3. OS 19. His Elusive Lover (Part 3)

Part 3

Khushi walked home, her feet dragging in exhaustion. It had been a hard week at the office, keeping out of ASR’s way, yet serving him.

She brushed back strands of hair brushing her cheek in the wind.

Life had gone from difficult to complicated...in the extreme.

‘Hey Devi Maiyya,’ Khushi asked in her mind. ‘What did I do to deserve a volcano for a boss?’

Devi Maiyya chuckled at her expense.

‘Babuji and amma were happy in Lucknow, busy with their halwai shop and then you had to have a fire there. Babuji had to have a stroke and they had to shift to Delhi. You had to get me a job with this khadoos, ghussawala ASR. Hey Devi Maiyya, raksha karna! Should I start looking for another job? But how will I get one that pays so well? Babuji has to have treatment and buaji’s pension papers are with the lawyer. Hum kya karein?’ she asked, a frown of worry on her face.

She unlatched the gate and walked up the steps to her house.

Buaji was dicing vegetables for dinner.

“Khussi, tea is on the table. Pi lio and then go to the medical store and get Sasi babua’s medicines, Nandkisore,” she said.

“Ji, buaji,” Khushi said as she unwound the strap of her cloth bag from around her neck and hung it on its peg.

“Khushi, tum aa gayi?” Payal asked with a smile. “How was the day?”

Before Khushi could reply, Garima joined them. “Khussi, when will you get your salary?” she asked.

“Tomorrow, amma,” Khushi replied.

“We need to take your babuji to a specialist, Khussi,” she said, worry written large on her face. “Bitiya, he is not getting any better.”

Khushi gulped.

Buaji sighed. “And he is worried about Gomti Sadan and the shop, Nandkisore. Babua wanted to sell the house and settle his debts, lekin...”

Khushi’s heart clenched at the thought of the old house in the heart of Lucknow city being sold. It was the only home she knew. The place had welcomed her with open arms when she had entered it as an orphan at the age of ten, clutching a cloth bag with all her worldly belongings.

But there was no way out.

The house had to be sold to meet the money her babuji had borrowed when Satwik Mishtan Bhandar had caught fire.

“I will get babuji’s medicines,” she said quietly before leaving the house.

                                                                 ***

Arnav looked at the photos the PI had left for him and felt a tension headache build up.

Shyam with his arms around two prostitutes in a brothel....Shyam flirting with a lady in the car he, ASR had purchased for him on his last birthday....Shyam having a cosy dinner with a heavily made-up lady....the pictures seemed endless and each seemed more revolting than the previous one.

ASR fell back in his office chair, pushing his head back.

He shut his eyes.

The memories from the past came rushing in, tearing into him with their cruel claws. The argument, the shot, his mother’s cry, the next shot, the two corpses bound in white cloth and laid in the main hall for the public to pay their respects, his di’s tear-filled eyes, his chacha throwing them out of their own house, Sheesh Mahal.... infidelity... betrayal... pain...tears... devastation... destruction of the worst kind that even a tsunami couldn’t hope to replicate... nightmares that just wouldn’t quit....

“Sir,” Aman called.

ASR opened his eyes to look at the time. It was after office hours.

“Go home, Aman,” he said quietly.

“Would you like a mug of tea?” Aman asked.

So Khushi must have made it before she left for the day, Arnav thought. Aman knew better than to fob him off with a brew made by another.

“Yes,” he replied.

Aman brought in the tea and left.

Arnav sipped the hot beverage. Black tea with a hint of ginger, lemon and honey. The tightness around his forehead eased.

Khushi Kumari Gupta.  A small smile quirked his lips. The girl had spent all week trying to hide from him. He had gotten glimpses of her blindingly colourful suits and jootis behind doors and cabinets and under tables as he walked past.

He looked at his table and the huge side table. No flowers. It was time to change that. His smile widened.

His eyes fell on the photos.

Shyam Manohar Jha. His mind came back to the pressing problem and his smile died. It was time to deal with the crook.