2. OS 20. The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 2)

Hoping to post once a week.

Part 2

“What the!” he muttered. Was he dreaming? How had HP been replaced by a beautiful damsel in pink who was spouting nonsense? And that too at this early hour?

“Where is the havan?” Khushi asked, looking around the room, disappointed.

“Havan?” Arnav repeated, bemused. “Who the hell are you?”

Khushi sighed, sorry that her picture of a saintly man had been wide off the mark. “Hum Khushi Kumari Gupta,” she replied.

“So?” Arnav asked, taking in the finer details of her colourful appearance, her glowing face, her beautiful hazel eyes and shiny plait. How dare she look so fresh and bright at this early hour? No one had the right to do so, especially when he had spent half the night fighting nightmares.

She frowned. “So?” she asked.

“I don’t care who you are,” he began to blast her. “I..”

She cut him short. “If you don’t care, then why did you ask?”

Arnav clenched his jaw. “What are you doing in my room?” he bit out.

“Bringing you tea. What else will I be doing in your room at this time?” she asked reasonably.

Arnav could feel fury rise in him along with some unsettling sensation in his chest region at the disappointed look on her enchanting face. “Where is HP?” he fumed.

“HP?” she frowned cutely.

“Hariprakash,” he bit out impatiently.

She pursed her lips. “Where will he be? At the foot of the stairs. How can Hariprakashji climb the steps? His knees hurt,” she informed him.

Arnav frowned. HP had knees? He had never noticed, taking him for granted as he brought tea and meals to his room.

“You didn’t know, did you?” she asked, hitting the mark.

His frown deepened. Who was she to question his right to look through his helper? “Who are you?” he asked again.

“Hariprakashji’s assistant,” she informed him triumphantly.

“Really?” he breathed. Helpers had assistants?

“Hum chalte hein,” she informed the workaholic who gave acidity to his employees. “I don’t have time to waste answering your behuda questions. I have a lot of work to do.”

As he watched with his mouth open, she turned and walked away, humming an old Bollywood song.

She stopped near the door and said, “Chai pee leejiyega. It will become cold.”

She left.

“Unbelievable!” he breathed, running his hand through his ruffled hair. Had he just imagined her in his drab room?

He looked at the low table. It held a silver tray with his mug of tea.

No, he hadn’t imagined her.

                                                             ***

Khushi came down the steps, humming, Main Kya Karoon Ram, Mujhe Buddha Mil Gaya, to find HP waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

“Khushiji, Arnav bhaiyya didn’t scold you?” he asked anxiously.

“Scold me? Am I a bachi for him to scold me. I am a big girl, Hariprakashji,” she said with a merry laugh.

Arnav bhaiyya must have been silenced by shock, HP decided. Otherwise why would he let go of an opportunity to show off his short temper?

“And what reason have I given him to scold me?” Khushi asked happily. “I just took him his tea.”

HP grimaced. When had Arnav bhaiyya needed a reason to shout and throw things?

“Khushiji, this is a good house. Naniji is kind. Anjaliji helps in the kitchen once in a while. Mamiji doesn’t enter the kitchen and sometimes looks scary with the colour on her face, lekin she doesn’t shout at us. Mamaji and Akash bhaiya are gentle souls. Don’t leave your job and go away,” he begged. “Woh kya he, bitiya, I can’t manage the cooking on my own.”

Khushi frowned. “Why should I go away, Hariprakashji?” she asked. “I came to work, not to run away.”

That’s what they all said before Arnav bhaiya drove them away with his furious outbursts. Hariprakash sighed and said, “Theek he. Let’s start on breakfast. Arnav bhaiya always leaves for office at 8 in the morning.”

“So early?” Khushi asked as they walked to the kitchen together.

“Yes,” HP muttered.

                                                     ***

Arnav sat in solitary splendour at the breakfast table, his eyes darting to the kitchen, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl who had materialised in his bedroom at dawn.

He had tried to put her out of his head as he worked on his laptop, but she had crept in, disrupting the couple of hours he always managed to devote entirely to his work before setting out to office.

He was pissed off by her presence, unhappy that he was thinking of her, but curious to see her once more. Just once more. Did she actually look the way he had imagined her to look?

“HP, water,” he said gruffly, expecting HP to summon Khushi Kumari Gupta from the kitchen.

But HP badly wanted Khushi to stay. He hobbled to the kitchen to get the water himself.

Arnav’s fingers clenched around the spoon. HP needed medical care for his knees. How had he missed the signs that HP was growing old? He should have seen it, should have known, should have taken care of it. He hated to give credit to that girl, Khushi Kumari Gupta, but HP needed a doctor.

HP returned with water and placed it by Arnav’s plate.

“You have help in the kitchen?” Arnav asked.

“Y..yes, Arnav bhaiya,” HP stammered.

“From today, give the grocery list to Mohan. He will do the shopping. You don’t have to go out,” Arnav ruled.

“Yes, Arnav bhaiya,” HP said after a moment. What was happening here? HP couldn’t believe his ears.

“The doctor will come here today to check on you,” Arnav muttered as he stood up and made to leave.

HP could only stare at him.

Arnav stopped on his way. “Ask your assistant to get me my laptop bag from my room,” he instructed, shrugging into his coat. He needed to see her once more.

HP hobbled to the kitchen as fast as he could.

In a few seconds, Arnav saw Khushi Kumari Gupta in all her glory. The bright, expressive hazel eyes, the clear, creamy skin, the twinkling nose pin, her well-formed features, her long plait, the elegant lines of her neck... She was more beautiful than he remembered. He felt something tightening in his chest area.

Khushi gulped at her sight of the formally clad man with molten chocolate eyes and jutting, stubborn chin.

She didn’t stop to talk to him. As he watched, she quickly went up the steps and returned with his laptop bag.

She walked to him and held out his bag.

His eyes on her enchanting features, he extended his hand to take the bag.

His fingers touched hers.

The bag dropped to the ground.

HP clutched his heart. Now Arnav bhaiya would dismiss Khushiji and burn down the house.

Arnav said nothing. He stood waiting, his eyes on her startled eyes and the light flush on her cheeks.

She quickly bent and grabbed the bag from the floor and held it out to him, taking care not to hold it by the handle.

Arnav took it from her. There was no reason to hang around. He turned and left the house.

Khushi heaved a sigh of relief, her hand on her heart. Why did she feel like she had just survived a hurricane? She lifted her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and stopped, horrified.

Her hands were covered in wheat flour. She had been kneading dough for roti when Hariprakashji had called her.

She gulped. What if the bag was covered in atta?

“Drop me at office and return home. Take the grocery list from HP and do the shopping for him,” Arnav instructed Mohan, the driver. “He is not well.”

“Yes, Arnav bhaiya,” Mohan replied.

Arnav looked at his laptop bag lying by him on his seat. He usually worked on his way to office, but today he felt the need to breathe.

Last night had been particularly brutal, the nightmares making it almost impossible for him to sleep. Each time he had slipped into oblivion, his mama’s cry had filled his ears and he had woken up with a jerk. The sound of the shahanai that played as a background to his mama’s cry and the shot had given him the chills. He had spent a good part of the night pacing the length and breadth of his room.

His parents’ death anniversary was next week.

He shut his eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

‘When will this torture end? When? When?’ his mind demanded. ‘Never,’ came the answer. ‘Never, as long as you are alive. You are the cheater and the cheated, the perpetrator and the victim, carrying their blood in your veins. You are the greatest joke in existence, Arnav Singh Raizada.’

He clenched his fists.

‘Work. That’s all that’s left in your life. And that’s all that will stay till the end.’ The message came, distinct and disturbing.

His eyes still shut, his hand reached for his laptop bag.

He frowned. It felt odd to his touch.

His eyes flew open.

There was a fine white powder on the black bag, that too in the shape of Khushi’s hand.

He stared at it in shock for a long moment.

Then his lips relaxed in a small smile.

                                                   ***