moment, her head titled to one side, looking at Khushi carefully. Then she nodded her head, still unsmiling. "May be," she said. "What should I call you, if you're not my new mother?"

Khushi let out a small breath of silent relief. Then she thought for a moment. "Let's see," she said, gently. "What do you call him?" she asked, pointing to Akash.

"Chacha," answered the little girl, readily.

"And him?" pointing to her grandfather, who was watching and listening intently.

"He's my dadu," answered Radhika. "And that's tai," pointing to Shantibai, "and that's bade papa," pointing to Arnav.

"Well," said Khushi, pretending to consider seriously. "You have lots of family, but you don't have a chhoti mummy. Can I be your chhoti mummy? Then I'm not your mummy, but just a bit like her? So I can look after you, and play with you too."

Radhika nodded, but Arnav spoke from behind. "I think, gudiya, she should be your badi mummy, as I'm your bade papa, and she's going to live with me now. Do you think that's a better idea?"

Radhika nodded solemnly, her eyes rounding. "She'll marry you and be your wife? Then that Lava aunty won't come here any more, will she? Ok - I'll call you badi mummy."

Khushi nodded, smiling inwardly. So there had been a candidate for her position, after all, she thought. It didn't really surprise her. It would have surprised her far more if there hadn't been. But she did wonder why the unknown Lava had fallen out of favour. She bent to the little girl again.

"Now that we've settled that, tell me something. Do you like what I'm wearing?"

Radhika nodded, and touched the delicate silk gently.

"Would you like to have this?"

Another nod, this time with a small shy smile. Khushi held out the package to her, and the little girl took it eagerly, tearing the wrapping open, in her haste. She shook out the silk inside and gave a small 'ooh' of delight.

It was a tailored sari, twin to the one Megha wore, but in a size to fit the child. With it, was a blouse , also in her size.

"Do you like it?" asked Khushi, anxiously, and the little girl nodded eagerly, a faint smile lighting up her face.

"Can I wear it?" she asked.

"You can try it on," answered Khushi. "I hope it's the right size. I had to guess."

"Right now?" asked the little girl, eagerly, and Khushi looked around at the silent family behind her. She didn't know who laid down the rules in this house, and didn't want to upset any routine. But she saw Arnav's father nodding, his face showing some of the pleasure that his granddaughter obviously felt, and Arnav was smiling slightly, too. Shantitai came forward, and took the parcel.

"Come, I'll help you wear this," she said. "Then you come and show dadu."

"And her," said Radhika, pointing to Khushi. "Aunty, don't change your clothes."

"Badi mummy," corrected Khushi, and Radhika obediently said "Badi mummy," before trotting off with the older woman.

Arnav's father looked at Khushi, and she saw the change in his expression. There was a light in his eyes, that had been absent earlier.

"She smiled," he said, wonderingly. "She was excited with that sari! She smiled! For the first time in … how long, Arnav? My Radhika smiled!"

Arnav nodded, a guarded expression in his eyes. "Yes, dad. Don't get so excited. It's going to take her time."

"But she did smile," the old man said, obstinately. Arnav nodded, his face suddenly weary.

Khushi looked at him, slightly surprised. She would have thought that he would be more pleased.

Radhika came back with Shantitai in a few minutes, wearing the little tailored sari. She walked sedately, but her eyes were downcast, and her little face showed none of the excitement of a few minutes ago. Shantitai walked behind her, her face worried.

Radhika came up to Khushi, tears in her eyes.

"I want to wear it the way mummy used to," she gulped. "But I can't. I don't know how. And I don't even look like mummy in this. I don't want it! I don't !"

She pulled at the edge of the sari hanging over her shoulder, and pushed it to the floor. Her grandfather looked at her, stricken. Akash turned to Khushi, derision in his face.

"Do you think a few presents will make her forget? She has lost her parents, for heaven's sake, not a favorite toy! Come, my baby." This last to Radhika, as he held his arms out to her.

Khushi stepped forward, her voice firm and clear. "Radhika, can you show me a picture of your mother?"

Radhika looked at her in surprise, tears still rolling down her cheeks. Khushi continued in the same tone. "Let me try to fix it like you want. If we can't, you can use it for your doll."

Radhika nodded, and Khushi took her hand. Shantitai made as if to follow her, but Khushi motioned her back. She let the little girl lead her to her room. There she stopped short at the door.

The room was beautifully decorated in pink and white. Pink and white curtains hung at the windows, their print echoed in the bedcover and pillowcases on the white framed bed with a satin pink headboard. Cuddly toys occupied the baby patterned rug in one corner, and a child sized desk, also in white, with pink knobs, stood in another. White built in cupboards ran down one length of the room, the middle one glass fronted to show a collection of toys inside.

But what took Khushi's breath away, were the two huge photographs on either side of Radhika's bed, one of each of her parents. They dominated the room, and the child, thought Khushi, savagely. The family, in their attempt to preserve the little girl's memory of her parents, had hung a permanent reminder of the child's loss, to haunt her every time she entered her room.

This was going to be delicate, thought Khushi, heavily. She came in further with Radhika, and studied the picture closely. The dark eyes stared back at her, their expression gentle. Look after my child, they seemed to plead. The girl in the picture, for she was scarcely more than that, was pretty, rather than beautiful, her charm lying mainly in the extreme sweetness of expression. She wore a red and black south Indian silk sari, the border and edge elaborately woven. It was draped in a different style than the one the child wore, and Khushi sighed as she knelt in front of the little girl to try and adjust it to her liking. But it was plain that the little girl had lost her enthusiasm for the present.

She took Radhika back to the others after the child was slightly happier with the style, though the smile did not come back to her face. But Khushi was slightly cheered by the fact that Radhika refused to take the sari off, even while she had dinner. Khushi sat with her while she ate, earlier than the others, then she took the little girl off to bed. Again she noticed that the child's mood visibly drooped when she entered her room, and saw the photographs. She seemed content with Khushi tucking her into bed, and reading her a story, and was half asleep when Shantitai came to call her for dinner, and offered to sit with the child while Khushi ate.

Dinner was a silent affair, Khushi noticed. Everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts. Conversation was limited to 'pass the salt, please,' 'pass the daal', and occasional mundane remarks about the food. The senior Mr. Raizada made no attempt to ask Khushi any questions, or get to know better the girl his eldest son had brought home so suddenly. Akash spent dinnertime glaring at his plate and the food, and excused himself as soon as his meal was over. Khushi noticed Arnav's face became black when his brother left the table while the rest were still eating, but he made no attempt to stop his brother. 

Arnav saw Khushi look at Akash when he left, and then back at him.  He shrugged briefly and shook his head imperceptibly, warning her not to say anything in the presence of his father. Khushi sighed inwardly and finished her own meal in silence, her mind starting to work in more professional directions. Arnav needed all the help she could give, she thought. This was a family in mourning, a family torn apart by grief, and like rudderless ships, they were moving away from each other aimlessly, lost, without anyone to give them direction.

How important a woman, a mother, was in a family, she thought to herself. She had grown up without a mother for most of her life, and her little family of three was equally dysfunctional, all pulling in different directions, without a strong binding force. And here, the sudden loss of the older Mrs. Raizada, as well as the younger one, had left the men of the house adrift without any woman at the helm to take charge of home and family. They lived together under one roof, but almost like strangers. 

Kaisey Yeh Rishtey - 14

Chapter 14 

Very clever, thought Khushi, realizing exactly what he had done.

Arnav realised that Akash thought her a gold-digger, and had promptly put in steps to disabuse him, to make it seem that their marriage was very real. Smiling inwardly at the astuteness of the man she had married, she followed him up the stairs to where the door was being held open by a servant.

Behind the servant, sat an old man in a wheelchair. As she looked at him, Khushi realized he was not so old in age as he looked at first glance. It was his spirit that was old, that had aged him prematurely. He sat slouched in the chair, his head down, his back bent. His legs fell uselessly to the ground, dangling limply.

"Dad, this is khushi," said Arnav, quietly. "I told you about her. We just got married in the Satyanarayan temple a little while ago."
Khushi bent and touched her new father-in-law's feet, her sari draped over her head. The old man's hand came up to her head for a moment and then fell back. His face didn't change, his eyes empty. "God bless you," he muttered. "May you bring some happiness back into this sorrowing house."

His tone was expressionless. It showed neither happiness nor displeasure. He turned the wheelchair, and wheeled it back into the house. Khushi followed, Arnav's hand firmly under her arm. Akash followed, holding one of Khushi's bags. The servant held the other. The older Mr. Raizada nodded to another servant, a woman, who stood in the huge drawing room awaiting them. The woman was middle-aged, and looked sharp, but kind. She raked Khushi with a piercing gaze. The old man spoke again.

"This is Shantibai. She has been with this house for a long time. She came with my wife as part of her dowry, and helped bring up the boys. She is like a mother to them. Shantibai, the keys, please."

Shantibai took out a large bunch of keys, and handed them to Mr. Raizada.
Khushi came forward, but instead of taking the keys, she bent and touched Shantibai's feet. The older woman looked completely taken aback, then her face softened. She put out her hands and raised the younger girl, then took the keys from Mr. Raizada's hands and offered them to Khushi.

"You are the mistress of the house now," she said, softly. "This house has need of you. Take them."

Khushi shook her head. "I am too new, too young," she replied. "When you feel I am worthy of the responsibility, then you give them to me."

Shantibai shook her head. "No, my child," she said firmly. "These keys were with Arnav beta's mother till she died. She gave them to me when she was going to the hospital for both the babies with Poonam. I returned them the first time she came back with Radhika. Now I have been waiting to give them back to the mistress of this house. I have never kept them, and I don't want to."

Khushi looked at Arnav, who nodded, his face approving. She bit her lips together, then held out both her hands for the keys. Shantibai gave them to her, and Khushi held them to her head for an instant in a gesture of reverence, and then hooked them into the waistband of her sari.

"Where's Radhika?" asked Akash, suddenly, his tone harsh, and everyone looked startled.

"In her room," his father answered. "Let Khushi settle in, then she can meet her."

Arnav nodded to another boy, who appeared suddenly, and took the bag from Akash. Goodness, how many servants did these people employ? Wondered Khushi, dazedly, as she was introduced to the newcomer as the 'new mistress'. Then Arnav led her, gently but firmly, up to 'their room', followed by the two men servats carrying Khushi's bags.

 The servants put the bags down, and left. Arnav closed the door behind them. Then he turned to look at Khushi. Khushi looked back at him, her heart beating rather fast. This was the first time they had been alone since she had agreed to marry him, and she couldn't help remembering that they were now legally man and wife. He had promised that it would be in name only, but …

But it appeared that their marital relationship was the last thing on Arnav's mind. He took a deep breath looked at Khushi and smiled, a smile of satisfaction.

"That went off rather well," he said. "Well done, Khushi. Dad seems happy enough - as happy as he can be. You were good with Shantibai. I forgot to tell you - she can be quite a dragon. You handled her very well."

Khushi smiled uncertainly. For her, the change in situation was huge, and she was finding it difficult to take in everything all at once. Not least, the relationship with her brand new husband. But obviously for Arnav, nothing much had changed. He had  offered her a job, the job of counsellor to his damaged family, and for him, that was all it was. That was all she was. A counsellor. A psychologist, a therapist. Nothing more. Definitely not a wife in any sense of the word. He obviously found nothing strange or awkward about their situation, about having to share a room as husband and wife.  He had made the terms of their marriage clear ... no, strike that - she had made the terms of their marriage clear, and he had agreed. But she apparently hadn't thought everything through quite as thoroughly as she should have, she thought wryly. Least of all, the more intimate implications of living as husband and wife in a large family. 

Because she could not think of anything to say, she looked around the room. It was very large - it was actually a small suite of sorts. They were standing in the sitting area, where a comfortable-looking sofa and easy chairs were arranged around a beautiful Persian rug, all in matching shades of rust and cream. To one side was a large TV and music system, and two large wooden bookshelves, filled with books. At one side was a small niche, which Khushi saw was a mini kitchenette, with a small refrigerator, a kettle and toaster, and a few cups, plates and glasses in the glass-fronted cupboard above the counter. The sitting area was separated from the bedroom by sheer curtains, which fell the length and width of the room. Running the length of both the rooms, and facing the outside, were glass doors, which led into a private terrace, which, she could see, was well kept, with plants, and a wicker sofa and chairs, and a swing seat. The whole suite was simply furnished, with nothing overpowering or huge, yet it was in exquisite taste. Khushi wondered who had furnished the rooms. They had a distinctly feminine touch. The rust and cream colour scheme, the plants outside, the paintings on the walls,  the well-matched furniture - all had been assembled and coordinated with great care and unerring taste. She avoided looking past the sheer curtains into the sleeping area. She wasn't mentally ready to handle thinking about those arrangements yet.

She looked at Arnav. "It's beautiful," she said, sincerely. "Did your sister-in-law do this place? She had wonderful taste."

"No," he replied, blandly. "I did. I like colors."

She was so surprised she gaped at him, and he grinned. "What's the matter? Can't believe that I could furnish a room? One of the companies I run deals with furniture and antiques, you know. I like the stuff."

"I didn't know," she said slowly. "I don't even know what you do, actually. Whatever you do, you obviously do it well. This house … this place … it's all so different from what I expected." She gestured vaguely around the room, the understated opulence making her feel suddenly inadequate.

Arnav looked at her narrowly. "You knew I was in business. You knew I had enough money for your brother to steal some of it. Why the surprise?"

Khushi shrugged her shoulders, helplessly. "I didn't know you were so … rich! I … I … Arnavji, how will I fit into a place like this? A house, a family, like this? Your brother thinks I'm out for your money, and I can't blame him for thinking that. Your father is going to feel the same way. I … you shouldn't have made me do this. It won't work, Arnavji. I don't know how people like you live. I can't fit in. I can't …"

"You can and you will," he interrupted. "Akash will think what I want him to think. Dad is not thinking much, anyway, or feeling much. Don't worry so much, Khushi. This will work. It has to work." He ended bleakly, and looked away from her at a photograph on the cabinet.

She crossed over to look at the picture with him.

"Is this them?" she asked softly. He swallowed slightly and nodded.

"Yes. That was taken just before Poonam, my bhabhi, got pregnant again. That's my mother. That's Ajay, my middle brother, the one who died. That's Poonam. The rest you've met. And that," his voice deepened with emotion. "That's my little Radhika. She was just three years old then. She's four and a half now."

Khushi looked at the adorable little girl in the picture, at the elegant older lady and the fair, pretty younger one, and at the man next to her, so much like Arnav that they looked almost like twins. Akash was on one side, a younger Akash, a smiling, happier Akash. So different from the surly young man she had met earlier in the day. And their father, also smiling proudly, was a tall, proud figure, beaming with delight at his whole family, including the man who stood next to him, his eldest son, Arnav, also smiling gently, but with a more serious expression than the other two young men.

Khushi felt a lump come into her throat. Never again would this family scene be repeated. Death had snatched away half the players, and would never give them back. No wonder the living were taking so long to recover from the loss.

She looked away. "I'm sorry, Arnav," she said, softly, with difficulty. "Seeing their faces makes them real suddenly. It makes me realise what you all are going through every day."

He looked at her, and suddenly he was not so strong any more. "It will work, won't it?" he said, his tone suddenly unsure, pleading. "Khushi, please, you have to make this work."

It was a complete role reversal, and Khushi was taken aback. He always seemed so strong, so confident and sure of himself. It was as though he didn't have any weakness, any hesitation. But suddenly, he was showing her a new side of himself, a human side, she thought ironically, and was surprised that she didn't like his weakness, was actually upset by it. She felt like wiping away the worry from his face, his eyes.

"It will," she said, with a confidence she was far from feeling. "We'll make it work. It is my job, Arnav, and I've always been told I'm pretty good at it."

He squared his shoulders, his confidence back,the moment of weakness dropped as though it had never existed. "Well, then, ma'am. Shall we get to work?"

She straightened her back, and nodded.

"Let's go."

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.