11. OS 20. The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 11)

Part 11

‘You wanted to see me, naniji?” Khushi asked, standing at the open door.

“Come in,” nani said, her eyes running over the simple but flashy salwar suit, the tassels hanging from her hair, the glinting nose pin and the hazel eyes.

Pretty, but cheap, nani judged.

Khushi walked in to stand before her.

“Shall I get you a glass of badam milk, naniji?” Khushi asked cheerfully. Arnavji had come down for dinner and had even sat for a while with his relations in the living room. She was happy.

“No,” nani said. 

She looked at Khushi from head to toe, hating what she had to do. First it was Manorama; now it was Khussi. But she had to do it. There was no one else who would take on the onerous job of getting rid of a gold digger. Anjali was too weak. Manohar was useless. Akash was his bhai’s chamcha.  Asking Manorama to do this was like giving the keys to the house to a thief!

She was the only one left. ‘Help me,’ she begged her dead husband. ‘I have to save Chotey from a money-hungry, low-class girl.’

“Aap theek ho, naniji?” Khushi asked. “You look...pale.”

“You come from Lucknow, don’t you?” nani asked.

“Ji, naniji,” Khushi smiled.

“You have family there?” she asked.

“Ji. Babuji, amma and jiji. My buaji lives in Delhi.”

“Where in Delhi?”

“Laxmi Nagar,” Khushi replied happily.

“Laxmi Nagar?” nani frowned, trying to locate it. Her face cleared. “That slum-like settlement near the Devi temple that Anjali bitiya frequents every Friday?”

Khushi hesitated. Laxmi Nagar was no slum, but its inhabitants were middle-class and Anjaliji did frequent the temple naniji mentioned. “Yes,” she replied.

“How did you get a job here?” nani asked.

“The gardener who used to work here is a friend of Happyji’s who runs a car workshop near our house. He told me there was an opening here,” Khushi said.

“Had you seen Anjali bitiya before you came here to work?” nani asked.

“No, naniji,” Khushi replied.

“I thought you may have seen her at the temple,” nani remarked.

“No, naniji.”

“Are you sure?” nani went in for the kill. “I thought you may have seen Chotey or Akass bitwaa with Anjali bitiya and then decided to seek work in a house with two handsome, single boys.”

Khushi’s mouth fell open.

“There is no shortage of gold diggers in this world. Families of single, well-to-do and good-looking boys have to be very careful of such scum,” nani said, brushing away a speck of dust from her silk sari.

Khushi was too stupefied and distressed to retort.

“What does your babuji do in Lucknow?” nani asked.

Khushi swallowed hard and said, “He is a halwai.”

“A halwai?” nani smirked. “He has his own shop?” she asked.

“Yes,” Khushi replied.

“Then why did he send his pretty, young daughter to work in a house with two single boys in Delhi?” nani asked with a sardonic look.

Khushi felt her hands and legs trembling. It was as if she were caught in a nightmare and she was unable to escape it as her body was frozen. Still she managed to say, “Babuji is not well.”

“So he is poor and sick,” nani concluded. “And what easier way of making money than sending your young daughter to work in a house with two young men? Tell me, how much money have you gotten out of Chotey?”

Khushi felt sick. “Money? From Arnavji?” she asked. “Nothing.”

“And from Akash?” nani was merciless.

“Nothing,” Khushi shook her had to emphasise the point.

“You haven’t asked for money yet,” nani mused. “So you must be hoping that one of them will marry you,” she declared.

Khushi stared at nani, open-mouthed.

“Well, let me tell you something, Khussi Kumari Gupta. Boys from rich families may flirt with the hired help. They rarely marry them,” nani said.

“Naniji...I never...” Khushi couldn’t continue.

“I have seen you running after Chotey, trying to catch his eye with your bright clothes and your addayein. He may have noticed you, may even have talked to you, smiled at you. That doesn’t mean he is ready to marry you. Give your dreams of becoming Mrs. Arnav Singh Raizada a rest. They are not going to happen,” nani warned.

Khushi stared at her, unable to believe the nonsense she was hearing.

“When Chotey marries, it will be from a khandaan of the highest order. The girl will be educated and sanskaari, capable of mixing with his business associates, not an illiterate, money-grubbing daughter of an impoverished halwai from Lucknow who is working as a maid in his house,” nani stated. “Sapna dekhna chod deejiye. Do you know what happens to girls who dare to dream above their state in life?”

She looked at Khushi with disgust in her eyes.

“They end up being used and thrown,” she concluded.

Khushi tried to protest, “Naniji, I never...”

Nani cut in. “Your father sent you here to make money, by fair means or by foul. How will he feel if you return to him as an unwed mother? Because that’s what happens to maids who sleep with their masters.”

Khushi had enough. She drew in a deep breath and said, “Bas bhi keejiye. This kind of conversation doesn’t suit a lady of your age and stature.”

Nani laughed mirthlessly. “You are lecturing me on sanskaar? You?”

Khushi paid her no mind. She continued, “You think the worst of me. That’s fine. You don’t know me and you good opinion doesn’t matter to me. You can think what you like. But how dare you think that Arnavji is like that? Your own grandson? Your own blood! What reason has he ever given you to talk such rubbish about him? Is he a ghatiya man? What does that poor soul do except work and work more to keep all of you in comfort?”

“Chup raho!” nani thundered.

“Hum chup nahi rahenge,” Khushi said calmly. “Hum hargiz chup nahi rahenge. I have every right to defend myself when you level false accusations against me.” She drew in another deep breath. “How dare you insult my babuji when you haven’t even met him? Do you know who my babuji is? Do you? He is a gem of a man, with a heart of gold. If it were up to him, he would never let me work. Lekin he is ill. I insisted that I wanted to work, to contribute to my family’s finances. I begged him for permission to come to Delhi to my buaji’s house. I was looking for work and that’s when Happyji told me of this vacancy. Aap ko pata he why my father permitted me to work here? Because it is a family home with you, mamiji, mamaji and Anjaliji. Had it been a house with just Arnavji and Akashji here, he would have never permitted me to work here.”

Nani scoffed at this claim.

“Let me tell you one more thing. I like Arnavji. Devi Maiyya ki kasam, I like Arnavji very much, as much as I like my babuji. He is decent, honest and hard working. Under all that ghussa and tantrums is a very lonely child I find very endearing. But I don’t like you. You are the head of this family. How dare you leave him alone and go to your poojas and films and parties? Isn’t he  a human being? Why can’t you pay more attention to him? Give him more of your time? Bechara, ek to beemar he. Upar se akela. You are a fine one to talk, naniji,” Khushi lit into her.

“How dare you?” nani bit out.

“How dare you insult my family and me and your grandsons?” Khushi asked quietly, anger gone, leaving behind only deep anguish. She heaved a sigh. It was time to leave this house. “You want me to leave this house, don’t you?” she asked.

“You realised it?” nani mocked her. “There is no place for you here.”

“I will go away. On one condition,” Khushi said.

Nani smirked. “You think too much of yourself,” she ridiculed Khushi.

“Promise me that you will take care of Arnavji’s health and never leave him alone,” Khushi said. She was bound by her promise to Arnavji not to tell his family about his fainting spells, but she could do this much for him.

“He is my grandson,” nani claimed. “I know how to take care of him. I don’t need your advice.”

“You do. You haven’t been doing a good job of it so far,” Khushi said bluntly. 

“Promise me if you want me to leave.”

Nani wanted her out. Desperately. “Yes,” she said.

“You promise to take care of his health and not to leave him alone?” Khushi asked again.

“I promise,” nani said. “Now will you leave?”

“Yes,” Khushi said. She turned and walked away.

                                                                    ***

Arnav woke up the next morning, stretching his arms, feeling good. He opened his eyes.

There was no Khushi in his room.

No mug on a silver tray.

The curtains weren’t drawn.

He looked at the time.

Khushi would be here now.

He smiled. Every morning, she woke him up. Today, he would give her a surprise.

The door creaked open.

Arnav waited eagerly for Khushi to enter his room.

HP brought in the tray and drew the curtains.

“HP?” Arnav asked, shocked. “Where is Khushi?”

HP looked at him, worried. “Pata nahi, Arnav bhaiya. She is not in her room,” he said.

Arnav leaped out of bed. “Come with me,” he said, leading the way down the stairs to her room.

He pushed open the door.

The single bed hadn’t been slept in. The covers were neat and pristine.

Feeling his heart gallop, Arnav rushed to the wardrobe and pushed it open.

All her clothes were gone.

Khushi had left his home last night.