4. OS 20. The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 4)

Part 4

Khushi stood there for a long moment, her mouth open, her wide eyes fixed on the room that looked as though a hurricane had struck it during the night.

Her wide gaze moved to the face of the sleeping man lying in an awkward posture on the recliner. He looked so...so innocent, so young, so carefree.

But he was possessed by demons, Khushi rued. Why else would he destroy his room? She looked around. There was little he had left intact.

Khushi made her way gingerly over to the low table by the recliner and placed the silver tray with its mug of black tea on it.

There was a vicious-looking splinter of glass by her feet.

She bent to pick it up, but stopped in shock as a warm, hard hand clasped her arm.

She turned startled eyes to look into his hot chocolate eyes.

“Leave it,” he said gruffly.

He freed her of his hold.

Khushi stood still, her arm extended as though he were still holding her and argued, “You will step on it.”

“Go down,” he ordered.

“You will hurt yourself,” she insisted.

His lips twisted wryly. His psyche was one big wound, with bleeding gashes and lacerations left untended. How much more could he hurt?

“You need to see Kallu baba who lives near my buaji’s house,” she said earnestly.

He frowned. Who was that?

“He will exorcise the demons that have possessed you,” she reassured him. “You will be perfectly fine after that.”

Arnav’s mouth fell open. ‘What the!’ he thought.

“He will throw holy water and ash on you and circle a coconut and a lemon around your head,” she informed him.

“What the!” he exploded, clutching his poor head.

“You don’t believe me?” she asked, affronted. “Ask anyone in our mohalla. They will tell you how Kallu baba has saved hundreds of people from bhoot-pret.”

Before he could get over his shock, she left the room, still talking, telling him to be careful as he left the recliner to use the washroom and how she would return soon to clean up the room.

                                                             ***

Khushi returned to the kitchen and grumbled, “Hariprakashji, your Arnav bhaiya has destroyed his room.”

“Again?” was HP’s only response.

“He does this regularly?” Khushi asked, amazed that the house was still standing.

“Whenever he gets very angry,” HP admitted.

Khushi rolled her eyes.

HP said with a sigh, “He is short-tempered, bitiya, hum maante hein. But I have to say this too. Some people provoke him so much that it is a miracle that he hasn’t killed them.”

Khushi gathered equipment to go cleaning.

‘What are you doing, bitiya?” HP asked.

“Going to clean Laad Governor’s room,” she said.

“Nahi, bitiya. We have an agency we use whenever Arnav bhaiya damages the furniture in his room. They will clean up. You get on with breakfast,” HP insisted.

Khushi obeyed him, but said softly, “I hope he doesn’t step on the splinters.”

                                                                 ***

Sometime later, HP told her, “Bitiya, we have three guests. Take tea for them to the living room.”

“Shall I take namkeen too?” she asked, excited that they had visitors.

HP smiled. “Theek he,” he said. “I will set the table for Arnav bhaiya’s breakfast.”

Soon, Khushi carried a laden tray from the kitchen, a smile on her face. A formally-dressed middle-aged man, his silk-clad wife and his daughter, dressed in a lehenga were sitting with the family.

As Khushi walked towards them, the tray in hand, they were joined by Arnav Singh Raizada.

“Singhaniaji, meet my grandson, Arnav Singh Raizada,” nani said, her wary eyes flitting between a beaming Singhania and her furious grandson. She should have cancelled the visit after Arnav’s angry reaction to the news of marriage, but she wanted him wed at any cost. “Chotey, this is Aditya Singhania, his wife, Sheela and their daughter, Neha.”

Mama, mami and Anjali looked at Arnav’s face with trepidation. Akash looked away, feeling terrible for his brother.

Arnav Singh Raizada stood there, still like a marble monument, immobile even as the lava of anger rose in him. His nani’s audacity shook him to the core.

He spared a look at Akash’s ashen face before turning to nod stiffly at Singhania.

Nani wasn’t done yet.

“Chotey, Singhaniaji wants a rishta with our house. He would like you to marry his daughter,” nani said, pasting a smile on her face even as her alert eyes tracked Arnav’s expression. “Why don’t you spend some time talking to her?”

Arnav clenched his jaw and his fists for fear that he would lose control over his explosive temper.

Khushi placed the tray on the table, beaming. There would be a shaadi in the family! Guests would fill the house and she could cook to her heart’s content, serving them Lucknavi delicacies and sherbet. And maybe, if she was very lucky, she would get to see a smile on that Laad Governor’s face once he got married and best of all, he would be so busy manaofying a nakrewali wife that he wouldn’t have time to break chairs and mirrors. Laddoos phooted in her heart; colourful rockets burst into a million hues, colouring her mindscape.

“Mr. Singhania,” ASR tried to say through clenched teeth.

Khushi frowned. Was this the way to address a future sasurji? Laad Governor needed a lesson in manners and sanskaar.

“I am sorry you had to come all the way to my house,” ASR bit out.

Khushi smiled as she handed out cups of tea to the guests. So Hariprakashji’s Arnav bhaiya was not totally hopeless.

Nani, mami and Anjali relaxed. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Mama watched Arnav’s face anxiously. Akash, who knew his bhai well, had his eyes shut tight.

“I don’t know how you got the idea that I am interested in marriage,” ASR continued.

His family tensed.

Khushi looked up, frowning. Was he going to refuse the one girl who had dared to come to his house, willing to marry him and his khadoosness? ‘Bekaar mein bhaav kha rahe he, Laad Governor!’, she thought. ‘He thinks girls are standing in line to marry him!’

Singhania, his wife and daughter gaped at ASR.

“I have no intention of getting married,” he made it as clear as day. “Not now. Not ever. I am sorry you had a wasted journey. Now if you will excuse me, I need to get to office.” He turned to a wide-eyed Khushi. “Get me my laptop bag,” he said mildly. “I will be in the car.”

He walked away.

Khushi abandoned tea and raced up the steps to his room. In a few moments, she was back with his bag. She ran to his car.

His window was down.

She handed over the bag.

Arnav took it from her, his eyes lingering on her beautiful eyes for a long moment. He waited for her to remonstrate with him for his rudeness.

“You are leaving without breakfast? Shall I send it to your office with Mohanji?” she asked.

He looked his fill, taking an odd comfort from the concern in her eyes.

He nodded.

The driver started the car.

Khushi stood watching the car leave.

3. OS 20. The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 3)

Part 3

Khushi peeped from the kitchen to see the family at the dining table, partaking of the delicious spread she had cooked.

HP entered the kitchen, saying with a smile, “Bitiya, they love your dal and dum aloo. Here, fill this dish with dal. I will take it out to them.”

“Hariprakashji,” Khushi asked uncertainly, “how come your Arnav bhaiya isn’t at the dining table? Do we have to serve him in his room?”

HP sighed. “Bitiya, he works too hard. He leaves for office early and returns late. I have set aside food for him and will serve him when he gets home. You go to bed early.”

“I am not tired,” Khushi insisted. “Doctor sahib said you have to rest, Hariprakashji. No standing for long hours and absolutely no climbing stairs,” Khushi said firmly.

“You did all the work today,” HP said gratefully.

“That’s why you hired me,” Khushi replied with a wide smile.

 He nodded and made to take the silver dish to the table. His eyes fell on the wall clock. “Arnav bhaiya will get home only by nine,” he muttered, worried. “Pata nahi if he had tea and snacks in the evening.”

Khushi said nothing as a vision of the man with mesmerising chocolate eyes flashed through her mind.

“Woh kya he, bitiya, he is diabetic. He falls sick if he doesn’t take food at the proper time. That’s why I am worried,” he explained.

“Diabetic?” Khushi asked. “Shakkar ki beemari?” she asked in disbelief that only a halwai’s daughter could understand. How could people live without eating sweets?

HP nodded.

                                                       ***

It was nine.

HP looked at the clock.

“Hariprakashji,” Anjali called, limping into the kitchen.

“Ji?” he asked.

“Nani wants to talk to you,” Anjali said. She looked at Khushi. “Have you settled in, Khushiji? Have you gotten used to our taur tareeka?”

“Ji,” Khushi replied with a slight smile.

“Good,” she replied.  “Come with me,” she instructed HP, leading the way.

“Serve food to Arnav bhaiya when he comes,” HP murmured, before following Anjali.

Khushi nodded.

                                                          ***

Khushi heard the doorbell ring.

She ran from the kitchen, darting across the living room, dodging furniture, to stand before the entrance door.

Arnav Singh Raizada with the piercing eyes was on the other side, waiting for the door to open. Khushi drew in a deep breath to compose herself. She had to apologise for the atta on his bag. ‘He Devi Maiyya, raksha karna,’ she begged silently as she opened the door.

Arnav’s eyes fell on her guileless face and remained there, trapped by her wide eyes and the pure lines of her features.

“I am sorry,” she blurted out, wanting to get it off her chest.

He was shocked. Used to employees trying to hide their mistakes, he was taken aback by such an artless apology.

“I was making roti for breakfast when Hariprakashji asked me to get your bag. My hands were covered with atta,” she said quickly. Her eyes fell to his shoes. There was a metal H on his shoes. She frowned. What was that? “I...I hope there was no atta on your bag.” Her anxious eyes travelled up his legs to settle on the bag in his hand.

“Atta?” he asked in his husky voice.

“Wheat flour,” she explained, assuming he had no idea of such mundane things. 

“Did I dirty your bag?” she asked, her eyes anxious.

Arnav opened his mouth to answer and then shut it. A scrupulously honest and straightforward man, he normally had no compunctions about speaking the truth however unpleasant it may be. But this time he didn’t feel like it. It felt like crushing a flower under his shoes.

He just shrugged and walked past her.

Khushi stood staring as he walked away.

                                                    ***

Hariprakash was still with nani when Arnav came down to the dining table, dressed in a blue t-shirt and black trousers.

Khushi ran to set the table and rushed between the kitchen and dining table, making sure that he had everything he needed.

Arnav stole glances at the girl who was serving him.

“Hariprakashji said you are diabetic,” Khushi made conversation as he started eating.

Arnav said nothing, just continued eating.

But that was no discouragement for Khushi. She went on, “He would have served you, but naniji wanted to speak to him.”

Arnav said nothing.

“Please try the dal. Your family loved it,” she informed him. “And the dum aloo.”

He tried a spoon of dal. It was delicious.

“I was missing my amma. So I made dal like she does. Did you like it?” she asked.

Arnav cleared his throat intending to cow her.

But she took it to mean agreement. Perfectly capable of conducting an entire conversation by herself, she went on, “You work such long hours. You left at 8 in the morning and came back only at 9. You must be feeling tired.”

Arnav was feeling exhausted. Sleepless nights and endless work were killing him slowly. But he couldn’t admit it. “Paani,” he instructed.

Khushi poured more water into his glass.

“Won’t you have one more roti? It is freshly made,” she tempted him.

“No,” he growled.

She slipped a roti on to his plate. “Aap khayiye na,” she urged.

He glared at her. She paid him no mind.

After a dinner filled with his silence and her monologue, Arnav left the table feeling strangely amused and bemused at the same time.

Later Khushi confronted HP.

“Why does your Arnav bhaiya have to eat alone, Hariprakashji?” Khushi asked HP, vexed. “He is not an orphan. He has a large family. They should at least sit with him while he eats. And why does he work so hard? He has enough money to live on, doesn’t he?”

HP said softly, “The demons that drive him are too powerful.”

Khushi frowned. Demons? HP’s Arnav bhaiya was possessed?

                                                                ***

Khushi’s doubts were proven right.

A few minutes after Arnav had entered his room and was relaxing in his recliner, his mind dwelling on Khushi thrusting food on him and chattering away, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said.

Anjali entered the room and said, “Chotey, nani wants to talk to you.”

Arnav shot her a direct look. “What about?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

Arnav’s lips twisted cynically.

“You are my papad ka tukda, aren’t you?” she asked, pouting. “Come with me.”

Arnav grimaced as he walked out of his room with his sister.

                                                      ***

“Chotey, we have something important to tell you,” nani declared.

Arnav looked her with disinterest. Must be about painting the house for a festival or holding a pooja at home, he thought.

Akash cleared his throat.

Arnav looked at him, wary. Something was wrong, very wrong.

Akash’s eyes behind the glasses revealed his helplessness.

Arnav tensed.

Mami looked at mama, her wide eyes anxious.

“We have decided that it is time for you to marry,” nani said, trying her best to sound authoritative.

Arnav’s stare was potent enough to melt iron.

Anjali gulped.

Mami held on tight to mama’s hand.

Akash looked away, not wanting to witness bloodshed.

Nani placed a photo on the low table before Arnav. “She is Aditya Singhania’s daughter. Well-educated, sanskaari, from an old family of our stature,” nani said.

Arnav held on to his temper with great effort, fearing that if he lost control, he would burn RM to the ground.

“Marrying her will help you in your business,” nani tried to tempt him with money for trying to tempt him with beauty was a waste of time.

Arnav stood up, his fists clenched. “You helped me when I started out. I have repaid that debt many times over. Everything I have made so far has been through my own effort. I don’t need any Singhania to run my business,” he bit out.

“You will be thirty this year,” nani reminded him.

“Listen to nani, Chotey,” Anjali tried to persuade him.

“The girl ijj bootiphool, Arnav bitwaa,” mami added. “Like Mijj India.”

“Bitwaa, ladki se mil lio,” mama suggested. “You may like her.”

“Singhania is very interested in pursuing this rishta,” nani said, “as he should be.”

Arnav turned incendiary eyes on his nani.

“Does your Singhania know that my father was a libertine whose affair led my mother to commit suicide? That my father killed himself on the same day?” Arnav was pitiless in his questions. “That I am not Arnav Singh Raizada, but Arnav Singh Mallik?”

Nani paled.

Mami whispered, “Now bhat bill saasumma say, hello hi bye bye?”

Anjali wept.

Akash looked away, feeling terrible for his brother.

Arnav left.

The next morning, Khushi taking Arnav’s tea to his room found the bedroom in shambles. The mirror was shattered, furniture was broken, flower vases were in pieces...and the lion was lying back in his recliner, exhausted after his night’s work.